The air in the northern valley was thick with the scent of wet soot and iron. The Baron's campaign had moved with a terrifying, mechanical efficiency, sweeping through the borderlands like a scythe through wheat. I stood on a ridge overlooking the village of Oakhaven—not the one I had lived in, but one so similar it made my chest ache with a phantom familiarity. This village was a strategic bottleneck, a cluster of stone houses guarding the only bridge capable of supporting the Southern Coalition's heavy cavalry.
The Baron had given me my first true command: the Third Vanguard. It was a unit of five hundred men, including Kael and many of the recruits from Tent Seven. They looked at me with a devotion that bordered on the religious. To them, I wasn't just a commander; I was the one who had survived the Black Spire and returned with the power of a god.
"The orders are clear, Commander," a voice said behind me. It was the lead mage from the Spire, a man named Valerius who acted as the Baron's eyes and ears within my unit. "The village is harboring Coalition scouts. To secure the bridge, we must eliminate all potential resistance. Torch the granaries. Execute the dissenters. The Baron expects a clean path for the main host by dawn."
I looked down at the village. I could see the smoke from the hearths. I could see children playing near the well. In my past life, I would have rationalized this. Collateral damage, I would have called it. The arithmetic of victory. But as I gripped the hilt of the black-steel blade at my side, I felt a pulse of warmth in my pocket. I reached in and touched the small, silver locket Eve had slipped to me before I left the Spire.
"The mind is the only kingdom that cannot be taken by force," her voice echoed in my mind.
I closed my eyes and let the Crimson Reverie expand. Since the trials, the magic didn't feel like a parasite anymore; it felt like an extension of my nervous system. I could feel the heartbeat of every soldier behind me. I could feel Kael's nervous anticipation and Valerius's cold, predatory hunger for a massacre.
"Commander?" Valerius prompted, his voice like a snake sliding over gravel. "The sun is setting. We must move."
I turned to Kael. The giant man was waiting for my word, his hand white-knuckled around the handle of a massive war-hammer. He wanted to be the hero I had promised him he could be, but he was prepared to be the monster I commanded him to be.
"Change of plans," I said. My voice was quiet, but it carried through the ranks with the weight of an ultimatum.
Valerius stiffened. "The Baron's orders are—"
"The Baron's orders are to secure the bridge," I interrupted, stepping into the mage's personal space. I let the Reverie flare in my eyes, a sharp, piercing crimson that made the mage flinch. "I am a strategist, Valerius. Burning a village creates refugees. Refugees create chaos on the roads. Chaos slows down our supply lines. If we kill them, we lose the labor force required to maintain the bridge after the crossing."
"And the scouts?" Valerius hissed.
"We don't need to kill them to neutralize them," I said. I turned back to the village. "Kael, take fifty men. You go in through the back fields. No torches. No shouting. You find the elders and you tell them that the Baron's mercy has arrived in the form of Adam Hilt. Tell them that if they hand over the scouts, the village stands. If a single house burns, the deal is off."
"And if they fight?" Kael asked, his voice low.
"They won't," I said. "I'll be in their heads before you even reach the gates."
I walked toward the edge of the ridge, sitting cross-legged on the damp earth. This was the moment of the first choice. I could follow the Baron's path of absolute subjugation, or I could begin to forge my own. I reached out with the Reverie, not as a hammer, but as a veil. I projected a sense of overwhelming, paralyzing peace over the village—a "reverie" that made the scouts feel as though the war was a distant dream and made the villagers feel that surrender was the only logical, safe path.
It was exhausting. The tax on my mind was immense. I felt the familiar heat of a nosebleed, and the "Shattered Echoes" of my past life tried to claw their way to the surface. I saw the Duke's laughing face, the muddy mountain pass, the feeling of being discarded. I pushed it all down. I focused on the silver locket. I focused on the idea that power didn't have to be a void; it could be a shield.
By dawn, the bridge was ours. Not a single house had been burned. The Coalition scouts were tied up in the village square, looking dazed and confused, as if they had woken up from a long sleep to find their world changed. The villagers were terrified, yes, but they were alive.
Valerius stood by the bridge, his arms crossed over his chest. "The Baron will hear of this deviation, Hilt. You spared the weak. You showed empathy. He considers that a flaw."
"He considers results," I countered, looking at the long line of my soldiers marching across the bridge in perfect order. They weren't tired from a night of slaughter; they were proud. They looked at me not just with fear, but with a burgeoning, dangerous love. "I gave him the bridge, the scouts, and a stable supply line. If he wants a butcher, he can find one. He hired me to be a king."
As the main host of the Baron's army appeared on the horizon—a massive, black tide of steel—I knew that my life as a servant was over. I had made my choice. I had used the Baron's power to save, not to destroy, but in doing so, I had painted a target on my back.
I looked up at the rising sun, the golden light washing over the valley. Volume 1 was ending here, at the bridge. The rebirth was complete. The beginnings were over. The boy from Oakhaven was truly dead, but the man who replaced him was something far more dangerous than the Baron had intended.
I was Adam Hilt, and I was no longer a pawn. I was the player.