Both Sable and Ferren went still for a moment.
They knew what the emergency plan was. Every senior church member in Kingsgate had been briefed on it during the first week after they arrived, when Jorik had pulled them into a room and walked them through every scenario in which the main operation could fail.
The food plan's failure was one of those scenarios. The outpost falling was another. Reidar Miller, coming back from a dead world, was not one he had included at the time, but it would fall under the same category.
The primary goal of the food plan had been to turn the civilian population of Kingsgate into a weapon the church could use against the Aegis Phalanx.
Thousands of people transforming at once, all of them becoming monsters that would hit the Aegis from the inside while the church hit from the outside. It was efficient and hard to stop once started because the Aegis could not kill survivors without destroying the thing they were there to protect.
But Reidar was dismantling that plan right now, warehouse by warehouse, and if the food was gone, the plan was gone with it.
The emergency plan was different. It was not clean, and it was not efficient, but it was far simpler. It was just that it would basically destroy everything here, including all the efforts the church put into conquering Kingsgate, if not the city itself.
Jorik sighed. <It can't be helped. >
"You understand what I'm telling you to do," Jorik said. It was not a question.
Sable nodded. Ferren nodded after her.
"Then go," Jorik said.
They left the doorway at the same pace they had entered it and moved down the hallway, then down the stairs, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing below reached Jorik through the floorboards.
He turned back to the map.
Below, through the window, he could hear the noise of Reidar's army. For now, it looked like he didn't know this was the one he was in, but it was clear that once he learned about it, he would flood this place, too.
But if he did, he would have to basically attack the survivors' settlement.
Jorik grinned. The best place to hide was amidst your enemies, and that was exactly what he did, what he always did.
The sounds coming from Kingsgate were shifting into something different. Urgency appeared in the street noise, in the voices that raised questions, and in the feet that were moving faster than they had before.
The survivors were starting to notice what was happening outside the barriers.
Jorik looked at the map one more time, tracing the routes that Sable and Ferren and Colt were using right now as they moved through the city. The routes were not direct.
They moved through the areas where the church had the most cover—back alleys, basements connected by tunnels that Jorik's people had dug over the past months, and the blind spots in the Aegis Phalanx's patrol patterns that his scouts had mapped during the first weeks of the operation.
The church members receiving the order would not all hear it from Sable or Ferren directly. The network was designed to pass information downward through layers.
Sable would tell her two direct reports, who would each tell three more, who would fan out through the sections of the city they controlled, and within 10 minutes, every church member in Kingsgate who was still alive and free would know what was happening and what to do about it.
Jorik straightened, folded the map, and put it inside his coat.
There was nothing left to do in this room, no, in this building. The order was given; the network was moving, and staying here long enough for one of Reidar's undead to find the building would bring nothing useful. Jorik did not survive this long in the church by confusing loyalty to a location with loyalty to a purpose.
Besides, he was not stupid. There was no way that he would allow himself to be caught by Reidar, and even if that happened, he still had a trump card to play.
He had made preparations for this kind of situation—contingencies within contingencies, escape routes mapped to the smallest detail, and leverage hidden in places no one would think to look. Life had taught him that survival was not about strength alone but about always having one more move than his opponent expected.
Though maybe using THAT trump card wouldn't be necessary.
Jorik didn't have a status anymore, but he knew what level he had: 440. He figured out already that past level 450, he would start losing himself. As of now, he has found a balance, but in the end, he could not stop the mana-absorbing process, so he had to make sure that he achieved his goal before he completely ascended.
Every level gained after 400 had come with a cost—a massive increase of power, yes, but also a dulling of something else. Something human.
He could feel it in the way his thoughts moved now, colder and more efficient, less colored by doubt or sentiment. The mana flowed through him constantly, reshaping him from the inside out, and no ritual or technique could reverse it.
He had perhaps ten levels left. Maybe fewer, if the absorption continued. After that, he would become something else entirely; he would become a god.
But for now, he still needed to keep his mind sharp.
He crossed the room, stepped into the hallway, and went down the stairs without rushing. At the bottom, he passed through the front door and into the street.
Outside, two of his personal guards fell into step beside him without a word. They had been waiting in the street because he had told them to always be within thirty seconds of the door, and they were, because church members who did not follow his instructions did not remain church members for long.