The cold wind whipped against his face, but he didn’t slow. There was no time to waste. The outpost was two days east, a critical link in the Iron Talons’ communication chain. If he took it out, it would disrupt the flow of information between their forces, making their defenses weaker.

  By the time dawn broke, he had already covered more ground than most men would in a full day’s travel. He stopped only when his horse needed rest, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the roads.

  By the time he arrived, the sun was beginning to set behind the hills. Rohan dismounted a safe distance away, leading his horse into the cover of the dense forest. He climbed a nearby ridge, moving with the silent precision drilled into him over the past year.

  From his vantage point, he studied the outpost. It was larger than expected. The wooden fortification had two watchtowers at the front, with guards patrolling the perimeter. A dozen men walked the walls, while more moved between the tents and barracks inside.

  At least thirty soldiers. Most were Iron Talons, but some looked like mercenaries, hired muscle to reinforce their numbers.

  At the center of it all was a command tent. Rohan narrowed his eyes. That’s where the messages were being sent. If he could get inside, he could uncover what they were planning.

  Going in head on would be suicide. He needed a plan. He could do what they least expected, infiltrate, pretend to be a mercenary. If he blended in, he could get close to their officers, hear their plans, and when the time came…

  Tear them apart from the inside. It was risky, but risk didn’t matter anymore. Rohan moved down the ridge, his mind already working through the details. By the time the next sun rose, he would be inside that outpost. And by the time the next night fell, blood would stain the ground.

  The best way into the outpost wasn’t through force or deception. It was through something far simpler, opportunity.

  As dawn broke, he observed the supply wagons rolling in from the east. They were led by a mix of hired workers and Talon soldiers, hauling barrels of food, weapons, and whatever else the outpost needed. No one questioned a worker carrying supplies. That was his way in.

  No one paid him any mind. A man carrying crates wasn’t a threat. He lifted a bundle of supplies, walking beside the other laborers. The guards at the entrance were barely alert, scanning for threats, not workers.

  One of them glanced his way but didn’t even stop him. Just like that, he was inside.

  The outpost was loud, busy, but disciplined. Soldiers moved between barracks, weapons clanking at their sides. Mercenaries stood in small groups, laughing, sharpening blades, or arguing over who got paid what.

  The Talon officers barked orders, keeping things efficient. Rohan kept his head down, moving with the workers, scanning everything. The command tent was at the center. That’s where the information was.

  He needed to get inside. But first, he had to become invisible. He followed the other workers toward the supply storage, stacking crates in their designated spots. The moment they moved on to their next task, he quietly slipped away.

  No one noticed, just another faceless worker. He moved deeper, weaving through the camp, one step closer to the Talons’ secrets.

  Rohan slipped into the command tent like a shadow, his dagger already drawn. Four men, seated at the large table, engrossed in conversation.

  They never even saw him coming, the first man barely had time to exhale before Rohan’s dagger sliced through his throat. The second turned at the sudden sound, too late. Rohan drove his blade deep into his skull, twisting violently. The third reached for his sword, mouth opening to yell, Rohan slashed across his windpipe, silencing him forever.

  The fourth had time to stand, eyes wide in terror, Rohan grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and slid the dagger across his exposed throat.

  The entire exchange took less than five seconds. Blood dripped onto the table. The flickering lanterns cast shadows over the motionless bodies. Rohan wiped his blade on a fallen man’s cloak. Then, he turned to the desk.

  Documents lay scattered across the surface. He skimmed them quickly, supply routes, orders, and maps. But one thing caught his attention. A note, “Deliver Below.”

  His eyes flicked to the corner of the tent. A hatch, partially covered by a rug. Something the Iron Talons didn’t want seen. Rohan’s fingers curled around the handle. He pulled it open, and the staircase descended into darkness.

  The air stank of rot and filth, It was damp. As Rohan descended the stone steps, the torchlight barely reached beyond the passage ahead. Shadows flickered over the cold, dripping walls, stretching out like clawing fingers.

  Then, he heard it, a ragged breath, a soft clanking of chains. His footsteps were silent as he moved forward, his dagger still drawn. Until he saw her, a single girl, no older than thirteen, chained against the far wall.

  Her clothes were ripped, filthy. Her hair hung in tangled strands over her hollow face. Her skin was streaked with dried blood, bruises blooming across her arms and legs.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Rohan’s stomach turned violently, the girl’s head lifted, her eyes were dead. She blinked slowly at him. Unimpressed and unafraid. As if his presence didn’t matter. And then, she spoke.

  "Kill me."

  Rohan froze, the words hit him harder than any blade ever had. His mind couldn’t process it. The brutality of it. The acceptance in her voice. She wasn’t pleading, she wasn’t begging.

  She was simply stating a fact, she didn’t want to live anymore. Rohan’s breath slowed. His grip tightened on his dagger, his knuckles white. Something inside him, something buried deep, began to surface.

  His blood boiled, his body shook, not with fear, not with hesitation, with rage. His mind whispered one simple truth, every single man in this outpost deserves to die, and Rohan was going to make sure they did.

  The deep blast of a horn shook the silence. Rohan’s head snapped upward. Boots thundered against the ground above. They were coming, fast.

  He turned back to the girl, his dagger trembling in his grip. His jaw clenched, his breath shallow. His body felt wrong. Killing had never made him hesitate before. But this, this was different.

  His stomach twisted as he lifted the blade to her throat.

  "I’m sorry."

  He whispered.

  Before he could act, behind him were footsteps.

  A voice barked.

  "Put the weapon down! Surrender now!"

  Rohan didn’t move. His fingers twitched against the hilt of his dagger. The soldiers flooded the room, swords drawn. Their eyes flicked between him and the girl, their stances tense.

  Then one of them, the one in charge, spoke again.

  "Step away from her."

  Rohan’s voice was barely a whisper.

  "Did you know?"

  The man hesitated.

  "What?"

  Rohan's shoulders trembled. His body shook with something far worse than anger.

  "Did you know she was down here?"

  The man didn’t answer. His face gave nothing away. And that told Rohan everything. His breathing turned ragged. His nails dug into his palm. Slowly, he turned toward them. Blood dripped from his lip, torn open by how hard he was biting down.

  Tears ran down his face, but his eyes were something else entirely. They weren’t sad, they weren’t pained.They were pure, uncontrollable fury.

  Behind him, the girl’s body slumped against the cold stone wall. A faint smile lingered on her lips. Rohan barely breathed as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

  The commander stiffened.

  "Stay where you are."

  Rohan didn’t stop. His voice came out hoarse, and broken.

  "Did you know?"

  The commander’s grip on his sword tightened.

  “I said-”

  Rohan screamed, a raw, shattering sound that echoed through the chamber.

  "DID YOU KNOW?!"

  The commander took a step back, startled. One of the soldiers near him muttered,

  "Shit, we should just kill him now-"

  But the commander lifted a hand.

  "No. He’s more valuable alive."

  Rohan’s nails bit into his own palms so hard his hands bled. His entire body shook. The commander exhaled, taking a measured step forward.

  "Why would you kill her?"

  He asked.

  "Do you even realize what you’ve done?"

  Rohan didn’t blink or move. The commander’s voice dropped lower, more dangerous.

  "Now the noble will come after us.”

  "Who is it?"

  The commander hesitated.

  Then, his mouth curled into something between amusement and disdain.

  "Lord Belvane."

  Rohan’s heart stopped, he had heard that name before. A noble who sold people like cattle. Who funded mercenaries and raiders. A man who had profited from war, sending soldiers to slaughter innocent villages for gold.

  "Then I'll send him a message.”

  Before the commander could react, Rohan moved. His dagger flashed, cutting across the man’s throat in a single, fluid motion. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, the commander’s body twitching before collapsing.

  The room erupted into chaos. The first soldier lunged, Rohan twisted, catching his blade mid-strike, and drove his dagger through his armpit, twisting until the man’s scream turned into a gargle.

  The second swung a spear, Rohan caught it, yanked the man forward, and snapped his neck with a brutal twist. The third tried to run, Rohan threw his dagger, the blade burying into the back of his skull.

  Blood covered the walls, bodies hit the floor one after another. Then, the reinforcements arrived. More shouts, and boots thundered down the staircase. A dozen men poured into the chamber.

  One hesitated, eyes wide at the sheer carnage before him.

  "What the hell is he-"

  Rohan ripped his blade free from a corpse, turned, and rushed them. He smashed a man’s face into the stone wall, the bones cracking like shattered glass. He turned, slicing a soldier's hamstring, then burying his blade into his gut, yanking upward until his intestines spilled out.

  A spear-wielding guard thrust forward, Rohan dodged, catching the shaft, snapping it in half, then using the broken edge to impale another soldier through the eye.

  More men poured in, twenty, then thirty. By the time Rohan had killed his fortieth man, the survivors were fleeing. One dropped his weapon, backing away in terror.

  "He’s not human!"

  Rohan silenced him with a dagger to the throat. The chamber was unrecognizable. Blood pooled across the stone floor. The scent of iron, sweat, and death hung thick in the air.

  Rohan stood in the center of it all, his hands dripped red. He could feel his own blood running down his side, but it didn’t matter.

  Fifty men dead, the Iron Talons would know, Belvane would know, that a monster will be coming for them. Rohan turned back to the girl’s motionless body.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then he wiped the blood from his dagger, turned, and walked away.

  He moved through the wreckage, rifling through the papers, scanning them quickly. Supply routes, orders, troop movements, exactly what he needed. He shoved them into his satchel. Then, he turned his attention to the outpost itself. It needed to burn, they needed to see the flames from miles away.

  He grabbed a lantern from the tent, shattering the glass against the wooden crates in the supply depot. The oil spilled across the ground, soaking into the dirt, spreading across the storage. Then, he moved to the barracks, tossing burning scraps of fabric onto the beds.

  The fire spread instantly, it climbed the wooden walls, curling up into the rafters. Flames licked at the support beams, turning the dry wood into kindling. The outpost began to groan, crack, splinter.

  Smoke billowed into the night sky, Rohan stepped back, watching. Watching as the flames consumed everything. The bodies, the buildings, every last piece of this wretched place.

  The girl’s chains melted in the fire, the screams of the dying were gone. Only the roar of the inferno remained. Rohan turned, walking away as the outpost collapsed behind him.

  By the time he reached the forest, the fire had fully engulfed the outpost. Smoke rose high, choking the sky. The Iron Talons would see it.

  He pulled his hood over his head, adjusting the weight of his satchel. The information he carried was valuable. This was just the beginning. Belvane, the stronghold, the Talons, hey were next. When the time came, he would burn them all.

  With one last glance at the inferno behind him, Rohan disappeared into the night.