39- Winter’s End

The crisp morning air carried the scent of thawing earth, a sign that winter's grasp was finally loosening. The once snow-covered fields surrounding Ravensbourne had given way to patches of damp soil, and the sound of melting ice trickling down the stone walls filled the air.

Aldric stood atop one of the castle's watchtowers, overlooking the vast lands stretching beyond. The shifting season was a reminder—the promised date with Marquis Gustov was fast approaching.

Behind him, Mara approached.

"You've been up here since dawn," she noted, crossing her arms. "Something on your mind?"

Aldric exhaled, his breath still visible in the cold air. "Just making sure everything is in place."

"Everything's in place because we made sure of it," she said, rolling her eyes. "You've been running us like a damn military operation these past few weeks."

"And?"

She smirked. "And I am tired."

He chuckled. "We'll get plenty of rest soon after all of this is over with."

In the war room, Aldric stood over the grand map of Marquis Gustov's lands. Detailed reports, troop movements, and bandit locations littered the table. Red's work had been thorough, marking ambush points, hideouts, and supply routes.

Mara entered first, Caelum following behind her. The alchemist carried a heavy wooden crate, setting it down with a dull thud.

Caelum dusted off his hands. "Everything you requested. You're lucky I work fast."

Aldric lifted the lid and examined the contents:

• Smoke bombs for battlefield confusion.

• Firebombs for controlled destruction.

• Alchemical coatings for weapons—poison, incendiary, even some experimental formulas.

Aldric picked up a firebomb, inspecting its glass casing. "Efficient work. You had enough time?"

Caelum exhaled through his nose. "Time is never the issue. Materials, however, are." He crossed his arms. "Your demands nearly drained my stock."

Aldric smirked. "Then I'll make sure you're well supplied."

Caelum scoffed but didn't argue.

Mara glanced between them. "I take it this means everything is set?"

Aldric closed the crate. "Almost. There's one more thing I need to do."

Aldric found Seraphina in her study, poring over magical texts. She barely looked up when he entered.

"I'm leaving soon," Aldric said, leaning against the doorframe.

Seraphina, still focused on her book, hummed in acknowledgment. "Try not to get killed."

Aldric smirked. "I'll do my best."

As he turned to leave, she abruptly shut her book. "Wait."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

She studied him critically. "You're planning to transport father's creations in a wooden crate?"

Aldric frowned. "Yes? That's how crates work."

Seraphina's expression darkened. "That is how explosions happen."

Aldric narrowed his eyes. "…Are you implying Caelum's work is unstable?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am stating that it is highly reactive. If you are careless, you may set the entire battlefield alight before the fight even begins."

Aldric considered that. "…That does sound like something I'd rather avoid."

Seraphina produced a small pouch from her desk and tossed it to him. "Use this."

Aldric caught it, inspecting the intricate rune embroidery on its surface.

"A storage pouch?"

She nodded. "Enchanted to stabilize volatile materials. Store your alchemical tools in there, and they won't accidentally react to movement or impact."

"Appreciate it," he said.

Seraphina returned to her book. "Just return it intact."

At the main gate of Ravensbourne, Duke Alaric stood waiting.

His posture was impeccable, his presence commanding. The guards stood straighter in his presence, and even Mara and Royce seemed more formal.

Aldric approached, knowing his father wouldn't waste words.

Alaric studied him for a moment, then spoke.

"Have you got everything you need?"

Aldric nodded. "Everything is accounted for."

Alaric's gaze was unreadable. "Good. I expect clean results."

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken expectations.

Then, Alaric added, "And I expect good news upon your return."

Aldric smirked. "I wouldn't dream of disappointing you."

His father gave a small, final nod. It was silent approval, but approval nonetheless.

The Journey to Marquis Gustov's Estate

Spring had finally come. The once snow-covered fields were now damp with melted frost, revealing patches of fresh grass beneath. The air carried the scent of earth and renewal, a stark contrast to the grim task ahead.

Aldric and his company rode toward Marquis Gustov's estate, their preparations complete. The winter had been spent refining their strategy, and now it was time to execute it. Gustov had given him the entire season to plan—and Aldric intended to deliver results.

Lucien remained at Raven's Nest, overseeing operations and ensuring everything ran smoothly in their absence. Caelum stayed behind as well, his fugitive status making travel too great a risk. Instead, he had fulfilled Aldric's request by providing critical supplies for the upcoming battle.

Their group moved efficiently, divided into separate units:

• Aldric, Mara, and Red led the primary force, posing as mercenaries hired to reinforce Gustov's men.

• Royce, Tobias, and Gerrod traveled separately, infiltrating merchant routes to gather last-minute intelligence on the enemy.

Mara rode beside Aldric, her sharp gaze scanning the horizon. "We spent an entire season planning, but I have a feeling things won't go as smoothly as we hope."

Aldric smirked. "That's why we have contingencies."

Red, adjusting the hilt of his blade, exhaled impatiently. "Too much talking, not enough fighting. We already know where they are. Let's just cut them down."

Mara rolled her eyes. "And let them scatter before we find their true backers? Brilliant strategy, Red."

Aldric didn't intervene this time—Mara could handle Red's brashness. Instead, he focused on the distant walls of Gustov's estate, which were growing larger with each passing minute.

The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air as Aldric and his party rode through the gates of Marquis Gustov's estate. Spring had arrived, melting the last traces of winter, yet the tension in the air felt sharper than the coldest of winds. Gustov's retainers bowed as Aldric dismounted, their expressions a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

At the estate's entrance, Marquis Gustov himself stood waiting. He was a broad-shouldered man, his hair streaked with silver, his presence commanding. The moment Aldric approached, Gustov extended a firm hand.

"You've taken your time," Gustov said, his voice gruff yet not unkind.

Aldric smirked slightly, shaking his hand. "Winter was long, but I prefer to be thorough."

Gustov chuckled. "Let's hope your thoroughness translates to results." He glanced at Red, who stood silently behind Aldric, then turned back. "Come. Before the strategy meeting, we need to talk."

The three men moved inside, the grand hall echoing with their footsteps.

They entered Gustov's private study—an imposing room lined with old books, a large wooden desk, and a map-covered table at its center. The moment the doors shut behind them, Aldric nodded to Red.

"Tell him what you found."

Red stepped forward, rolling out a detailed map of Gustov's territory. Several red markings covered key roads and supply routes.

"We've been tracking the bandits' movements all winter," Red began. "Their pattern is too precise. They don't just know when and where to strike—they avoid patrols before they even leave your outposts."

Gustov's jaw tightened. "Meaning?"

"There's a leak," Aldric said simply. "Someone inside your ranks is feeding them information."

For a brief moment, silence filled the room. Gustov exhaled slowly, then leaned over the table. "If that's true… then every plan we've made so far is compromised."

Aldric nodded. "That's why we're going to flush them out."

Gustov narrowed his eyes. "How?"

Aldric placed a few blank parchments on the table. "We'll feed different false information to different groups within your officers and commanders. Each will receive a different location and time for an upcoming supply convoy."

"The real convoy," Red added, "will take an entirely different route under heavy escort."

Gustov's eyes flickered with understanding. "And when the bandits attack one of these false locations…"

"We'll know exactly who leaked the information," Aldric finished.

Gustov let out a low whistle. "Simple. Effective." Then his expression darkened. "And when we find the traitor?"

Aldric leaned back. "We won't eliminate them. Not yet."

Red smirked. "Instead, we use them."

Gustov arched a brow.

"If we control the flow of information they pass to the bandits," Aldric explained, "we can manipulate them. Let them believe they're still undetected. We'll feed them information that benefits us."

Gustov slowly nodded, the weight of the plan settling in his mind. "And in doing so… we can learn who the bandits are really working for."

"Exactly."

A slow grin spread across Gustov's face. "I underestimated you, Aldric."

Aldric smirked. "Many do."

With the private discussion settled, they moved to the war room, where Gustov's officers had already gathered. The air was thick with anticipation. Maps, reports, and troop movements were spread across the large oak table.

Among the gathered officers, Aldric subtly scanned their faces. One of them was a traitor.

Gustov cleared his throat, silencing the murmurs. "We have devised a final strategy to rid our lands of these bandits once and for all."

Aldric stepped forward, unrolling the 'official' convoy plan on the table.

"We will send a heavily guarded supply convoy along three key roads," Aldric stated, pointing to specific locations. "Our forces will be divided among these routes to ensure no single group is overwhelmed."

The officers leaned in, studying the plan carefully. Some nodded in approval, while others exchanged glances.

Aldric watched them closely.

He had just given three different false routes. The true convoy would take a fourth, unmentioned path.

The moment the traitor relayed this information, the bandits would strike one of these false locations.

And when they did… they would reveal themselves.

As the meeting adjourned, Gustov and his officers left to finalize preparations. Aldric lingered for a moment, glancing at Red.

"The trap is set."

Red smirked. "Now we wait."

Aldric exhaled, his fingers tapping against the table. One of them would betray Gustov.

But soon, they would unmask the mole—and turn them into an unwilling pawn in their own game.

The dense forest west of Marquis Gustov's estate was unnervingly quiet. Too quiet. The usual sounds of the wilderness—chirping birds, rustling leaves, distant howls—were absent, leaving behind a stillness that sent an eerie chill through the air.

Perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the narrow valley road, Aldric observed the staged convoy below.

It was the perfect bait.

The fake weapons transport slowly made its way through the valley, a tempting target for the bandits. A heavy-looking chest sat atop the largest wagon, making it appear as if it contained something valuable—gold, weapons, or magical artifacts. But in reality, it was nothing more than a carefully constructed illusion.

Aldric's team had spent weeks gathering intelligence on the enemy's tactics. Thanks to Red's extensive scouting, they knew exactly how the bandits operated, how they struck under the cover of darkness, and how they always seemed to be a step ahead.

Because they had someone on the inside.

And tonight, that spy was about to be exposed.

A shadow shifted beside him.

"They took the bait," Red murmured, adjusting his spyglass. "At least fifty men. Maybe more. They're in position, waiting for the convoy to enter the kill zone."

Aldric barely nodded, his mind focused.

"They think they have the upper hand," Mara said from his other side, arms crossed as she scanned the treeline. "They have no idea that we're the ones hunting them."

Aldric's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. Not yet, he thought. Let them come.

A distant whistle cut through the night air—the signal.

Moments later, dark figures emerged from the treeline. Dozens of them. Their weapons glinted under the moonlight as they crept down the slopes, eager to strike before the "convoy guards" even realized what was happening.

The lead bandit raised his hand, signaling his men.

Aldric tensed. Now.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Before the bandits could even reach the convoy, hidden crossbowmen unleashed a devastating barrage.

The night erupted with screams as arrows found their marks. Bandits collapsed mid-charge, some clutching their throats, others with bolts buried deep in their chests.

Panic spread through their ranks like wildfire.

"Ambush!" one of them shouted, just as a second wave of hidden archers rained down another volley.

The survivors tried to retreat—but that was when Gustov's knights struck.

Emerging from their concealed positions, the knights stormed forward, cutting off the bandits' escape. Clad in armor and wielding well-forged blades, they crashed into the enemy like an unrelenting tide.

Steel clashed against steel.

Screams filled the valley as bandits fell one after another, outmaneuvered and overpowered.

Aldric and his personal team—Mara, Red, Royce, Tobias, and Gerrod—joined the fray.

Royce moved like a ghost, silent and lethal. His twin daggers found flesh with every step, cutting down bandits before they even realized he was there.

Red fought like a battering ram, his greatsword cleaving through the enemy with brutal efficiency.

Mara, quick and agile, weaved through the chaos, cutting down targets with her precise strikes.

Aldric, however, had only one target in mind.

The bandit leader.

Aldric's gaze locked onto the man at the back, barking orders to his retreating men. He was taller than the rest, clad in leather armor reinforced with metal plates. A scar ran down his left cheek, and his sharp eyes darted around, searching for an escape.

Not this time.

Aldric moved.

With a burst of speed, he cut through the battlefield, dodging a wild swing from a desperate bandit before slicing cleanly through the man's chest.

His target saw him coming too late.

Aldric's blade was at his throat in an instant.

The bandit leader froze, hands raised in surrender.

"It was a trap," the man breathed, realization dawning in his eyes.

Aldric's voice was calm. "Yes. And you walked right into it."

The battle was over.

The last echoes of dying screams had faded, leaving behind only the smell of blood and the distant crackle of torches.

Aldric surveyed the carnage. It had gone exactly as planned.

The bandits were either dead or captured. The real threat—the spy inside Gustov's ranks—had nowhere left to hide.

Back at the estate, Aldric, Gustov, and Red stood before the captured traitor.

The mole was on their knees, wrists bound, sweat dripping down their face as they trembled before the two lords.

Gustov's face was twisted in fury. "You betrayed your own people," he growled. "Why?"

The traitor hesitated, eyes flickering to Aldric. As if debating whether or not to speak.

Aldric remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Then, finally, the traitor whispered:

"You don't understand."

Aldric narrowed his eyes. "Then explain it to me."

The traitor swallowed hard.

And in that moment, Aldric knew—this wasn't over.

The real enemy was still lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The tension in Marquis Gustov's study was palpable. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the wooden walls, but the warmth did nothing to ease the cold atmosphere in the room.

Aldric stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, while Gustov paced near his desk, his hands clenched into fists.

The traitor knelt in the center of the room, bound and flanked by two of Gustov's knights. His face was bruised from the struggle, sweat beading on his forehead as he refused to meet anyone's gaze.

Red leaned against the wall, idly flipping a dagger between his fingers. His sharp eyes never left their prisoner.

"Speak," Gustov finally growled, his voice barely restrained fury. "Who are you working for?"

The traitor's lips parted, but no sound came out. His shoulders shook slightly, a mix of fear and hesitation.

Aldric stepped forward. "You were careful," he said, his tone calm. "You fed the bandits just enough information to keep them confident. You made sure they never took too many losses. That means your employer wanted this conflict to drag out." He tilted his head. "Why?"

The prisoner swallowed hard, still refusing to answer.

Gustov took a threatening step closer. "You have one chance to explain yourself before I lose my patience."

Silence.

Red sighed, pushing off the wall. "He's stalling," he said lazily, stepping up beside Aldric. "Which means he still thinks his master can save him."

The words seemed to strike a nerve. The prisoner's breath hitched.

Aldric caught the reaction instantly. His eyes narrowed. "Who promised to protect you?"

Still, the traitor said nothing.

Aldric exhaled through his nose. "Very well." He turned to the knights. "Take him to the dungeons. Keep him alive but isolated. No visitors." His voice turned cold. "If he values his master's protection so much, let's see how long he lasts without it."

The knights nodded and dragged the prisoner to his feet.

As they pulled him toward the door, the traitor suddenly broke.

"Wait!" he gasped. "I—I had no choice!"

Aldric and Gustov exchanged a glance.

Gustov gave a curt nod. "Talk."

The traitor's shoulders slumped. He took a shuddering breath before speaking.

"A noble…" he rasped. "A noble from the House of Velthorn."

Aldric's eyes sharpened. He had expected as much—this wasn't just some random betrayal. There was always a bigger hand pulling the strings.

Gustov tensed. "Velthorn…" His jaw clenched. "That bastard."

Aldric turned to him. "You know him?"

"Lord Darius Velthorn," Gustov spat the name like a curse. "He's had his eyes on my land for years. My iron mines are some of the most profitable in the region, and he's been looking for an excuse to weaken my territory before making a move."

Aldric exhaled slowly, thinking. "If he orchestrated this bandit problem to drain your resources, then this was just the first step."

Gustov slammed a fist onto the desk. "That snake. I should've known he'd stoop this low."

Aldric turned his gaze back to the traitor. "Did Velthorn send you personally?"

The man hesitated before shaking his head. "No… I was approached by a messenger. They made it clear that if I didn't comply, my family would suffer." His voice cracked. "I—I had no choice."

Aldric studied him carefully. Desperation. Fear. Regret.

It was clear the man had been caught in a web larger than he realized.

Aldric glanced at Red, who gave the slightest nod—he wasn't lying.

Gustov exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damn it all."

Aldric straightened. "Then we have our answer. Velthorn was behind this." He turned to Gustov. "The question is… what do we do next?"

Gustov looked at him, expression dark.

"We prepare," he said. "And when the time comes… we strike back."