chapter 24.3

Alcard's horse moved steadily through the dense undergrowth, the shadows of towering trees stretching across his path as the golden hues of the sun faded into the darkness of the forest. The Revolutionaries had made their decision—they were no longer rejecting him outright. Whether it was because they recognized his name or because they realized his past was more than just that of an Outcast, he couldn't say. Either way, he didn't resist as they surrounded him, weapons at the ready, leading him deeper into the unknown.

He allowed himself to be guided, saying nothing, showing no signs of hostility. He knew men like these—trained to move as one, disciplined in their silence. They weren't like the reckless armies of the princes, who trampled forests without care and announced their presence with the clatter of armor. These men were different. They moved as if they belonged to the forest itself, slipping through the terrain without leaving a trace, avoiding dry twigs and loose gravel. Their discipline reminded Alcard of another force he once knew—the Elves.

As they continued their trek, he started to get a better picture of who they were. Their movements were too precise to be mere rebels. Every step they took, every glance they exchanged, all spoke of rigorous training. These weren't common deserters or desperate peasants looking for revenge. These were people who understood war in its most intimate form.

After what felt like hours, they arrived at their hidden encampment deep within the heart of the forest. Unlike the war camps of the princes, this was no grand fortress with banners and watchtowers. There were no towering walls, no heavy iron gates—just carefully placed tents blended seamlessly into the landscape, hidden among trees and camouflaged against the natural world. Alcard noted the traps that lined the perimeter, strategically placed in ways that would be deadly to an intruder but harmless to those who knew their secrets. The way they had built this place told him everything: they were not meant to fight head-on battles. They were meant to endure, to survive.

As he stepped further into the camp, he could feel the tension thickening in the air. Whispers followed him, filled with venom and distrust.

"Outcast," someone muttered, the word dripping with disdain.

The hostility was immediate. Eyes bore into him, filled with old hatred. Some of the revolutionaries even moved closer, hands resting on their weapons, as if daring him to give them a reason to strike. Alcard didn't flinch. He had seen this before—had lived with this hatred for years.

"It doesn't matter what I was. They will only ever see the Outcast."

One man, his muscular frame tense with anger, stepped forward. His face was twisted in open hostility, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "Why is he here?" he demanded. "We don't need help from someone who sold his soul to the monsters at The Wall!"

Alcard said nothing, letting the man vent his frustration. He had long since learned that responding in anger only fueled their resentment. Yet, before the situation could escalate further, the sound of quiet but deliberate footsteps cut through the murmurs.

A woman emerged from the other side of the camp. She moved with effortless confidence, her raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders, her piercing blue eyes assessing everything in an instant. Unlike the other fighters, her armor bore no unnecessary embellishments—she needed no badge of rank, no title to command respect. The way the revolutionaries stepped aside for her told Alcard all he needed to know.

Then, he saw her face clearly.

For the first time in years, a flicker of surprise crossed his features. It was gone in an instant, but the recognition burned in his chest like a flame he had thought long extinguished.

Anna Vaelia.

His former second-in-command.

One of the few people he had ever trusted completely.

One of the few who had stood by his side in the final days before everything collapsed.

The last he had heard, she had vanished from the military ranks of Jovalian after refusing to serve under Drennal Faerwyn, the very man who had orchestrated his downfall. Many assumed she had either been executed or had fled beyond the borders to escape the chaos that followed.

And now she was here.

Anna's gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, there was only silence between them. She showed no visible anger, no hatred like the others. But there was something in her eyes—something that neither confirmed nor denied where she stood after all these years.

"Alcard," she said finally, her voice carrying an authority that silenced the entire camp. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer immediately. He studied her face, searching for any trace of the loyalty she had once shown him. But time had changed them both. The woman before him was no longer the soldier who had once sworn to follow him through any battle. Just as he was no longer the commander she had once trusted.

Still, a strange sense of relief settled in his chest, even if only for a moment.

This was a part of his past he thought he had lost forever. And now, standing before him, it had returned.

Yet, deep inside, he knew that this reunion would not come without consequences.

And he wasn't sure he was ready to face them.