Chapter 35 Exercise

Peter lay on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Ethan's gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. Peter's words sputtered out, his voice pleading, desperate to keep his life intact. "Fine... I'll tell you!" His hands trembled as he gestured weakly towards Ethan. "I met him on the way here... we shared the road. He talked about getting revenge on you..."

Ethan's lips curled into a smirk. He looked to Pwyll, whose confusion mirrored the storm brewing inside him. "He really knew Talog!?" Pwyll tried to piece together a puzzle that didn't quite fit.

Ethan's eyes flicked back to Peter, scanning the young man's face. His mind worked quickly, "Your name is not Arawn, and you're no monk either, are you? You're a noble?"

Ethan had seen Peter the moment he stepped into the manor. Disguised as a traveling monk, the man carried himself with an air of practiced humility—his head bowed, his hands clasped, his robes worn but not convincingly frayed. Ethan's heightened senses had already begun dismantling the illusion.

He had noticed the way Peter walked, steps too deliberate, too careful. A true monk, weary from the road, would have trudged with the weight of long travels, but Peter moved with a calculated ease.

Ethan hadn't let his suspicions show. He had leaned back in his seat, his fingers idly tapping the edge of the table as Pwyll questioned the man. Yet all the while, Ethan's sharp gaze had remained locked on Peter, cataloging every minute detail of his posture, tone, and movements. The man's smooth hands had caught his eye—too soft, too clean.

Peter's face went pale. The weight of his secrets pressed down on him, visible in the way his breath caught, the panic rising in his chest. "I… I'm Peter ap Cadogan!" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

Ethan leaned in, his expression darkening. "Cadogan Of Corwen? It's a shame your little schemes did not succeed, perhaps if it was somewhere else."

Pwyll's voice rang out, raw and full of contempt. "It's always funny how you know someone is telling the truth, so you're the son of that filthy bastard."

Peter's gaze dropped, shame creeping into his features. Ethan knelt down to his level, his eyes burning with cold fury. "Now you're going to tell everything and why you conspire against me, Peter," he said, his voice low and threatening.

---

Peter was hurled into the cell, landing hard on the damp stone floor. The iron door clanged shut behind him, echoing through the dim, musty space. Shadows stirred as the prisoners turned their heads, their eyes glinting like predators sizing up fresh prey. Peter dragged himself into a corner, his breath shallow, his fists clenched tightly against his sides

Deep beneath the manor, Ethan worked tirelessly in his underground workshop. Light illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows over his meticulous work. He carefully tightened the last bolt on an air rifle, the 93rd in the arsenal he had painstakingly assembled.

"At this rate, I'll exhaust the small town's resources entirely." He paused, rubbing his temples. "We need more material... but the trade routes are infested with bandits and the English choke every line of supply." His lips curled into a grim smile. "They would go tcan disrupt us, we'll cut their veins too—on a much larger scale."

Ethan crossed the room to where potted plants stood in a neat row, their leaves trembling faintly as if sensing his presence. He reached out and placed his hand on the first plant. Particles of light swirled from his palm into the stem. The plant withered, leaving a single leaf trembling. On the second, the stem turned black, but the leaves held out a moment longer. The third shriveled instantly, collapsing into dust. Ethan's eyes widened, a sinister elation spreading across his face.

"Roger! your creation is magnificent! The fungi is deadly to this extent...." he said.

---

The camp was alive with activity, the sound of boots on dirt, the clatter of weapons being sharpened, the low murmur of men preparing for battle. Tarwyn approached Ethan., his expression serious. "We have 93 Dragons Breathers, lord," he said, voice grim. "But no more."

Ethan shook his head, "And you won't be getting any more," he muttered under his breath, though there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Callwen stepped forward, kneeling before him. "My liege," he said, his voice reverent. The men behind him muttered under their breath "Kiss his cock while you're at it," laughing quietly at the over-the-top display. "Ah Callwen, how is life treating you around here?" Ethan asked.

"I can't complain, my liege," Callwen replied, a wry smile creeping onto his face. "But I sure do miss the manor food." Ethan chuckled in return.

"Callwen's men will hold the high ground and press from here while my men will flank them." He straightened, looking at Ethan. "What do you think?"

Ethan glanced at the map, "I think you underestimate our weapons," he said simply. His voice carried a quiet confidence that made the others shift uneasily. "We'll face them head-on in the open plains, this will be a...let's call it an exercise. "

Tarwyn raised an incredulous brow. "You're calling this battle... an exercise?"

Ethan smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. "Precisely."

Outside the tent Ethan gestured to the men around him, silencing the murmurs.

"Men Of Bala!" he commanded, his voice booming across the camp, and instantly, all eyes were on him.

"Lord Cadogan of Corwen has betrayed the crown of Cymru. He's allied with the English and sent his forces against us," Ethan's voice turned colder, more cutting. "They want my head..." He pointed with deadly precision to the ridge to the east, his voice low but sharp. "There, two hundred men lie in wait, thinking they are safe. But we will see to it that they die by our hands!"

The men roared, raising their fists. They were ready—no hesitation in their eyes. Fire burned hot in their hearts, and they were eager to follow their lord into the fray.