As General Odin and Prince Alaric discussed their war strategies, a lone figure erged from the steep slopes of Mount Roca. The spy moved with practiced ease despite the treacherous climb, his cloak blending into the jagged rocks behind him.
Their small plateau, located a third of the way up the mountain, offered an unmatched vantage point that commanded a sweeping view of the town of Carles below. From here, the Sentro—stood like a formidable fortress, its thick walls of quarried stone and adobe stretching across and enclosed two square kiloters of the town’s fortified heart. Seven ters tall and two ters thick, the daunting walls had withstood countless storms, both of nature and of war.
Yet, for all its formidable defenses, there remained one vulnerability: an attack from above. However, scaling Mount Roca was in itself a challenge, hence no enemy soldiers succeded in exploiting this vulnerability.
The spy barely had ti to steady himself before General Odin’s voice cut through the crisp mountain air.
"Speak!" General Odin commanded the person who was half kneeling on the ground when he realized who the general was with.
"You can rise," Alaric added. "There is no need for any of you to bow or kneel before . We are at war, so treat as a general."
The spy rose and nodded at Prince Alaric, his eyes full of reverence.
"General Odin, the mayor of Carles has rallied the people against the soldiers of Northem. News was spreading that it was the Northem soldiers who set the town hall on fire. The people are very angry and the Mayor is stoking the fire."
Alaric’s expression darkened. "Hadn’t the civilians had evacuated?"
"Yesterday, when we sneaked inside Sentro and gained control of the Town Hall after the soldiers of Estalis surrendered, we asked the people to leave, but they were not willing."
"General! Look!" A soldier’s voice rang out from behind them.
All heads turned northward. A plu of dust spiraled into the sky in the distance, kicked up by galloping hooves.
"That must be our cavalry. Let’s descend the mountain and et them at the town gate."
The descent was grueling. What seed a short distance from above stretched endlessly underfoot. By the ti Alaric, Odin, and their n reached the outskirts of Carles, the sun had begun its slow retreat beyond the horizon, painting the sky in hues of ember and violet.
Their arrival should have been t with a triumphant reunion. Instead, confusion clouded the air.
The cavalry had halted a kiloter from the town gate, their formation stiff, uneasy. Horses, untethered, stood beneath the sparse trees, their ears flicking in agitation. The soldiers, though ard and armored, remained motionless. Not in battle stance—but as if...restrained.
Alaric and Odin pressed forward, weaving through the ranks until the unsettling sight at the front lines beca clear.
A crowd had gathered—won, elderly, and children.
They were not greeting them with cheers.
They were hurling rotten vegetables, stones, and hurling insults.
Go back to Northem! We don’t need you!
You ruined our town hall! You were supposed to protect us, not destroy us!
Leave! We hate you!
It’s your fault. Our famous town hall, now gone, turned to ashes.
You killed our people. You are the enemy.
The shouts were sharp, raw with betrayal.
"What happened?" Alaric asked Commander Amnon and Bener when they approached him.
"Greetings, Your Highness." The two n bowed deeply to the Prince.
"Your Highness," Amnon greeted, his voice laced with unease.
Alaric impatiently waved them off. "Speak plainly."
Amnon exhaled, shaking his head. "Your Highness, when we arrived, these people are already here, blocking our way. I have faced ruthless cavalry and hardened infantry, but this?" He gestured at the civilians before them. "I am at a loss. These are our people—yet they despise us. I don’t understand. We are not the enemy but they are treating us as one." Commander Amnon lanted.
General Odin breathed heavily.
"They are blaming us for the burning of their town hall."
"It would be dark soon. These people would go back inside the walls." General Odin said, while sweeping his gaze along the group of people standing a few ters from them.
General Odin was right. As darkness crept closer with the setting sun, the shouting faded and the townspeople retreated behind their walls, but the resentnt lingered.
"Prepare the camp for the night," Odin ordered grimly. His gaze swept the ranks, and a frown deepened on his brow.
Several mbers of the Eagle Team were missing.
"Where is Asael? And the others?" Odin’s voice dropped to a dangerous edge.
Bener was fidgeting at the side. He could not look at his father in the eye.
Odin sensed that sothing was wrong.
"What is it?"
Kellan nudged Bener who finally had the courage to et his father’s eyes.
Bener swallowed hard before finally answering. "Father... Asael was seriously injured. Zuran soldiers ambushed us in MarNubes."
A flicker of worry appeared on Odin’s face.
"What happened? How could there be an ambush? Haven’t you reached the camp?"
"We were ambushed at the outskirts of the camp in MarNubes" Bener said bitterly.
"What? How could it be?" Odin’s voice went a pitch higher.
Bener’s bitterness seeped into his words. "They took rlin hostage. That’s how Asael was wounded. Half of our Eagle Team would have been wiped out if not for Kane."
Odin’s brows furrowed. "Kane?"
Both Alaric and Jethru perked up at the na.
"I never expected him to be so ruthless. I also never saw soone fight as fiercely as he did. He is even better than Asael. He was relentless, Father. Unstoppable." Bener’s eyes brightened as he recounted the fight between them and soldiers from Zura.
Jethru, who had been silent until now, suddenly cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. "Ahem! Of course! That’s my disciple." A wide grin spread across his face.
Why was Jethru so eager to claim Kane as his disciple—yet he denied that he knew him?
Wasn’t he his first disciple?
The thought sat heavy in his chest as he silently watched his master smiling foolishly as he reveled in the complint of how good his disciple was.
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