Plan

A few weeks before the Battle at Hell's Gate…

"Focus!" Roof barked. "Stop anticipating their moves. React to them. How did you even manage to beat me I wonder. It would've taken you atleast a hundred lifetimes at this rate, clearly it was a fluke!"

The Master of the Divine Snake Cult was now training with some of the cultists, the ones who had been kidnapped and brainwashed into following the Cult.

For a moment it looked as though Aziz was about to say something back, choosing to grit his teeth instead, eyes flashing in frustration. 

Aziz sidestepped, pivoting to avoid a blow, but the distraction cost him. In his blind spot, Cultist Envidra spear swept low, striking the back of Aziz's knee.

With a grunt of pain, Aziz dropped to one knee, his leg buckling under the blow. His grip tightened on the wooden sword as he tried to regain his footing, but the cultists didn't relent. 

Cultist Pridean lunged forward, thrusting his spear toward Aziz's exposed side.

Roof took a step forward, his voice carrying a note of challenge. "You think you can lead like this?! But you're on your knees from a simple training exercise! How do you expect to face the real threats waiting outside these walls?"

Aziz's gaze snapped up, fierce and unyielding. Even from the ground, there was a wild intensity in his eyes, a refusal to back down.

He surged to his feet, gritting through the pain in his leg, and adjusted his stance. This time, his movements were slower, more controlled. 

The cultists attacked again, but Aziz didn't rush to meet them. Instead, he waited, his grip steady, his gaze following their movements with careful precision.

Roof watched with approval. Aziz was learning.

The cultists backed away, breathing heavily, and Roof called out, "Pridean, Envidra and Glutta stand down!"

Names picked by Roof for their brainwashed cultists. The cultists when not training against Aziz, trained under Roof. 

Roof called them them Silent Thralls. A specialized unit under the direct control of the Cult Master. 

Aziz straightened, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. 

Roof hobbled over, leaning on his crutch, a rare glint of approval in his eyes. "You did better this time. Control, not rage—that's what makes a true warrior."

Aziz wiped the sweat from his brow, staring down at the rough wooden sword in his hand. 

"Isn't it strange," he muttered, almost to himself, "that a Schlieffen would be teaching me restraint?"

Roof chuckled, a dark, amused sound. 

"Don't mistake me, Master Ghost. I'm simply making sure you're ready. When you do unleash your full power, you'll have the skill to back it up."

Aziz met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. The training was brutal, unrelenting, but Roof was right. 

In the depths of this pit, surrounded by shadows and firelight, he was forging himself into something greater.

"Again," Roof commanded, taking a step back to resume his position.

Aziz raised his sword, his expression fierce, and prepared for the next round.

Just then, footsteps echoed from the entrance of the training hall as the three cultists thrust their spears forward. 

At a mere gesture from Aziz—a hand raised sharply in the air—all three cultists froze, their spears hovering mere inches from his body. 

Their eyes were glazed, obedient. His control over them had become second nature.

Marcus stepped out of the shadows, his quiet presence slipping into the light. 

He took in the scene with a quick, assessing glance—Aziz, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily; Roof, sitting against the wall with his crutch close by; and the three cultists, frozen like statues. 

In his arms, Marcus held a large bag, the heavy bulges inside revealing its contents.

Both Aziz and the limping Roof gathered around Marcus, opening the bag, revealing an arsenal of gleaming swords, short spears, and small blades wrapped in cloth. 

Roof let out a low whistle. "With this, we can arm the cultists properly. No more sharpened sticks."

 Sensing Aziz's thoughts, Roof raised an eyebrow. "I know what you're thinking," he said.

"Oh, do you now?" Aziz's tone was flat, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Roof shrugged, smirking. "The sponsors have been pouring more resources into us lately. These weapons, the extra food… It must be costing them dearly. Something big is about to happen."

Aziz turned one of the short spears in his hand, feeling the weight of it, the cool metal a stark contrast to the crude wooden practice weapon he'd been using. "And what do you think that 'something' is?"

Roof's smirk faded, and a heavy silence settled between them. Even Marcus, mute as he was, was deafeningly silent.

War. That single word hung between them, unspoken but undeniable.

Roof's eyes narrowed as he saw a glint of scales in Aziz's hair—the subtle flicker of Mal, his ever-present black-death companion. 

"Is Lord Raven finally going to make his move?" Roof murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Aziz glanced over his shoulder at the three cultists, their glassy eyes fixed straight ahead. 

"We've been hitting the Iron Hearts' supply lines steadily. It seems Raven has had enough of waiting and watching. If they've increased the flow of supplies to us, then he must be preparing to strike soon."

Marcus and Roof nodded in silent agreement. The tension in the room was thick, each of them acutely aware of the coming storm.

"Marcus," Aziz said, his voice cutting through the silence. "You and Delilah will sort out the weapons and distribute them evenly among the cultists. Make sure they're equipped and ready. I'll be sending them out soon, so I want each of them armed and supplied. Gather the snake meat from the pit—each of them should have a week's worth."

Marcus nodded immediately, and headed back down the tunnel, moving with purpose. His gaze never flickered towards Roof, not even for a second. The animosity between them was unspoken but palpable.

Roof didn't regret what he'd done to Marcus in the past—manipulating, bullying, breaking him down. It was all part of the character he had needed to play. 

Having wanted Nessa to believe Roof was a brute who could be controlled, someone who would do anything for her attention. 

It also attracted a certain type of sponsor—one who rewarded ruthlessness with gifts and resources. Eventually, he had started receiving cryptic messages scrawled on scraps of parchment tucked in with each supply drop. The words had been blunt, simple, and suited Roof's temperament perfectly:

Kill them all.

It was a win-win. 

With the sponsor's support, Roof had been able to build his power base among the King's Guard, positioning himself as a serious player in this twisted game. He'd have the resources to strike down Nessa, to outlast even the strongest contenders. And with the chaos of the Peklo Forest, it was easy for the other children to get so entangled in the feuds and factions that they'd forgotten they were in a deadly trial to begin with.

Aziz caught Roof's smirk and leveled him with a steady gaze. "What's so amusing?"

Roof shrugged, adopting a casual tone. "Just thinking how convenient all this is. Gifts from our sponsors, pieces falling into place… Everyone is so busy fighting each other, they've forgotten we're all still pawns on the Order's board."

"We'll deal with the Order in time. First, we take care of Raven," Aziz replied, his voice calm but cold.

Roof hesitated, raising an eyebrow. "We could make peace with him."

There was a subtle shifting of scales in Aziz's hair, and Mal's purple eyes flashed for a split second, the faint hiss echoing a clear warning. 

Roof sighed, shrugging. As powerful as Aziz was, Roof still didn't understand the need for vengeance over a few petty wrongs. But he knew better than to question a superior—it was simply not the noble way.

"Very well," Roof said, masking his irritation with a smile. "We'll need a plan, then, if we're to take him down."

Aziz's lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes gleaming with something darker. "It's a good thing I have one."

Roof's interest piqued, and he raised a brow. "You do?"

Aziz folded his arms, his expression unreadable. "Do you remember when I asked you about noble customs?"

Roof nodded slowly. "Yes, you were curious about the oath I swore to you… what of it?"

"You told me about other customs too. The Sacred Duel," Aziz said, his tone smooth, calculated.

For a moment, Roof frowned, not following. "The Sacred Duel? But… you're not a noble. Raven would never agree to—"

Roof stopped mid-sentence as understanding dawned on him. His eyes widened as he looked at Aziz, as though seeing him in a new light.

 The pieces were falling into place in his mind, and his lips parted in a small, incredulous "Oh."

Aziz's smirk widened, and the faint hiss from Mal echoed ominously in the domed training hall, a sound that sent a chill down Roof's spine. Aziz's plan was audacious, but if it worked… if he could pull it off…

"You intend to challenge him," Roof breathed, his voice tinged with awe and a hint of disbelief.

Aziz inclined his head, a faint smile on his lips. "The Sacred Duel is a matter of honor, isn't it? And as you explained, a noble cannot refuse such a challenge without bringing shame upon themselves."

"But Raven… he wouldn't—" Roof stammered, still caught off guard by the sheer boldness of the idea.

"He wouldn't refuse," Aziz interrupted, his voice firm. "Not if he believes it's his honor at stake. And you know as well as I do that nobles are bound by their pride."

Roof fell silent, contemplating the strategy. It was risky, but if Aziz managed to provoke Raven into a duel, it would give them an opening—a chance to take down the Iron Hearts without facing the full brunt of their forces.

"But how?" Roof asked, still skeptical. "Even if you manage to challenge him, what makes you think he'd see you as worthy of such a duel?"

Aziz tilted his head, his purple eyes gleaming with something almost feral. "That's where you come in, Roof Von Schlieffen."

"Me?" Roof asked, genuinely surprised.

"You are a noble, are you not?" Aziz replied smoothly. "If you claim to be the Master of the Divine Snake Cult… if you claim that I am your champion, Raven would have to acknowledge it. He might hate it, but he can't ignore it."

"Consider it done," Roof replied. His gaze lingered on Aziz, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You know, for someone who wasn't born a noble, you certainly understand our ways well enough."

"I understand what I need to. Power, after all, doesn't belong to a bloodline. It belongs to the one who dares to seize it."

Roof couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in admiration. "I almost feel sorry for Raven. Almost."

With a final glance at Roof, Aziz turned and strode out of the training hall, Mal's obsidian scales glinting faintly in the torchlight as he moved. Roof watched him go, a strange feeling settling over him. 

If Aziz had his way, the forest would soon tremble beneath the name of the Divine Snake Cult.