14 Testament To One's Will

The night wind whipped through the dimly lit camp of the Musian and Magoli soldiers, its force suppressing the faint rustling of armor as hundreds of Razaasia soldiers slowly crawled forward. This pre-dawn hour, they knew, was when vigilance was most relaxed. The Musian and Magoli forces had successfully defended Hosha City just a few days ago, so they would surely not expect a sneak attack tonight. The Razaasia had chosen this moment for two crucial reasons: first, their enemies would undoubtedly have let their guard down; and second, at this early hour, most soldiers would be deep in exhausted sleep.

Hundreds of Razaasia soldiers stealthily reached the first line of tents, only to find them eerily empty, save for scattered, hollow wine jars. They exchanged quick glances, convinced that the Magoli and Musian soldiers were indeed celebrating, just as Payam had predicted. Their confidence swelling, they crept into the first hundred tents, fully intending to slaughter sleeping men. They eased into the first ten, rushing towards the figures on the beds—only to find not soldiers, but crude scarecrows draped in Magoli armor. Confusion rippled through their ranks. The Razaasia soldiers quickly backed out of the tents, regrouping, their whispers urgent.

"A scarecrow in soldier's armor," one soldier hissed.

"My tent is the same," another whispered back, dismay creeping into his voice.

They hurried forward, inspecting more tents. Some were empty, others held more of the eerie, armored scarecrows. After their hasty survey, the Razaasia soldiers retreated swiftly to report to Reza.

Reza had established a new camp two miles from his old, abandoned one. Listening to the soldier's bewildered report, he felt as confused as the man himself. He turned to Payam, a doubtful frown on his face. "Then, what's the meaning of putting scarecrows in our abandoned tents?"

Payam shrugged, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "I don't know, but I heard that the Magoli people believe in shamanism, maybe this is their way of religious practice; or maybe what you said about their army is not as powerful as they look."

"So, are we going to take back our camp?" Reza pressed, a flicker of hope in his voice. "There are some important documents that were left behind."

"Whatever the documentation is, so far I'm sure they've got what they need," Payam said, a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I left a complete outline of our main camp. I need to get them back," Reza insisted, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Only we know that the map left behind is the real map of our base camp," Payam said, turning to Reza with a slight smile. "But they don't. Do you know what the number one flaw of smart people is?"

"I don't know," Reza admitted, still focused on his lost documents.

Payam chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. "They also like to think very much, so they dare not completely believe it until they are sure that the things they have in their hands are real intelligence."

Reza sighed, a mixture of hope and doubt in his eyes. "I hope so. Ah... do you think we should take back the camp? What if it's another trap?"

Payam took a slow sip of water from his cup, then placed it back on the table. He looked at Reza, his gaze steady. "The only way to capture the tiger cub is to enter the tiger's den."

The next morning, Reza and Payam stepped out of the tent to find a thick morning fog obscuring the first rays of sunlight. The previous night had passed without a single sneak attack from either side.

Reza turned to his lieutenant. "Get the soldiers ready."

The distinct sound of footsteps and metal armor emerged from the swirling fog. As the sound grew clearer, Razaasia soldiers in black armor slowly materialized from the mist, marching silently into the abandoned camp. As the first light of morning finally touched the horizon, Reza, Payam, and their troops found countless scarecrows, clad in Magoli soldier armor, standing sentinel along the top of the city wall. The great gate of Hosha City stood wide open, unguarded by any visible Magoli or Musian soldier.

"Scarecrows... lots of scarecrows standing guard, not enemy soldiers," one soldier muttered, his voice laced with confusion.

"So many scarecrows again!" another exclaimed.

"The city gates are wide open. Should we go in?"

"Did the Musians abandon their city?"

A wave of murmurs rippled through the Razaasia ranks.

"They must have known when they left that we would pursue them with all our might," Reza chuckled, a triumphant glint in his eye. He and the Razaasia soldiers shared a moment of uneasy laughter as one of the scarecrows seemed to subtly shift. Their laughter was abruptly cut short by the melancholic, soft melody of a flute. A lone figure stepped out from behind one of the scarecrows, his presence almost ethereal in the fog. Despite the seemingly favorable situation, Reza found himself in a strange, unsettling position, unsure whether to charge into the city or wait. After a moment of conflicted hesitation, Reza made his decision. "Forward!" he commanded, intent on capturing the city.

"Wait!" Payam's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the air.

Reza turned to him, confusion in his eyes. "Why?"

"Listen to the melody of that flute," Payam urged, his face grim.

Reza, who had no ear for music, frowned. "What about the flute melody?"

"If I remember correctly, this is the melody played at funerals of the Ginmiao people," Payam explained, his voice solemn. "This flute melody is called 'The Last Farewell'."

Reza's voice broke, fear creeping into his tone. "The... what? Why is such a song played at such a time?"

Payam met his gaze, his eyes full of grim understanding. "It sends a message to us that we are about to die."

Reza scoffed, trying to shake off the unease. "I would like to see whether it is us or them who die this time."

Payam looked at Reza and shook his head, a weary sigh escaping him. He knew Reza was still young, still lacked a deeper grasp of war strategies. "Young lord," he began, his voice patient, "if you understand the lyrics of 'The Last Farewell,' you will understand why there is no rush to attack. The calm melody conveys to us the message that death is waiting for us. The meaning of this song is saying goodbye to someone you love because this is the last time you see your loved one before you enter the netherworld." He pointed to the white strips tied to the scarecrows' hands. "Those white strips represent the chains that drag you into hell before judgment. The open door represents the door to hell."

"So, you mean this is a trap?" Reza asked, his eyes wide with dawning comprehension.

Payam nodded slowly. "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?" Reza demanded, frustrated by the ambiguity.

Payam explained, his voice holding a philosophical weight. "It could very well be a bluff. There could be nothing waiting for us, or there could be a deadly trap waiting for us. In either case, we won't know unless we move forward. It's a testament to one's will: the will to take risks; to risk and lose everything, or to risk and win everything, or to step back and walk away."

While Payam waited for Reza to decide, he happily observed the man standing and playing the flute. He listened intently, trying to detect any missing or extra notes, any variation in tempo, but found none. The melody was perfect.

Reza looked at Payam's troubled expression. That worry, coupled with his recent catastrophic defeat, made him hesitate, stopping him from recklessly invading Hosha City again and losing more men. He waited for Payam's approval, knowing that if he blundered into another trap and lost half their remaining soldiers, the military punishment for such a wrong decision would be severe. He recognized the risks, and he knew what he needed to do.

Reza looked at his soldiers, then back at Payam, whose eyes never left the lone figure among the scarecrows. "Stop!" he commanded, turning fully to Payam. "What would you do if you were the commander?"

"I will turn around and walk away for the time being," Payam advised, his voice decisive. "Retreat first to avoid unnecessary losses and then reconsider the situation and make a better plan before attacking."

"So, when is a good time for us to attack?" Reza asked, a new respect in his tone.

Payam looked up at the sky, then at the city wall. He saw the long shadow the wall cast on the ground and smiled. "Let's attack at dusk."

"Dusk? Why dusk?" Reza questioned, confusion returning. He didn't understand why Payam would suggest wasting the entire day, especially since Musian soldiers were generally believed to defend better at night than during the day. He voiced his doubt. "What's the reason?"

Payam turned to Reza, his smile widening. "I know you think I am wasting daylight. The strategy I use has its own purpose?"

"What purpose?" Reza pressed, eager to understand.

Payam simply smiled and asked, "How accurate would your arrow be if you shot at the sun?"

Reza thought for a moment, initially finding Payam's question utterly stupid. "It's not very accurate due to the influence of sunlight," he stated, a touch of condescension in his voice. "Even children know not to shoot in the direction of the sun, because the sunlight will blind your eyes and make your target vision unclear."

He paused, a sudden, blinding realization dawning on him. His eyes widened, and a slow, bright smile spread across his face. He finally understood why Payam had decided to wait until dusk. "Uh... I understand," he said, his voice filled with newfound insight. "Let's go have lunch and get some rest before we burn that city to the ground."