The night draped the camp in a shroud of silence, disturbed only by the crackling fires and the distant murmurs of the sentries. Kael sat on a crate of supplies, watching the flames of a brazier dance in the nocturnal wind. His mind wandered between memories of the past battle and the decisions ahead. Every victory he seized had a price—a price paid in blood, in lost souls, in enmities forged.

  Darius approached, his heavy steps betraying accumulated fatigue. His armor still bore the traces of battle, dark splatters that spoke of the fight’s brutality.

  "The bodies have been burned, as you ordered," he said gravely. "But we have prisoners. About twenty of them."

  Kael did not take his eyes off the fire. "And?"

  Darius crossed his arms. "Some are willing to talk. Others are too terrified to utter a word. But there’s one... a captain. He’s not afraid."

  Finally, Kael looked up at him, his gaze gleaming with calculation. "Take me to him."

  Inside an isolated tent, a lantern cast dancing shadows against the canvas. Gregor Malken, captain of the Crimson Blades, was bound to a wooden post. His face bore the marks of combat: a gash on his forehead, a bruise under his left eye. Yet, he showed no sign of weakness. His dark eyes fixed on Kael with unyielding pride.

  Kael took a chair and sat across from him, an almost friendly smile on his lips.

  "Your name."

  The man raised his chin slightly. "Gregor Malken. Captain of the Crimson Blades."

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  "A veteran, then. Not just a simple soldier."

  "And you, Kael—leader of these… rebels. Or should I say bandits?"

  Kael let out a light chuckle. "That depends on perspective. To some, I am a warlord. To others, an opportunist. And to you?"

  Gregor didn’t answer, merely offering a cold stare.

  Kael sighed. "I’ll be direct. I want to know where your army’s supplies are, the resupply routes, and most importantly… who gives you your orders."

  The captain scoffed. "You think I’ll betray my lord to save my skin?"

  Kael slowly rose and drew a sharp dagger from his belt. He brought the blade close to Gregor’s cheek, tracing a light line against his skin.

  "It’s not your skin I’m interested in. It’s your mind."

  Gregor didn’t flinch.

  Kael spun the dagger between his fingers, thoughtful. "A lone man is nothing. You’ve lost your soldiers. Your lord has abandoned you. But I… I can give you a purpose."

  Gregor stared at him, expressionless.

  Kael stepped back, wiping his blade on his sleeve. "Think about it. You have until dawn."

  He left the tent without a backward glance.

  Outside, Lysara was waiting, arms crossed.

  "Will he talk?"

  Kael shrugged. "He’ll eventually realize it’s his only option. But I need another assurance."

  "What kind?"

  Kael gazed up at the starry sky. "I need to know if the enemy is already waiting for us. Send your scouts east, to the village by the river. I want to know if there’s any military movement."

  Lysara nodded. "I’ll handle it. But there’s something else. A missive arrived. From the capital."

  Kael took the parchment she handed him and broke the imperial seal. His eyes scanned the elegantly written lines.

  Darius stepped closer. "News from the princess?"

  Kael folded the letter and slipped it under his cloak.

  "She wants to see me."

  A silence fell.

  Darius frowned. "Is it an invitation or a trap?"

  Kael smirked slightly. "Probably both."

  He fixed his gaze on the horizon, where the first hints of dawn were already appearing.

  The political game had just taken a new turn.