The dungeon beneath Valoria's keep was a grim maze of stone and shadow, lit by flickering Aether crystals that cast jagged patterns on the walls. Elian Valorian descended the narrow stairs, his Aetherforged Blade at his hip, its faint blue glow a stark contrast to the gloom. General Korran, his scarred face set in a scowl, and Veyra, the lean Shadow Rogue with piercing dark eyes, followed close behind. The air was heavy with the stench of damp earth and fear, punctuated by the clank of chains from the cell ahead.
The prisoner, a wiry man with a scarred face, knelt in chains, his tattered Syndicate cloak pooling around him. Two guards stood watch, their Aether-infused spears at the ready. Elian's Faith System interface flickered, showing a slight rise in Belief Points after his decisive council orders.
[Current Belief Points (BP): 4,800]
The loyalty of his court, bolstered by his handling of the coup and war preparations, fueled the system. Elian knew he'd need more resources soon—gold for supplies, crystals for defenses, or artifacts to arm his knights.
"Who sent you?" Elian demanded, his voice sharp in the dungeon's chill. The spy's eyes darted, his lips curled in defiance.
Veyra stepped forward, his movements fluid and predatory. "Speak, or I'll carve the truth from you," he growled, a dagger glinting in his hand. As a Shadow Rogue, Veyra's interrogation skills were unmatched, his presence a quiet menace that made the prisoner flinch.
Elian raised a hand, signaling restraint. "We're not barbarians. Answer, and you may live." He focused on the Faith System. "Show me artifacts for 4,800 BP."
[Common Dagger: 100 BP]
[Rare Truth Amulet: 1,500 BP]
[Epic Interrogation Ward: 3,000 BP]
The Truth Amulet could force honesty, perfect for this moment. "Convert 1,500 BP to Rare Truth Amulet," Elian thought. A silver amulet, pulsing with faint Aether, materialized in his hand, its runes glowing softly.
[Current BP: 3,300]
Elian held the amulet before the spy, its light pinning his gaze. "Speak, or this will tear the truth from your mind."
The spy's defiance crumbled, sweat beading on his brow. "Ironhold… and the Syndicate," he stammered. "They want your Aether mines. Duke Ravencrest promised them half the yield if I sabotaged your armory."
Elian's blood surged with anger. Ravencrest, the traitor behind the coup, was now in league with Ironhold. "What's their plan?" he pressed, the amulet flaring brighter.
"An ambush," the spy gasped. "Three days from now, at Dawn Pass. Ironhold's vanguard—5,000 knights and mages—will strike while Syndicate rogues poison your water supply."
General Korran's fist clenched, his voice a low growl. "We'll hold Dawn Pass, sire. Our forces are ready—2,000 strong, trained for battle."
Elian nodded, his strategist's mind spinning. Dawn Pass's narrow terrain favored defense, but the poison plot was a deadly threat. He turned to Veyra. "Take your rogues—your best operatives. Secure the water sources. No errors."
Veyra's eyes gleamed with resolve. "It's done, sire."
As they exited the dungeon, a messenger in clanking armor rushed toward them. "Your Majesty! A dwarven envoy from Crystalline Peaks demands an audience. They know of Ironhold's march and offer an alliance—for a steep price."
Elian's jaw tightened. The dwarves' aid could shift the odds, but their greed was legendary. With only three days until the ambush, every choice was a gamble. As he climbed back to the keep, the Faith System pulsed, a reminder of his power—and the fragile faith holding his kingdom together.