Within the austere confines of the Governor's office in Karen City, Baron Hektov Ofnir stood before a simple, almost shabby half-body mirror. He was meticulously checking his armaments, moving with the practiced rhythm of a veteran.
He crossed two short-swords behind his waist and slid daggers into the leather sheaths at his thighs and ribs. Finally, he threw a heavy cloak over his polished steel plate and latched his pride—a massive greatsword—onto the harness at his back.
Hektov had held the governorship of Karen for three years, a feat he achieved through more than just the Ofnir name. During the Second Liurnia War, the young Baron had been a legendary commander of the Western Army, earned the praise of his peers as a knight who might one day stand among the "True Heroes."
In the Lands Between, the title of "Hero" was not a casual compliment. It was a rank reserved for warriors who transcended factional lines, recognized by all for their singular strength. Though Hektov had not yet crossed that threshold, he believed himself unrivaled among those who stood just beneath that peak.
"General, the escort is ready. We await your command," an officer reported, his voice crisp and full of martial vigor.
Hektov nodded with satisfaction. Then, a thought crossed his mind, and his brow furrowed. "Has Clavell shown any signs of hesitation?"
The officer thought for a moment before shaking his head. "None, My Lord. After returning last night, Master Clavell canceled all his external appointments as per your orders. When the call to arms came this morning, he made no objection. He transferred his administrative duties to Master Ceciel within the hour and is currently waiting with the main column."
"Is that so?" Hektov looked surprised, but after a moment, he let out a short, dismissive laugh. "Ha. It seems I overthought it. The man truly is a coward at heart."
He glanced at his subordinate, who remained silent. "The window for battle is small. Those troublesome dragons have finally moved far enough away; we cannot delay. Order the units to move out immediately."
"Yes, My Lord!"
By ten o'clock that morning, a force of nearly four hundred soldiers, centered around Hektov and his fifty personal guards, marched out from the northern gate. Civil and military affairs were left in the hands of the adjutant Ceciel, a former military scribe Hektov had brought from Leyndell and his most trusted confidant.
From atop the battlements, Ceciel watched the army depart. Once they were a blur of dust on the horizon, he ordered the gates closed and stationed the remaining guards at their posts, commanding that any returning scouts report directly to him.
The city believed their Governor's scouts had finally cornered the demi-human rebels who had plagued the region. Given Hektov's track record against such "vermin," no one doubted the outcome. For the old and the infirm soldiers left behind, the departure was a source of quiet resentment; they saw it as a missed opportunity for easy glory.
They grumbled, but they obeyed. As the veterans busied themselves with their rounds, Ceciel stood alone, gazing out at the empty road. No one noticed the faint, crimson mist that flickered for a fleeting second within the depths of his pupils.
"Highness," Olwen, one of the Storm Knight captains, reported as he approached Luthier. "A messenger drake from Captain Agheel has arrived. The rebel alliance has completed their ambush at Sunset Pass. Furthermore, Soreto and Turak have promised their soldiers three days of unrestricted looting once the city falls. There will be no discipline."
On the other side of the board, Greyoll had already confirmed Hektov's departure. Guided by his "loyal" scouts, the Governor was charging straight into the trap. He did not know that his eyes and ears had been compromised by Clavell's perfumery. If the rebel alliance was a spider waiting in the dark, Hektov's own scouts had become the web dragging him into the abyss.
Luthier, watching from a ridge fifty miles away, had already detached from the main delegation. He stood with Elder Morel, Olwen, Anastasia, and twenty elite knights, waiting for the final collapse.
Hearing Olwen's report, Luthier fell silent for a moment. He let out a soft, mourning sigh. "Krug... what a waste."
Earlier that morning, his messengers had confirmed that High Priest Krug was dead. It was a tragic end for the old Misbegotten who had spent decades trying to give his people a future. When he "passed" from his sudden illness, only a few dozen aging veterans from the Shivering Wind tribe truly wept. The rest of the host had reacted with cold indifference or, in the case of the vanguards, ill-concealed joy.
To have united three thousand warriors from dozens of tribes through sheer prestige was a testament to Krug's soul. But to see that prestige vanish within weeks of the alliance's formation was a bitter testament to the nature of his subjects.
"Olwen," Luthier said, looking back at the young officer from his seat upon a jagged rock. "Once this is over, I intend to leave you in Karen for a few years. You will serve as an advisor to Clavell. You will use your strength to help him stabilize the city, and your presence will ensure his loyalty remains with us. Are you willing?"
The knight captain blinked in surprise. "Does your Highness still distrust him?"
Luthier shook his head. "Personal feelings are one thing; the duty of a ruler is another. I thought long on this last night. Since we have chosen to use him, and since we are prepared to slaughter thousands to pave his way, we must guarantee that he serves his purpose."
He looked down at the rolling hills and valleys below. The reddish-brown soil of Gelmir stretched out like a parched, endless sea. The midday sun bathed the world in a warm, golden-red hue, making everything look deceptively peaceful. But everyone on that ridge knew that before the sun set, the land would be soaked in blood.
"If we return here in a few decades," Luthier said quietly, "and find that nothing has changed despite what we do today... then we are the ones who deserve to die, don't you think?"
Olwen gazed at the Prince's silhouette, glowing brilliantly against the sun. After a long silence, he bowed with a solemnity he had never shown before. "As you wish, Highness."