Chapter 1203: A New Front

"The plan to bait them failed."

The words came from a grotesque parody. A puppet, moving with jerky motions, poured itself a glass of wine, mimicking the exact way the Witch had done moments before. It took a delicate, mocking sip.

"The old guard is more cowardly than we imagined," the puppet continued in the Clown’s reedy voice. "They’ve lost the nerve to challenge real power. All they have left is the fading glory of the Four, using it to spook and herd the lost little lambs."

The Witch watched him from the corner of her eye, not with contempt, but with a flicker of something else. This version of the Clown, this theatrical puppet master, was far more tolerable than the schemer who pulled strings from the shadows.

"The intel was bad," the Witch said, her voice a low purr as she draped herself over a high-backed chair. She retracted a hand that had been tracing the rim of her goblet. "The giant, Orion, isn’t some unbeatable archlord. He’s a demigod. Everything we’ve faced so far has just been his avatars."

Her voice was soft, but laced with venom. "I suspect the Deputy Commander put him up to it. Taught him how to sandbag, how to play the long con, just waiting to screw us over. I’ve lost three powerful avatars to him, directly or indirectly. A giant with that kind of cunning... his mentor had to be Leonidas or Arthas. No question." She practically spat the names, the sting of being outplayed still fresh.

"A demigod?"

Even the Clown, through his puppet, couldn’t hide his shock. The two of them had sacrificed so much, burned so many bridges, just to get within sniffing distance of that kind of power. To learn that a rookie from the Champions Alliance was already there made their own long, arduous path feel like a fool’s errand.

"Is that reliable?" the Clown asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"I saw it with my own eyes. The power of fundamental Rules he commands... it’s purer than ours. It’s how he found a backdoor into The Dais of Judgment. My plan was flawless. It should have worked." Just thinking about Orion made her jaw clench. It had been a very, very long time since she’d been so thoroughly and repeatedly owned by a single opponent.

"Funny you should mention him," the Clown’s puppet said, tilting its wooden head. "I have my own intel on Orion."

"Oh?" That got the Witch’s attention.

"A short while ago, I sacrificed one of the Survivors to the Four. His name was Torin. A bit of an oversight on my part, I’ll admit. I was pulling the strings right behind him, and the coalition Orion had joined still managed to beat us. I’d heard Orion’s name from Torin a few times before that."

The Clown felt a pang of regret. Torin could have been a valuable piece if he’d had more time to cultivate him.

"Looking back, it’s clear Orion was playing the same game we were: farming Torin for his own ends. Heh... I bet he never expected me to show up and crash his party."

In truth, the Clown had no idea that Orion had been onto him from the start. One of his largest puppet factories was already on Alexander’s hit list, a farm just waiting to be drained.

"So you’re saying you know where Orion’s true form is?" The Witch sat up, her head cocked. A dangerous light gleamed in her eyes, a reflection of pure hatred.

"I do. But we can’t make a move on it now," the Clown said. "I’m going to turn that place into another Silverwood Realm. A brand new front."

He was never one to undersell his own brand of crazy. The Witch could already picture the horrific fate awaiting Orion’s home world, and she knew that whatever she imagined, the Clown’s rock-bottom depravity would find a way to sink lower.

"Once that new war is burning, it will split the attention of our old friends in the Alliance again," the Clown continued, his plan unfolding. "If we play our cards right, we might even be able to take a few more of them off the board for good. The situation isn’t nearly as bleak as you think, is it?"

A stiff, unnatural smile stretched across the puppet’s face.

"And what about Silverwood Realm?" the Witch asked. "Our Black Tower there is destroyed. We have no foothold on the continent."

It was true. Without a Black Tower, even the Cult of Four’s vast resources couldn’t establish a new base quickly. The Champions Alliance would be watching, and they wouldn’t let them get a foot in the door again.

"We still have the offshore Black Tower. A mobile base of operations, constantly on the move," the Clown countered. "If we’re careful, they’ll never find it."

They still had pieces on the board in Silverwood Realm. And as long as they had pieces, they could still play the game.

"You and I will send one more avatar each. We’ll help Pontiff Valerius unify the sea domains. Once the oceans are ours, we can summon a great tidal wave and lay siege to the continent again. The war isn’t over."

The Clown was genuinely excited by the prospect. To match wits with the likes of Edward, Arthas, and Alexander was the ultimate thrill.

"Besides," he added, "the Champions Alliance has no true members of the Sea Race. And if they do, none are at the demigod-level. If they had one, he would have shown up during the last battle. We still have plenty of opportunities."

His guess was dead-on. The Alliance had no demigod-level aquatic members. Even Kraken had only been brought over after the last war had ended.

"Listen, Clown, I’m not like you," the Witch snapped, "turning yourself into... whatever the hell you are now. You’ve got puppets to spare. I’m running low on viable avatars." She sighed, the fight going out of her. "Fine. This is the last one I’m sending to Silverwood Realm. The last time."

The Clown had convinced her.

"Don’t worry," he said, nodding his puppet head. "If this doesn’t work, we’ll just leak the coordinates for Silverwood Realm to the void. There are always... entities out there, bored and powerful, who would love to go make trouble for us."

"Then we’re done here," the Witch said, rising to her feet and heading for the exit.

"Oh, and by the way," she called over her shoulder, "the wine here is absolute trash. If I were you, I’d kill the winemaker. Or at least the guy who delivered it."

With a final, insolent sway of her hips, she was gone.

The Clown watched her leave, the puppet’s stiff lips pulling back into a faint, triumphant smirk.

I’m one step ahead of you, Witch.

It was true. On the path to becoming a demigod, he had pulled ahead. He was no longer just a pretender propped up by faith and divine power funneled to him by the Cult. He had sensed no trace of the Rules on the Witch, no sign that she had even begun the true ascension.

Soon, I will be a true demigod. And with the power of the Cult of Four as my cloak, I will be stronger than any of them. Stronger than anyone but the commander himself. Just you wait. You all looked down on me. I want to see the looks on your faces when I defeat you myself. Will it be disdain? Or that same old arrogance? Heh...