As Zed stood in the hallway, he contemplated over the brief conversation he had heard. It was enough to tell him that whatever was going on in this world was more complicated than he initially thought. A couple of theories began to form in his mind. He turned his head slightly, speaking softly to Ai. What do you think, Ai? They''re not synthetics, I''m sure of it.


    Ai’s voice, calm and reassuring, came through Zed''s mind. No, I believe they are not. The scans showed they are human.


    Zed''s hand drifted up to his chin, a thoughtful gesture. His mind considered the possibilities. So, do you think we are in a simulation then? Created by synths?


    Ai’s response was measured, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. It’s possible. But there is something about the environment that feels too… real. The way the air smells, the weight of the gravity, the tactile sense of everything around you—it doesn’t suggest simulation. But we can’t rule it out just yet.


    Zed closed his eyes and let his senses feel the world around him, from the coolness of the breeze coming in from the nearby window to the sounds of the world around him, it felt all too authentic. An idea came into his mind. If the environment is authentic then how about the people?


    He activated his stealth module and flew out of the town hall, the air rushing past him as he ascended. He climbed higher, rising above the town’s rooftops, until the outlines of the town''s borders and the sprawling fields beyond stretched out before him, vast and endless.


    Zed closed his eyes, focusing inward, and let his senses stretch outward like an invisible wave. It expanded, pushing outward until it encompassed everything within his maximum reach of five kilometers. The pulse of life all around him became clear—every living thing, from the grazing livestock in the fields to the quiet breaths of every human in the town. Nothing escaped his awareness. The rhythm of life flowed around him, connected and alive.


    Zed’s senses sharpened, and he could hear their voices clearly as if they were standing right beside him, the words carrying with an almost eerie clarity.


    “I say it again, brother, I saw him fly!” Emilia’s voice was insistent, a note of excitement mixed with disbelief. Lane’s reply came in a calm, measured tone. “Alright, let’s say he can really fly. What could be the reason the Emperor would send a Judge to a backwater place like this?” There was a brief silence, the question hanging in the air like a cloud before Mario''s voice chimed in, his tone wary and uncertain. "Maybe there''s more going on here than we know. Something the rest of us aren''t seeing."


    Zed’s focus shifted, cutting off the conversation from the town hall as he shifted his senses to the town. His mind brushed against the murmurs of daily life—whispers, footsteps, distant conversations—but then one voice stood out, raw and filled with frustration.


    “Just how long do you think we can hold?” The voice was gruff, edged with anxiety. “I’m telling you. This cursed Count? He really wanted to humiliate the Prince.” There was a sharp, bitter pause, followed by the sound of something heavy being spat onto the ground.


    Zed’s curiosity piqued, the Count? And now a Prince? Emilia’s brother? It was clear something was brewing beneath the surface. Zed let his senses stretch even further, feeling the pulse of the town''s outskirts. The harsh voices cut through the air, thick with urgency and frustration.


    “Soldiers! Let’s go!” The first voice barked, rough with authority. “We need to finish lining these sandbags before that cunt of a Count ever thinks of pounding us again! We need these double-layered! Let’s go!”


    The tension was palpable, a desperation clinging to the words. The sound of movement followed—boots crunching against the dirt, the dragging of heavy bags, the metallic clinks of weapons. But before Zed could focus fully on the scene, another voice rose, quieter, more resigned. “For two weeks, they didn’t do anything, just waiting above that plateau, feasting... What could possibly have spurred that idiot to attack us?”


    The mention of the plateau sent a flicker of intrigue through Zed. They were preparing for something, clearly. But what had provoked the sudden shift?


    Zed activated his anti-gravity module, the sensation of weightlessness pulling him upward as he glided effortlessly through the air. In mere minutes, he reached the plateau—the very place the soldiers had mentioned, the one that had been looming over the town like a silent predator.


    The plateau was strategically positioned, a natural high ground that provided a perfect vantage point over the entire town below. It jutted out from the surrounding landscape, its rugged edges carved by wind and time, offering an unobstructed view of the town’s layout. From here, Zed could see every detail: the winding roads that led to the center, the scattered buildings, and the clusters of people moving about their day.


    The camp was alive with activity, yet there was an underlying sense of calm—a readiness that hung over everything. Some soldiers were lounging in hammocks strung between the sturdy rocks and trees, their bodies swaying slightly with the breeze, oblivious to the distant world. Others were tending to their weapons, sharpening blades or inspecting armor, their focus intense and measured. The faint metallic sounds of tools against steel punctuated the otherwise quiet hum of the camp.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    A few soldiers stood in small groups, chatting in hushed tones. Their conversation was inaudible from this distance to normal people, but the body language was unmistakable—huddled close, heads bent, speaking with a mixture of urgency and caution. Every so often, a laugh or a raised voice would break the otherwise hushed tone, but even these sounds seemed to blend with the wind, quickly swallowed by the vast openness of the plateau.


    Zed''s eyes narrowed as he scanned the camp for something more significant, his senses honing in on a tent that stood slightly apart from the rest. It was larger, sturdier, with reinforced poles and a thick, weathered flap. This was the commander''s tent, the heart of their operation.


    From inside, Zed could hear raised voices, sharp and heated. One voice, firm and insistent, cut through the tension. “Sir, we should strike now, the Duke was clear in his instructions.” There was a pause, followed by the sound of something being slammed, a moment of frustration palpable even through the distance.


    Then, the second voice, more irritated and filled with authority, barked back, “Yes, I know what the Duke said! But I am in charge here!” The words were punctuated with a violent shout. “And my command is the final say! And if I say we press on tomorrow, then we will do it tomorrow!”


    The tension in the voice was unmistakable—this was not just a disagreement over tactics. It was a clash of authority, a struggle for control in the midst of a high-stakes operation. Zed could feel the strain in the air, like a rope pulled taut, ready to snap.


    The sounds of muffled shuffling followed, and then there was silence—only the wind and the distant crackling of fires breaking the stillness. Whoever was inside that tent clearly needed to make a decision, and soon.


    The pleading voice continued, desperate, almost shaking with urgency. “But Count Orlok, they are on the ropes! If we do not take this opportunity, the Prince might make another bold move, and we won’t have any chance to capture him!” The words were heavy with concern, the speaker’s frustration apparent as he tried to press the matter.


    Count Orlok’s voice, cold and unwavering, cut through the tension. “Like what you said, they’re on the ropes. What more could that bastard do?” His tone was dismissive, almost mocking. He seemed uninterested in the timing of the attack, as though the Prince’s fate was already sealed in his mind.


    The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the weight of the moment pressing down on everything. Then, with a finality that could not be questioned, Orlok’s voice rang out, filled with venomous authority. “Enough! This is my final instruction about this. We finish it. Tomorrow!!”


    The flap of the tent rustled as Count Orlok left, his presence quickly fading into the camp''s shadowy corners as he made his way to his quarters. Inside the tent, the two officers remained, tension hanging thick between them, neither making any move to rejoin their units.


    "That idiot!" one of them hissed, the words sharp and filled with disdain. He shook his head, clearly struggling to contain his frustration. The other officer, more cautious, glanced around nervously. "Hey, watch it. Someone might hear you."


    The first officer gave a small, cynical chuckle. "I’m sure someone heard it, but they just don’t care. You know very well that man isn’t well-liked by the troops." His voice dropped into a mutter, as if the very mention of Orlok''s name made his bitterness rise.


    There was an unspoken understanding between the two officers, a shared frustration that ran deeper than the simple exchange of orders. "On the first week we arrived, what did he do? Nothing!" The first officer spat the words out, his hands flinging through the air, emphasizing his bitterness. "We advised him to surround the town to prevent them from freely maneuvering, but he didn’t do that." He shook his head in disbelief, his expression darkening. "Now, the Prince has complete access to the lake and was able to procure food and gunpowder from the port in the east."


    The other officer''s jaw tightened, frustration pulling his features into a grimace. "I know," he muttered, the weight of their failure hanging heavily on him. The first officer, clearly not finished, continued, his voice rising with the heat of his anger. “And then, we told him to bombard them with cannons, that way their defenses would be softened before we charge in. But he said no." The officer’s words were sharp, each one cutting deeper. "According to him, it was a waste of gunpowder. Now, what happened to the charge? Almost three hundred of our soldiers were dead or injured!”


    The second officer winced, his frustration mirrored in the lines of his face. They had known the town''s defenses were strong, fortified, and well-prepared. Yet the Count''s stubborn refusal to soften them with cannon fire had cost them dearly.


    The second officer then remarked, “Good thing the Duke’s message arrived on time. Or else we would have brought those cannons just to rust here.” He let out a dry laugh, though it held no real humor. The thought of their precious artillery, idle and ineffective, gathering dust in the middle of the camp was almost too much to bear. If the Duke hadn’t intervened, all their efforts would have been for nothing, their guns sitting uselessly as their forces continued to falter.


    The first officer’s lips twisted into a sneer, clearly disgusted by the thought. “A waste of resources. A waste of lives.” His gaze turned toward the camp''s horizon, the distant town below—now far more entrenched than before. “We could have taken them weeks ago if we had just done things properly.”


    "And now we’re stuck in this position, waiting for a strike that might not even be the right time. He''s ignored every piece of advice we’ve given him.” They both knew it. Orlok’s indecision had already cost them dearly, and now, their forces were at a disadvantage. The Prince, with his newfound access to supplies, was not just holding on—he was regaining strength. And the Count’s delayed actions had only made their situation worse.


    With nothing more of significance to see or hear, Zed made his decision. He withdrew his senses, letting the ebbing currents of information fade into the distance. His focus shifted to his anti-gravity module, activating it once more. The familiar hum of the device filled the air around him as he ascended, lifting himself from the plateau with ease.


    He flew silently, cutting through the cool air toward the direction of the lake, the wind rushing past him as the landscape below began to shift. The plateau’s rugged terrain soon gave way to more open fields, and the once-distant lake slowly came into view, its dark waters glistening beneath.