SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Chapter 373: Chapter 373: A Meeting Between Two Powers [V]

Elenara’s lips curved slowly.

It was not amusement. It was recognition.

”I am aware,” she said. ”Kaedor lacks the imagination required to orchestrate something of this scale.”

Her smile deepened, darkening at the edges. ”That does not absolve him.”

She stepped closer, the garden subtly adjusting to her presence, flowers tilting as if drawn toward her shadow. ”Intent does not erase consequence. He allowed it to happen. He failed to stop it.”

Her gaze hardened. ”For that, he will die.”

There was no hesitation in the statement. No room left for discussion.

”As agreed,” Elenara continued, her tone cooling back into control, ”the Thal’zar house will not be erased entirely. An heir will remain.” She inclined her head slightly. ”One. Watched. Restricted. Their authority reduced to formality.”

She met Valttair’s eyes directly.

”Under our supervision.”

A brief pause followed, deliberate in its weight.

”The true value,” Elenara said, ”is not the punishment itself. It is what comes after.” Her smile returned, measured now. ”A weakened house seated in the Council. Dependent. Predictable.”

Her fingers brushed a leaf absently. ”Votes can be guided. Outcomes shaped. Balance maintained—on our terms.”

The garden was quiet, listening without judgment.

Elenara studied Valttair’s expression, searching for confirmation she did not truly need. She found none—and did not require it.

”You understand this as well as I do,” she said calmly. ”This is not vengeance. It is positioning.”

Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer.

”And that,” she added softly, ”is why you suggested it in the first place.”

Valttair neither acknowledged the accusation nor rejected it. His expression remained composed, his posture unchanged, as though the words had passed through him without resistance. Silence, in this case, was not avoidance—it was precision.

Elenara watched him carefully.

That, in itself, was confirmation.

She exhaled softly, a sound closer to understanding than relief. ”Then we are aligned,” she said. ”Your influence in the Council will grow. With Thal’zar bound beneath us, their seat becomes leverage rather than uncertainty.”

Her tone held no bitterness. Only clarity.

”This arrangement benefits us both,” Elenara continued. ”Stability for the balance you value. Authority for the order I intend to preserve.”

She held his gaze, unchallenging, unguarded.

”There is no need for reproach,” she said. ”Nor for justification.”

The garden remained still, leaves unmoving, mana flowing in quiet equilibrium.

Valttair inclined his head by the smallest margin.

Elenara shifted the focus without ceremony.

”Then we move to structure,” she said.

With a measured gesture, the garden responded. Pale lines of mana traced briefly across the ground, sketching positions and movement before fading back into the soil.

”There are five houses aligned with Sylvanel,” Elenara stated. ”With Morgain now committed, that makes seven.”

Her eyes met Valttair’s. ”Allies. Acting in coordination.”

She did not hesitate before the next point.

”Your house will take the front,” she said. ”Morgain is a family of swords. Direct engagement suits you.”

Valttair did not object.

”The remaining houses will provide pressure from behind,” Elenara continued. ”Support, reinforcement, containment. We advance as one force, but with defined roles.”

She turned her attention inward, as though looking beyond the garden and into the tunnels beneath the Thal’zar stronghold.

”Inside the warren, we will divide into squads,” she said. ”Mixed formations. Each squad will include at least one member from every house. Balance is essential.”

Her tone was firm. Final.

”Command remains internal,” Elenara added. ”Each house appoints its own captains and leaders. Authority will be clear. Responsibility will be shared.”

A brief pause followed.

”These squads will be formed in advance,” she concluded. ”Prepared before the assault begins. Once we enter the tunnels, there will be no time for adjustment.”

The mana lines vanished completely.

Elenara looked back to Valttair.

”This is how we advance,” she said.

Valttair’s response came without delay. ”I will deploy squads five through nine,” he said. The statement was delivered with the same calm precision as everything else he had said since arriving.

Elenara’s eyes narrowed slightly.

”So,” she replied, ”the Morgain squadrons still exist.” A faint curve touched her lips. ”They have a reputation that outlived their visibility.”

She studied him for a moment longer. ”Why not use the first four?”

The question was posed evenly, but curiosity edged beneath it. Everyone in the Council knew of the Morgain squadrons. Very few knew anything about them—only their number, and what was left behind when they had last been deployed.

Valttair met her gaze.

”I do not favor personal questions,” he said. The answer was flat.

He continued without pause. ”It is unnecessary. This is a limited operation.”

His eyes sharpened, cold and certain. ”With you and me present, more would be excess.”

Elenara said nothing.

She understood what he had not said. The Morgain squadrons were not assigned lightly. They were not tools to be displayed, nor forces to be wasted.

And if Valttair judged squads five through nine sufficient—

Then whatever he kept in reserve remained well beyond what this battle required.

Elenara did not press the matter.

She remained silent, her expression composed, though her attention had sharpened in a way that was difficult to miss. The garden around them was calm, yet beneath that calm something lingered—an awareness that a boundary had been reached and deliberately left untested.

She knew what was said in the Council. Everyone did.

The Morgain squadrons were spoken of rarely, and never in detail. An elite force, acknowledged but undefined. Their number was known. Their outcomes were remembered. What they were capable of, precisely, was not.

Only the patriarch commanded them.

They were never placed under an heir’s authority. Never lent. Never displayed for reassurance or threat. When they moved, it was because Valttair himself had decided the situation warranted it—and when they withdrew, little was ever explained.

Elenara’s gaze rested on him, thoughtful.

Squads five through nine.

She understood the implication well enough.

Valttair was holding back.

Not out of caution, but confidence.

Whatever remained uncommitted was not reserved for contingencies within this war. It was reserved for matters beyond it—scales of conflict that neither Kaedor nor Icarus belonged to.

Elenara did not comment.

There was no accusation to be made, and no advantage to be gained by forcing clarity where none would be given. This was how Valttair operated. Power concealed was power preserved.

And if he deemed this assault worthy of only part of what Morgain could unleash, then the true extent of his capacity lay far beyond the tunnels they were about to descend into.

The garden stayed quiet.

Some truths, she knew, were not meant to be spoken aloud—only acknowledged, and accounted for.

”Is there anything else we need to address,” he asked calmly, ”or is Morgain simply to serve as the blade at the front?”

The question was practical. Precise. He did not frame it as a challenge, nor as a complaint. Just confirmation—whether all variables had been placed on the table, or if he was expected to move forward with incomplete information.

Elenara did not answer at once.

She turned her gaze back toward the heart of the garden, toward the layered roots and the slow, steady pulse of mana beneath them. For a brief moment, she seemed to be listening to something beyond the conversation—something older, deeper.

Then she looked back at him.

”There is,” Elenara said, her voice even, controlled, ”one more matter.”