A week slipped by in the blink of an eye following their little spar.
Mahoraga stood at the edge of the Southern Battlefield, staring down at the vast stone legions of Nether arrayed before him.
His actions on the Western Battlefield had netted him a particular memory, one wrested from the fallen commander he had slain amidst the carnage.
From that single memory, a plan slowly began to take shape in his mind. For the first time since entering the Nightmare, he could see a clear path to its conquest.
The Memory from the Western Battlefield had shown him the path forward, but one piece alone wasn't enough. Three more Memories remained scattered across the other battlefields, held by commanders who had yet to die. And so, the Southern Battlefield would become the first battlefield he intended to subjugate.
"You ready?"
Mahoraga quietly whispered in his mind.
"...As ready as I can be," Dharma said merrily. Unfortunately, the cheerfulness in his voice inspired very little confidence.
Mahoraga suddenly found himself regretting his impulsive decision.
Perhaps this was why Masters were so rare.
If every Second Nightmare was even remotely comparable to this one, then the scarcity of Ascended among the Children of War was hardly surprising.
Those who had survived the Second Nightmare and emerged as Masters could hardly be called ordinary Awakened. They must have been extraordinary beings, the finest of their generation, possessing talent, resolve, and strength far beyond the norm.
But alas, this was not the time for long, drawn-out monologues. Every preparation that could be made had already been made. Every risk had already been weighed. Every path of retreat had already been severed by his own hand.
There was no point in dwelling on uncertainty now.
The pieces had been set upon the board. The dice had been cast. Whether his ambitions would culminate in glory or catastrophe was no longer something he could influence through thought alone.
Only action remained.
Mahoraga slowly exhaled and tightened his grip around the hilt of Dying Breath.
The vast battlefield stretched before him like a graveyard awaiting fresh corpses. Countless stone warriors stood motionless beneath the ashen sky, their silent ranks extending far beyond the horizon. Spears, swords, shields, and banners carved from ancient rock formed an endless sea of grey.
They waited.
And so did he.
A cold smile slowly spread across Mahoraga's face.
Enough planning.
Enough schemes.
The time for words had ended.
Now all that remained... was violence.
And if fate wished to stop him — then fate itself would have to bleed.
…
The lightless stone legion moved first.
They crashed into the shadow army like a relentless tide. Their movements were precise and disciplined, devoid of wasted motion or grand displays of strength. Every strike was efficient. Every step was deliberate.
Nether's host was truly ferocious.
The shadows, however, possessed fangs of their own.
Faced with a legion so ruthlessly efficient, they were not arrogant enough to believe they could overpower it through strength alone. Instead, they embraced the one advantage they possessed over their stone adversaries.
Intelligent thought.
The stone soldiers advanced without fear, without hesitation, and without a shred of individuality. They fought as though they shared a single mind… which meant that if one could predict that mind, one could break an entire army.
Thanks to the authority vested in them by the King, Mahoraga's squad possessed an unusual freedom. They were free to move between battlefields at will and command any force fighting under the King's banner.
Obviously there were some limitations to this.
But it was still a terrifying authority to wield.
Now where does the commander lie?
A hint of eagerness creeped into his thoughts.
Although eliminating the commander wouldn't completely cripple the army, it would create a significant enough distraction. More importantly, it would bring Mahoraga one step closer to his goal.
The stone army wasn't the type to surrender. If Mahoraga wanted to win this battlefield, then he would have to exterminate them.
Sanyma, Rath, and Tanya took their respective places in the vanguard disappearing into the vast sea of soldiers fighting at the front lines.
Mahoraga watched them go for a brief moment before turning his attention elsewhere.
The three of them had their own role to play.
He had his.
Unlike them, Mahoraga had no intention of participating in the battle directly.
At least not yet.
His gaze swept across the battlefield, searching through the endless ranks of stone warriors. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers clashed below, turning the desert into a chaotic mess of steel, stone, and shadows.
Finding a single commander amidst all of that was easier said than done.
And finally, first blood was drawn.
That single death marked the end of any semblance of order. The battle erupted in full force as both armies threw themselves at one another without hesitation. Stone warriors were smashed apart. Shadow creatures were ripped to pieces. Corpses began piling across the battlefield faster than anyone could count.
In the span of a few breaths, the desert had transformed into a slaughterhouse.
Mahoraga ignored all of it. His eyes continued roaming across the battlefield, searching through the endless sea of stone warriors for a single individual.
The soldiers didn't matter. The army didn't matter. Even victory itself was secondary. As long as the commander died and the Memory fell into his hands, everything else could be dealt with later.
A slight frown appeared on his face.
Where are you...?
The battlefield was simply too large.
The commander could have been directing the battle from the rear, creating a chasm of seperation between. He could have also hidden himself amongst his soldiers, concealing himself in the vast army. Hell, he could have already joined the fighting and Mahoraga would never know.
His fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of Dying Breath as he continued observing the battlefield.
Then a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
Mahoraga's eyes narrowed.
The stone army fought like a single organism which meant that there must be a mind commanding it — someone actively directing the battlefield.
A slow smile spread across Mahoraga's face as he shifted his attention away from individual soldiers and began studying the battlefield as a whole. Instead of searching for a person, he searched for influence.
He looked for the place where the army reacted first.
Minutes passed.
Then the smile on his face widened.
Far behind the main battle line, concealed amongst several heavily fortified formations, a section of the stone legion behaved differently from the rest. The changes were subtle enough that most people would never notice them, but once he saw them, they became impossible to ignore.
Every major adjustment seemed to originate from that area.
The commander was hiding.
Unfortunately for him, Mahoraga had finally found his trail.
The Sleeper glanced briefly toward the distant vanguard where Sanyma, Rath, and Tanya were busy trying not to die. Satisfied that they were still alive, he turned back toward the hidden position and allowed a dangerous grin to spread across his face.
Then, without another moment of hesitation, Mahoraga slipped away from the battlefield's edge and vanished into the chaos, making his way toward the true objective.