SSS-Ranked Trash Hero: I Was Scammed Into Being Summoned-Chapter 97: War Cry

The evening sun dipped below the jagged peaks of the demon realm, casting long, bloody shadows across the stone floor of the complex. Lena stood in the center of the servent wing, adjusting her white gloves. Her back ached from standing at attention all day, but her work was only just beginning. She picked up a silver tray. It was empty, a perfect excuse to be out in the halls after hours.

"I am just checking the kitchen supplies," she told the guard at the end of the hall.

The guard grunted. He didn’t even look at her face.

Lena moved with a quick, silent pace. She didn’t go toward the kitchens.

Instead, she turned into the narrow servant corridors that ran like veins behind the main rooms. These were the paths the high-born princes never saw. She pulled a small piece of charcoal from her pocket and made a tiny mark on the wall. She was mapping the exits.

She noted every guard rotation she had seen. She counted the steps between the main hall and the hidden back stairs.

As she rounded a corner near the West Wing, she heard voices. They were low and hurried. She stopped and pressed her ear against the cold stone.

"Is the shipment ready?" a man asked.

"Not yet," a woman replied. Lena recognized the voice. It was one of Prince Mireth’s lead maids. "The transition is delicate. We cannot have the others finding out about our guests."

"They won’t wait forever," the man said. "They are already inside the building. If the imperial guard finds out we brought them here, our heads will be on spikes by dawn."

"They’re in no position to put heads on spikes," the woman hissed. "Just get the it ready."

Lena held her breath until the last echo of footsteps dissolved into silence. They. How many uninvited forces were prowling this place, she couldn’t begin to guess.

She took a different path back to avoid the suspicious maids. On her way through a side gallery, she saw a figure sitting on a stone bench.

It was Prince Syrel. He was alone, which was strange. Every other prince had at least five guards standing around them at all times. Syrel was just sitting there, reading a small book by the light of a floating spark.

He looked up as Lena approached. She froze for a second, then bowed low.

"Pardon me, Your Highness," Lena said. "I did not mean to disturb your reading."

Syrel looked at her for a long time. His eyes were calm, but they felt like they were peeling back her skin to see what was underneath.

"You are Caelum’s new servant," Syrel said. His voice was soft.

"I am, sir," Lena replied.

"You walk very quietly, Lena," he said. "Most servants clump around like heavy cattle. But you move like a ghost."

"I try not to be a burden, sir."

Syrel nodded slowly. He didn’t look angry. He actually looked a bit amused.

"Go on then," he said, turning back to his book. "Caelum is waiting for his tea. He gets grumpy when the moon gets high. You should probably be there."

"Thank you, sir," Lena said. She hurried away, her heart beating a little faster.

She made her way back to Caelum’s private wing. When she entered his room, she found him sitting by the large window. He wasn’t reading or looking at maps. He was just staring out at the capital city in the distance. The lights of the city looked like fallen stars against the dark earth.

Lena set the tray down and began to prepare the tea. She moved the porcelain cups with practiced ease. The clinking of the spoon was the only sound in the room for a long time.

"You took a long time to find the tea leaves," Caelum said without turning around.

"The kitchen was crowded, sir," Lena lied smoothly.

She brought the cup to him. He took it but didn’t drink. He just held it, letting the steam rise into his face.

"Sit," he said.

"Sir?"

"There are no guards here. Sit down. I am tired of looking at the back of your head while you bow."

Lena sat in the chair across from him. They sat in silence for five minutes. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was heavy. It felt like they were both waiting for the other to break.

"The capital looks different from here," Caelum said suddenly. He pointed out toward a dark patch in the city center. "That area used to be a garden. A long time ago."

"It looks like a barracks now," Lena observed.

"It is," Caelum said. "It was burned down during the third rebellion. I remember the smell of the smoke. It stayed in the curtains of this palace for three years. No matter how much the servants scrubbed, the smell of burnt roses remained."

Lena looked at him closely. "You were here during the rebellion? The history books say that was fifty years ago."

Caelum gave a short, dry laugh. "Books say many things. I learned to walk in these halls. I know every stone of this place better than I know my own face."

He stopped, as if realizing he had said too much. He took a sip of his tea and went back to staring out the window. He didn’t thank her, but he didn’t tell her to leave either. They stayed there until the tea went cold.

The next morning came too quickly. The sun was bright and harsh, and the air in the main hall was thick with the smell of expensive incense. The second session of the conference was about to begin. Lena stood in her usual spot, two steps behind Caelum’s chair.

The topic of the day was the border of the human empire.

"The humans are building towers," Prince Mireth shouted, slamming his hand on the table. "They are moving their knights closer to the Black River. We should strike now before they set their roots."

"They are building watchtowers, not fortresses," Syrel said calmly. "They are afraid. If we attack, we give them a reason to unite. Right now, they are just bickering kings."

The argument escalated with a speed that made the air in the chamber feel thin. Prince Mireth’s face was a mask of jagged fury, his teeth bared as he leaned over the map of the borderlands.

"Watchtowers do not require foundations forty feet deep, Syrel!" Mireth spat, his finger stabbing at a charcoal-marked point on the parchment. "I have seen the reports from the scouts. They are hauling white stone from the southern quarries,stone that has been treated with anti-magic salts. Every day we sit here discussing ’nuance’ is another day they stack the bricks of our cage."

Syrel merely leaned back, the light from the high windows catching the silver embroidery on his sleeves. "And if we strike those bricks now, we prove their propaganda right. The human kingdoms are fractured. The King of Oakhaven hates the Duke of Aris. But the moment a demon legion crosses the Black River to tear down a pile of rocks, they will forget their petty squabbles. They will become a single blade, and that blade will be pointed at our throats."

Lena watched Caelum. He hadn’t spoken a word since the session began. He sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on a small, flickering candle at the center of the table. To anyone else, he looked bored, perhaps even dismissive. But Lena saw the way his thumb rhythmically traced the rim of his empty cup. He was listening to the rhythm of the argument.

"The humans have found a way to bridge the gap," Mireth continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. "These towers aren’t just for sight. They are being built on the ley lines. If they complete the circuit, they won’t need an army to hold the border. They will have a wall of light that we cannot cross."

A heavy, suffocating silence followed. The mention of ley lines changed the gravity of the room.

Suddenly, the massive iron-bound doors at the back of the hall groaned. The sound was like a physical blow. The guards, who had been standing like statues, snapped into deep, trembling bows. Lena followed suit, dropping her head until she saw only the polished black marble of the floor.

The temperature in the room plummeted. The scent of fear and death filled the air.

It wasn’t the Emperor himself who entered, but his Herald, a man whose skin looked like grey parchment and whose eyes were nothing but hollow pits of violet fire. He carried a staff made of twisted obsidian that hummed with a low, vibrating frequency.

"The Emperor has heard enough," the Herald said. His voice didn’t sound like it came from his throat; it sounded like it was being projected directly into their minds.

Mireth straightened his back, his bravado wavering for the first time. Syrel stood up, his face losing its calm composure. Caelum remained seated for a heartbeat longer than the others, a subtle act of defiance that only someone standing behind him would notice, before he too rose.

The Herald stepped toward the table, the obsidian staff clicking against the stone. He didn’t look at the princes. He looked at the map, and with a wave of his hand, the ink began to smoke and boil. The markings for the human towers turned a deep, bruised purple.

"You squabble over ’why’ and ’how,’" the Herald whispered. "The Emperor does not care for your theories. He cares for the result. These towers are an insult to the crown. They are a tether that seeks to pull the stars down from our sky."

He turned the violet fire of his gaze toward the three princes. "The conference is over. The debate is finished. His Imperial Majesty has made his decision."

Lena felt a chill crawl up her spine. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, but she could feel the weight of the Herald’s presence passing over her like a shadow.

"Prince Mireth," the Herald declared. "You desire war. You shall have the preparation of it. Prince Syrel, you desire caution. You shall provide the intelligence. And Prince Caelum..."

The Herald paused, his gaze lingering on the prince Lena served.

"You shall be the the reaper."

The Herald reached out and tapped the map. The purple ink flared, then died out, leaving scorched holes where the human towers had been marked. The smell of burnt paper filled the room.

"The humans believe they are building a defense," the Herald said, his voice cold and final. "They believe that by the next moon, their ’Great Circle’ will be complete and our influence will be severed from the mortal realms forever. They are mistaken."

He leaned in, the violet fire in his eyes expanding until it seemed to fill the entire chamber.

"The Emperor has given you a specific task, above all others. You are to depart for the borderlands tonight. There is to be no formal declaration. But you are to ensure, by whatever means necessary, that the tower construction must not be completed."