Chapter 290: War Table

Bartholomew crossed the hall with deliberate steps, the sound of his boots reverberating off the stone floor. As soon as he passed the threshold, the massive doors slammed shut behind him with a metallic echo that rolled across the room. The air smelled of old wood and iron; torches fixed to the walls threw wavering light over tense faces. No one in that hall truly trusted anyone else. The truce was a paper mask stretched thin over a blade.

Eyes cut across the table like drawn knives. Luke felt Kruger’s stare pinning him, cold and unreadable. The assassin didn’t move, didn’t speak.

The king of Bastion moved closer to Allison. His silver crown caught the torchlight and broke it into pale streaks across his face. When he spoke, his voice came deep and smooth, wrapped in a respect that felt rehearsed rather than real.

“First of all, I want to make it clear I had nothing to do with the attack you suffered a few nights ago,” Bartholomew said. “Lady Rhiannon, I hope you can believe my words.”

Allison kept her expression neutral, hands resting on the oak table. “Let’s not pretend,” she answered evenly. “We’re past the masks. Everyone here knows you have no intention of finishing the tutorial.”

Luke stepped forward, his voice like a blade. “And you made sure to wipe out anyone who might try. Including Angelica.”

Up close, Bartholomew’s practiced smile made Luke’s blood run hotter.

Ronan cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. “I know everyone here has their differences, but we need to set some of them aside and actually talk.”

Mason leaned forward for the first time. “The rule was clear: no weapons out of inventory. But he’s wearing the crown.”

Bartholomew let out a low, almost amused breath. “I’m not stupid enough to take it off. I’m just a humble healer. The crown is my only defense.”

Silence settled over the table again. Torchlight threw long shadows on the walls, like specters watching from the edges.

“It’s fine,” Allison said at last. “I can cast magic without a wand or any other item. In the end it’s the same thing. We all know it wouldn’t take a heartbeat for everyone to draw their weapons if it came to that.”

She pulled out a chair and sat, a deliberate move to signal openness to dialogue. One by one, the others followed, settling into their places. On one side sat the key members of Haven; on the other, Bastion’s representatives. Between them stretched a gulf of silence filled only by the faint moan of wind against the windows.

Ronan glanced from face to face, visibly uncomfortable, waiting for someone to speak first. Finally, he raised his voice.

“Let me start by saying I’m neutral here. The last few days in Bastion have been… complicated. I’m not taking sides. I’ll let you two lay out your positions.”

Allison laced her fingers on the table. “It’s simple. We want to return to Earth. Bartholomew wants to stay in this world. And to achieve that, he’ll stop anyone from reaching the goal.”

Bartholomew’s smile turned sharper. “And tell me, how exactly do you think you’ll handle the tutorial’s final challenge?”

“The same way we killed the Orc Lord and took the fortress,” Allison shot back. “Through cooperation and unity.”

“And how many losses did you suffer?” His voice had gone flat, probing.

“A few,” she admitted without flinching. “Death happens. But it could’ve been avoided. We were forced to take on impossible tasks without a single healer, with low-level people. Imagine what we could’ve done with Bastion’s strength behind us.”

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes but said nothing. His silence spoke louder than any reply.

“Fools,” he muttered at last. “You’re blinded by hope.”

“And you’re blind from losing,” Allison shot back, her voice steady.

His fists tightened on the table. “Tell me how you plan to move almost two thousand people out of the Safe Zone, across the Wild Zone and the Capital, all the way to the castle.”

They had rehearsed that answer days ago. No point hiding it now. Allison leaned forward, her tone calm but deliberate.

“Wooden boats down the river cutting through the Wild Zone to the Capital’s edge. After that, there’s another river. The rest I can’t say.”

Bartholomew exhaled, slow and heavy. “If you activate the third mechanism, you doom everyone. The Safe Zones will stop functioning and an army of Midnight Wardens will come to slaughter us.”

Allison let the silence stretch just long enough for his words to hang in the air. When she spoke again, her gaze moved not just to him but to Ronan as well.

“What do you think the mechanism fortress is for? What do you think the invasion events are about?”

“What are you saying?” Ronan’s brow furrowed.

He understood armies and tactics but not the secrets behind the mechanisms. In the days they had studied Bastion, Allison’s group had noticed that. Outside of Bartholomew and a few loyalists, practically everyone in Bastion wanted to go home. The faction’s power rested on that hope and on the King’s skill to hide the truth.

A voice cut through the hall before Allison could continue.

“Training.”

Every head turned. Out of the shadows between the columns stepped a tall, lean figure. Evangeline emerged from the dim light with measured steps, her eyes steady. Her presence shifted the room; even the torches seemed to burn quieter.

Bartholomew went pale, as though he had seen a ghost. “S-so it’s true… you’re alive.”

“Hello, Bart.” Evangeline walked to the table and took a seat at the far end, unhurried.

“I’m truly glad to see you again, Evie,” he said, trying to regain his composure.

She ignored the cordial tone. “Really? Last time you tried to kill me.”

He held her gaze without blinking. “Back then I had to. It was me against Marshall and his group. They would have beaten me and dragged everyone into a suicide mission. I had to cut out anyone who might oppose me. You were an unknown, but you clearly wouldn’t change your mind about going back to Earth. So, unfortunately, I acted.”

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Before the tension could snap further, Ronan broke in. “What do you mean by training?”

Evangeline leaned back, voice low but unwavering.

“Eight years here, through good days and hellish ones, taught me what the fortresses really are. They’re training grounds for invasion, siege, and control. The final challenge of the tutorial will trigger automatically when we do what?” She threw the question to the table.

“Activate the third mechanism,” Ronan answered instantly.

“Exactly. And the mechanism sits in the third and last fortress. Don’t you see? An army will descend on whoever activates the mechanisms. And where will those activators be?”

“In the fortress…” one of Bartholomew’s men muttered.

Allison set her hands flat on the table, voice steady. “Right. The final challenge is a full-scale invasion. We’ll have to survive inside the third fortress while the enemy comes for blood. If we survive, the path to the castle opens. We’ll pack everyone inside the fortress, reinforce the walls, lay traps, forge weapons, brew potions, stockpile resources, and then we trigger the mechanism.”

She drew in a slow breath, eyes flashing with determination. “When they come, we’ll be ready. It won’t be our all-in. It’ll be theirs. After we crush the last wave, we march to the castle with an army of survivors and finish this tutorial. No more running.”

Ronan ran a hand across his forehead, a short laugh slipping out. “You’re insane… but it’s a good plan.”