The Black Propaganda

"They had archers stationed at the back of the walls," the commander said quickly, as if to justify their failure.

For the first time that night, something flickered in Turik's eyes—something sharp and calculating.

"Indeed," he murmured, "General Odin is an exceptional strategist. He anticipated every move you made, Mayor."

Fuerte's hands clenched into fists. His entire body trembled—not just with rage, but with a terrible, creeping realization. Had he backed the wrong side? Was he doomed?

"Did you send men to pursue them in Mount Roca?" he demanded.

The commander lowered his gaze again. "They're on higher ground, Mayor. Pursuing them in the dead of the night would be suicide."