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The others were filing into the chamber now. Some looked about as discouraged as he felt. Others were more poised, guarded. Veterans of this place, like him.

He felt like a kid again, in the worst possible sense of the phrase. A mere child.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be long past these feelings of inadequacy. As far as servants went, he was getting up there with the rest of them. His soul power was nothing to sneeze at. He could use pan-rozum, for god's sake.

He wasn't weak. He was strong. One of the strongest in Abolish, in fact. The Marauder of Calthos, they called him. Caster the Immovable, they called him.

And he'd been working on his image, too. Calm. Collected. Measured. Polite. Different from the men under his command. No longer acting the fool or the lunatic like so many others in Abolish.

So why, then, had the attack failed so miserably? Why had Ivan been captured by the bloody Sunsmith, of all people?

And why had Gohvis been able to punch him so hard that he nearly exited the troposphere?

It didn't make sense. The gap in strength between them should not have been that wide.

He hadn't even been able to look his own men in the eye after suffering such an absurd degree of humiliation.

And now, of course, he'd missed out on the opportunity to regain his honor. By the time he arrived at Uego, the battle was already over.

From the sound of it, Morgunov hadn't needed any help, but plenty of his peers had been able to grab a sliver of glory for themselves, at least. Vanguardian generals had been ripe for the picking, apparently.

But he'd been too slow.

Again.

How many times had he been shown up on the battlefield over the years? How many times had he been passed over by his superiors in favor of someone more "suited to the task at hand?" Someone more "versatile?"

Someone whose ability wasn't destruction.