42- Steel and Strategy

The battle was over, but the weight of it lingered.

Aldric stood atop the battlements of Marquis Gustov's estate, watching as the last remnants of the battlefield were cleared away. The dead had been gathered, the wounded tended to, and yet victory felt hollow. He could still hear the clash of steel, the shouts of men, and the final cries of those who fell under his command.

His hands tightened around the stone railing. The lost of his men weighs heavily on him, he trained them, knows their strengths, their aspirations. They weren't just numbers to him.

Behind him, boots echoed against the stone as Mara approached. "The bodies have been prepared for burial. Gustov's men have already begun setting up a memorial for their fallen."

Aldric nodded, his jaw clenched. "And our own?"

"They'll be taken back to Ravensbourne. They deserve to rest in the land they fought for," Mara said. "I've already sent word ahead. Their families will be informed personally."

Aldric said with a heavy heart. "After this mission, I'll personaly face their family."

A silence stretched between them.

"We won, Aldric," Mara finally said, as if trying to reassure him. "A decisive victory. Gustov is in your debt. We crushed the bandits, and yet—"

"It wasn't enough," Aldric finished for her. He turned to face her. "The bandits were too well-supplied. Their movements were too precise. We knew there was a noble backing them, and we know who it is."

Mara crossed her arms. "House Velthorn."

The name left a bitter taste in Aldric's mouth.

"The question is what comes next," Mara continued. "We wounded them, but they won't stay down for long. If we don't move fast, Velthorn will retaliate before we get a chance to strike."

Aldric exhaled sharply. "Where's Red?"

"Already gathering intelligence," she said. "Tobias, Royce, and Gerrod are working with him to establish where Velthorn's next move might come from."

Aldric nodded. "Then we act fast."

Hours later, inside Gustov's study, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and candle wax. A large map of Gustov's territory was spread across the heavy wooden table, marked with battle sites, patrol routes, and known supply lines.

Marquis Gustov sat at the head of the table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Across from him, Aldric stood with Red, Mara, and Gerrod flanking his sides. Royce and Tobias stood by the window, scanning the perimeter as if expecting an attack at any moment.

"The intel from the mole we got was accurate," Red said, his voice low and measured. "House Velthorn has been using them to destabilize Gustov's land for months."

Gustov's fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair. "And now that we've crushed their pawns, they'll move in the open," he mused.

"They won't have a choice," Aldric said. "The bandits were their means to weaken you before they made a formal move. Without them, they'll need to act fast before you rebuild."

Mara placed a document on the table. "We intercepted some of their messages. They've already sent scouts into your territory. They're testing our response time, trying to see if we're still vulnerable."

Gustov's expression darkened. "Then they'll be sorely mistaken."

Aldric tapped a finger against the map. "We can't afford to sit back and wait. We need to strike before they do."

The marquis narrowed his eyes. "Do you suggest a direct assault?"

"Not yet," Aldric said. "We make them believe they still have the upper hand. We set a trap, just like we did with the bandits."

Royce, who had been quiet until now, leaned against the wall. "Velthorn won't fall for the same trick twice."

"We won't use the same trick," Aldric countered. "We feed them false information. Let them think there's still a weakness in your defenses. When they take the bait, we cut them off before they can retreat."

Gustov's brow furrowed. "How do you propose we do that?"

Aldric's gaze flicked to Red. "Show him."

Red nodded. "Velthorn's forces have been moving supplies under the guise of trade caravans for a week now ever since we destroyed the bandits. They're using unmarked wagons, posing as merchants. They've been careful not to move in large groups, but their pattern is clear. If we allow one of their 'trade routes' to remain open, they'll take it as an invitation to move in more troops. They are slowly gathering their forces with in your territory. Our estimation with their pace of gathering, it'll take two more weeks to a month before they could gather enough to make a big impact."

Gustov's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "And once they're in my territory?"

Mara smirked. "We make sure they never leave."

A silence settled over the room.

Gustov studied Aldric carefully. "Your planning is meticulous as always," he admitted. "You think three steps ahead." He exhaled slowly, his sharp gaze never leaving Aldric's face. 

The marquis stood, his heavy cloak shifting as he placed both hands on the table. "Very well. I'll trust your judgment. Set the trap, and let's see how House Velthorn responds."

Aldric met his gaze and nodded. "They won't see it coming."

As the meeting concluded, Aldric stepped out onto the balcony, taking in the crisp night air. He heard the door close behind him and sensed someone approaching.

Red joined him, arms crossed, his expression contemplative. "You're not satisfied with this, are you?"

Aldric exhaled. "I don't like playing games when lives are at stake."

Red was silent for a moment before he said, "Then we make sure their sacrifice wasn't in vain."

Aldric glanced at him, and for a moment, there was an understanding between them.

———- 

The weeks following the battle were filled with relentless work. The battlefield had long been cleared, the dead either buried or sent home. Eight men from Aldric's ranks, their bodies carefully preserved, were placed in wagons alongside the wounded and escorted back to Ravensbourne. Aldric had gethered their sword and lay it on top of their body. With his eyes covered in a blue hue staring at the sword he had places, his team could feel the pressure of mana from Aldric, they werent surprised since they have seen him practice mana religiously.

The letter he penned to Lucien was concise and direct—listing the fallen by name, instructing him to inform their families personally, and ensuring that their sacrifices would not be forgotten. They would be buried with honor, and their loved ones would be taken care of.

Skirmishes erupted across the region as scattered remnants of the bandit army attempted to regroup. Without leadership, they were no longer an organized threat, but they remained a nuisance—raiding villages, attacking supply lines, and ambushing isolated patrols. Aldric's forces, along with Marquis Gustov's men, swiftly responded, deploying small squads to hunt them down.

Mara, Red, Royce, Tobias, and Gerrod took charge of these operations, leading precision strikes that eradicated what remained of the bandits. The five of them worked efficiently, their coordination sharpened by the battles they had fought together.

Aldric, despite overseeing these efforts, found time to train daily. His progress in mana control had become something monstrous. If Seraphina were here, she would curse the heavens for allowing such a prodigious talent to be born in her time. His control over mana had grown sharper, more refined. He was not simply wielding magic—he was integrating it into his very movements.

Meanwhile, preparations for the true battle—the fall of House Velthorn—were now complete.

Back in the enemy camp.

A month had passed since the battle with the bandits

Commander Orwin of House Velthorn leaned over a map, studying their established positions. Around him, several officers murmured among themselves, confidence evident in their postures.

"Our forces are in place," one officer reported. "Lord Velthorn has sent word—once the signal is given, we move to take full control of the region. Marquis Gustov won't even realize he's lost until it's too late."

Orwin smirked. "Perfect. The fools have no idea we've already infiltrated their lands."

But then—something gnawed at him. A sense of unease. Small details had been bothering him over the past few days.

His scouts had gone missing. Supply wagons had been delayed. Reports from their own spies were inconsistent.

It was too convenient.

His stomach twisted. "Wait." His voice cut through the murmur of the room, making the other officers pause.

"Something is wrong," he muttered.

One of his men frowned. "What do you mean?"

Orwin's grip on the table tightened. "We should have encountered more resistance when sneaking our men in. But we didn't. Either Gustov's forces are incompetent, or…" His breath caught.

Or they let us in on purpose.

His blood ran cold.

"We've been set up."

Before the words had fully left his mouth, a deafening explosion rocked the tent. The walls shook. Screams filled the air.

The trap had been sprung.