THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Hours had passed since David began his grand briefing in the De Gor Mansion's meeting room, each minute heavy with revelations that slowly, steadily, dismantled the established certainties of his Shadows.

The initial tension had given way to a stunned, almost suffocating silence as David finished laying bare the terrifying truths of their immediate adversary.

The air, once crackling with strategic anticipation, now hummed with a different kind of energy: the cold, unyielding weight of impossible odds. Even the ambient hum of the ancient wards, woven into the very fabric of the mansion, seemed to falter, straining under the sheer magnitude of the information David had casually presented.

The Mistress of the Whispering Creed was, indeed, a witch. That much they had deduced through painstaking speculation and dangerous reconnaissance.

And she possessed the dreaded Puppet Mistress attribute, a rare and terrifying gift that allowed her to imbue constructs with fragments of her will, turning inanimate objects into deadly extensions of her power. Seraphina had grimly confirmed her speculations, her witch's intuition chilling her to the bone.

But that, as David had just explained, was not the terrifying part. Not truly.

The real threat, the true horror that now made the silence in the room scream, lay in the Mistress's unique puppets.

She controlled two creatures of unimaginable power, two abominations that defied conventional categorization, creatures forged in the deepest abysses of arcane lore.

They were, David had revealed with a casual flick of his marker on the whiteboard, stronger than most witches, more resilient, more deadly.

One was a Vampire Rot Knight, a beast they had already glimpsed, a being of grotesque elegance and raw, devastating force. The other… the other remained a terrifying blank, its true nature and capabilities beyond even David's extensive knowledge from 'the novel'.

A faint, almost imperceptible frown had crossed his face as he admitted this limitation, a rare moment where even his foresight proved imperfect.

"Against an undying being, against these… horrors," Elara whispered, her voice hoarse, her earlier frustration now replaced by a chilling realization of utter helplessness.

"We're essentially facing impossible odds." The weight of those words, spoken aloud, settled over them like a shroud. How could they fight what refused to die? How could they confront a power whose very existence was a paradox? The task suddenly seemed not merely dangerous, but suicidal. The vampire they had seen briefly was already a nightmare. The unknown puppet hinted at something even worse.

David, however, seemed utterly immune to the palpable dread that permeated the room. He merely leaned back in his chair, a faint, almost arrogant smirk playing on his lips, as if the concept of "impossible odds" was merely an amusing intellectual exercise. His eyes, glowing softly, seemed to mock the very notion of insurmountable challenges. "Precisely," he said, his voice calm, resonating with an almost theatrical certainty that was both reassuring and deeply unsettling.

"Which is why our approach must be… unconventional." He paused, letting the suspense build, his gaze sweeping over each tense face. "To gain her trust, to truly dismantle her operations, we have to bring down the vampire – if we're lucky enough that she summons it." He tapped the whiteboard, then returned his gaze to his Shadows, his smile widening. "And I assure you, I have countermeasures." The word hung in the air, a promise of salvation, or perhaps, another layer of his dangerous game.

***

The cool composure that Seraphina usually maintained, even in the face of profound magical threats, cracked. The revelations, combined with the sheer audacity of David's plan, broke through her careful control. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly across the polished floor, the sound harsh in the tense silence.

Her elegant coat, usually so pristine, seemed to sag, her shoulders hunched slightly as if under an invisible weight. Her eyes, usually analytical and sharp, were wide with a mix of disbelief, fear, and a burning indignation.

"Have you gone mad, David?!" Seraphina's voice, usually a calm murmur, rose sharply, laced with an edge of desperation. She didn't often question his methods, but this… this was beyond comprehension. "What do you mean I'll be the ace of this battle? Against an undying vampire, a creature of pure death magic? My spells... they are powerful to some extent, yes, but they cannot snuff out true undeath!"

"This is suicide! You're sacrificing me for some grand, impossible scheme!"

David, however, remained utterly unfazed by her outburst. He merely regarded her with that same calm, knowing gaze, a faint, almost pitying smile playing on his lips. He rose slowly, moving with deliberate grace from behind the table to stand before her. His presence, even without a conscious display of power, was commanding, unwavering.

"Sacrifice? My dear Seraphina," David murmured, his voice soft, yet resonating with an absolute conviction that brooked no argument. "Never. I am merely unleashing your true potential." His eyes, glowing faintly, seemed to pierce through her very essence, seeing the hidden depths she herself had yet to uncover.

"That particular vampire, the one born of the Mistress's darkest arts, possesses not one, not ten, but one hundred lives." He delivered the number with chilling precision, allowing the sheer impossibility of it to sink in. "And they all have to be snuffed out. Not just once, but every single one of them, utterly erased from existence."

He paused, letting the weight of the revelation settle, then continued, his voice lowering, explaining the intricate mechanics of their unique predicament, knowledge drawn directly from the 'novel's forgotten lore, a secret known only to him.

"This isn't a conventional vampire, not merely a creature of flesh and corrupted blood. It's an echo, a projection, tethered to a hundred different anchors in the void, each representing a 'life'. Conventional magic, even your formidable elemental magic, will only disperse its current form, allowing it to regenerate from another anchor. It's an undying specter, a nightmare that refuses to fade."

He stepped closer to Seraphina, his voice a low, intimate murmur meant only for her, yet audible to the others. "Your dormant skill, Seraphina," he continued, "the one connected to the very essence of Death, a nascent ability you are only just beginning to awaken, is the only key." He described, in hushed yet vivid tones, the nature of this hidden power: not simply causing death, but severing a being's fundamental connection to existence, to the cycles of life and rebirth.

It was a power that transcended elemental magic, touching upon the very fabric of reality itself. "Only your unique connection to the void, your capacity to manipulate the pathways between life and oblivion, can truly snuff out each of those hundred anchors. Only you can truly erase this creature from the universe, leaving no echo, no chance of return." His words were a blend of chilling scientific detail and the mystical grandeur of prophecy, all perfectly calculated to awaken the hero within her.

The weight of David's words settled heavily over Seraphina, but beneath the lingering shock, a new spark began to ignite in her eyes: not fear, but a dawning realization, a sudden understanding of a destiny she never knew she possessed. The "madness" of David's plan transformed into an elegant, terrifyingly precise surgical strike.

David turned then, his gaze sweeping over the rest of his Shadows, resting briefly on Elara, who still looked pale with worry, her anxiety for Salomonis and her county a visible burden. He offered her a confident, reassuring smile, a subtle nod that conveyed far more than words. "Everything will be okay, Elara," he murmured, his voice steady, laced with that familiar, almost paternal confidence. "Trust the plan. Trust us."

He clapped his hands, a sharp, decisive sound that cut through the lingering tension, signaling the end of the briefing and the beginning of execution. "Alright, everyone. We meet back here in precisely three hours. Our first order of business: we hunt Kars." His voice held a thrilling anticipation, the thrill of the hunt about to begin. "He will, unwittingly, lead us directly to the Inverted Cup, to the Mistress's lair. Once Kars is secured, the real work begins."

He paused, his gaze settling back on Seraphina, a knowing, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. The final words, delivered with a subtle intimacy that resonated uniquely with her, were a promise of shared purpose, a deepening bond. "After that… you and I, Seraphina, have work to do." It was a call to action, a challenge to embrace her dormant power, a silent invitation to master the impossible.

As his Shadows, now galvanized by a mixture of awe, renewed resolve, and a healthy dose of fear, began to file out of the meeting room to make their final preparations, the true magnitude of their undertaking settled over the space.

David remained seated at the table, his confident smirk a mask that concealed layers of intricate calculation. Even with his novel foresight, even with his seemingly perfect planning, he knew they were walking into a web of supernatural politics, ancient magic, and unforeseen dangers.

The Mistress of the Creed was just the first knot in a terrifying tapestry that could easily unravel everything they had built, reducing his grand design to dust. But beneath that calculated apprehension, a thrilling hum resonated in his chest. This was the kind of challenge he lived for, the kind of impossible scenario where true brilliance could truly shine. The real class, indeed, had just begun.