Saint Cyril gave a slight nod, his eyes remaining closed. "You have done well, Valken," he said, his voice serene. "Maintaining a balance of pressure is paramount. We must not allow any single point to become the crack that bursts the dam. The Radiance of Truth protects the front lines."

The Ironspine Duke remained gazing out the window, his deep voice rumbling, "Balance is built upon a foundation of constant investment. Our reserves of Holy Radiance Stones, our military ordnance, and the very Life Force of our well-trained Priests and Knights—these are the weights on the scales. And these weights are being relentlessly consumed. What we need is to place an achievement of sufficient weight on the other side of the scales, and soon."

Just then, the fingers Saint Cyril Bishop had resting on his Scepter trembled violently!

Immediately after, the emblem of the Eye of Truth at the tip of the seemingly ancient Golden Scepter resting across his knees flared to life without warning!

Saint Cyril Bishop, who had kept his eyes closed this entire time, snapped them open!

In those eyes, usually filled with divine majesty, there was now an explosion of utter disbelief!

His eyes were locked on the glow at the Scepter’s tip, as if he were witnessing something far beyond anything he had anticipated.

At almost the exact same moment, the pupils of the Ironspine Duke, Hakon, contracted sharply!

He strode forward, his heavy war boots thudding against the floor, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over the Scepter.

Even the ever-calm Valkendu Metropolitan Bishop’s ice-blue eyes instantly grew as sharp as blades. A bone-chilling aura faintly radiated from him as he stared intently at Saint Cyril and the strangely active Scepter.

"This is...?" Valken’s voice was hushed, laced with a rare note of alarm. "An alert from the Eye of Truth? Is there a change in the passage? Or..."

"No..." Saint Cyril Bishop’s voice held a faint, almost imperceptible rasp. He seemed to be struggling to identify something, his gaze never leaving the Scepter. "It’s... the trajectory of the stars... It’s been thrown into disarray!"

He snapped his head up, his gaze like a lightning bolt shooting straight toward the Ironspine Duke, Hakon. His eyes were so sharp they seemed ready to pierce right through him. "Star Speaker! The ’sprout’ you prophesied... the ’key’ that was cast..."

The moment Saint Cyril’s words fell, a complex storm of emotion churned in the depths of Ironspine Duke Hakon’s gray-blue eyes.

Astonishment, disbelief, and a hint of something inscrutable.

He didn’t answer Cyril’s question directly, instead saying slowly:

"A complication has arisen..."

He lifted his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the glowing Scepter in Saint Cyril’s hands.

"The ’key’..." he paused, "has deviated from its preset trajectory. It didn’t patiently search for the keyhole. Instead... it smashed its way toward the ’protection’ around the lock’s core."

"Deviated from its trajectory?" Valken’s voice was as cold and hard as iron. "What does that mean? Failure? Or are you saying..."

His ice-blue gaze flickered toward the Scepter, his meaning unspoken but clear.

Ironspine Duke Hakon slowly shook his head, his gaze growing profound once more.

"Not necessarily failure... but the ’seed’ may no longer grow," he said, his voice low. "At least, it won’t grow into the ’fruit’ we originally envisioned—one that could be carefully guided and harvested."

He paused, and a nearly ruthless glint flashed in his gray-blue eyes.

"The ’key’ has smashed the ’protection’ and ignited a ’source of fire.’ The ’birds’ and ’vermin’ in the ’orchard’ will all be drawn to its ’light.’"

The glow from the Scepter in Saint Cyril Bishop’s hand began to slowly recede, but the serenity on his face was gone.

He gripped the Scepter tightly, his knuckles turning white, his gaze locked with that of Ironspine Duke Hakon.

Only absolute calm remained in Valkendu Metropolitan Bishop’s ice-blue eyes.

"Then, gentlemen, does our current strategy need to be adjusted? As for the fortress’s defensive line, do we continue to maintain the balance, or do we need to brace for the impact of whatever this... ’light’ might attract?"

Ironspine Duke Hakon and Saint Cyril Bishop exchanged a look.

After a moment, the Ironspine Duke spoke slowly.

"Lord Valken, the balance on the front lines must be maintained. It is our foundation. But at the same time... we must pay closer attention to anything drawn by the ’light.’ This alert from the Eye of Truth is a clear signal. Something ancient in the depths of the Deep Red Wilderness has been stirred."

Saint Cyril nodded. He glanced out the window toward the perpetually gloomy Eagle’s Beak Peak, his voice low.

"Inform Quentin. Have him intensify our scouting efforts. Prepare for the arrival of the ’birds’ and the ’vermin.’"