The March to War

The air was thick with tension.

Valtherion stood at the highest balcony of the royal palace, gazing down at his empire. The streets were alive with movement—blacksmiths hammering steel, merchants loading supplies onto carts, and soldiers sharpening their weapons. Valtheria was preparing for war.

Solmaria had made its move. Now, it was his turn.

Behind him, footsteps echoed.

"My lord," Elyndra's voice was soft but firm. "The army is ready. They await your orders."

Valtherion smirked but didn't turn around. His golden eyes remained locked on the city below.

"Good."

She stepped closer. "Are you sure about this?"

That made him turn. A sharp gaze. A knowing smirk.

"You're asking me that now?"

Elyndra sighed. "It's not about hesitation. Solmaria isn't like Raegath. Their forces are vast. Their strategy is solid. If we march into their lands without caution, it could lead to—"

"An absolute slaughter." Valtherion finished for her, his voice dripping with amusement.

Elyndra pinched the bridge of her nose. "You enjoy this too much."

"That's because I already know how this ends."

Valtherion turned fully now, stepping past her and walking toward the war room. "Come. There's still work to do."

The War Council

Inside the massive stone hall, his generals, advisors, and commanders stood around a large war table. A detailed map of the continent was spread across it, pieces representing troops, supply lines, and enemy fortifications placed meticulously on its surface.

A grizzled veteran, General Kael, was the first to speak. "Solmaria's forces are gathering at the Bloodstone Plains. It's a strategic choke point. If we engage them there, we risk walking into a trap."

Valtherion leaned over the table, studying the map. His fingers traced the borders of Solmaria, stopping at the plains.

"They want us to fight on their terms," he mused.

Kael nodded. "Exactly, my lord. The terrain favors them. Their archers and cavalry will have the advantage."

Silence hung in the room.

Valtherion tapped his finger against the table. Then—he grinned.

"Then we won't fight them there."

Murmurs spread through the room.

"My lord?" Kael furrowed his brows. "If we avoid the plains, we'll have to march through the Wraithwood—dangerous terrain filled with rogue bands and unpredictable elements."

Valtherion's grin widened.

"Exactly."

Elyndra crossed her arms. "You're planning something."

Valtherion nodded, turning to the assembled leaders.

"Listen well. Solmaria is expecting us to take the easy route—to march straight into their well-prepared battlefield. But instead, we cut through the Wraithwood. We strike from the shadows. We become the nightmare they never saw coming."

Kael hesitated. "A risky move. If we lose our way or get ambushed—"

Valtherion raised a hand, cutting him off.

"Then we adapt."

His golden eyes glowed under the torchlight. "I don't play by their rules. I make my own."

A beat of silence.

Then—Kael grinned.

"...I like it."

The March Begins

As dawn broke, thousands of Valtherian soldiers stood at attention. Their armor gleamed under the rising sun, banners fluttering in the cold wind.

Valtherion walked through their ranks, his presence alone commanding unwavering loyalty.

They weren't just warriors.

They were conquerors.

Solmaria thought they were dealing with a mere warlord.

They had no idea a tyrant was coming.

With a single motion, he raised his hand.

"Move out."

The gates of Valtheria swung open, and the army began its march into the Wraithwood.

Into the Shadows

The deeper they went into the forest, the thicker the mist became.

Twisted trees loomed overhead, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. The air was damp, filled with the distant howls of unseen creatures.

Soldiers moved carefully, weapons drawn.

"Feels like a cursed place," one of them muttered.

Valtherion walked at the front, unbothered. He could feel it—something watching them.

A low growl echoed through the trees.

Then—movement.

From the darkness, figures emerged.

Bandits. Mercenaries. Outlaws.

Armed to the teeth, they blocked the path ahead, grinning like wolves who had just found fresh prey.

One of them, a large man with jagged scars, stepped forward. "Lost, are we?" His voice was thick with amusement. "This is our territory. If you want to pass—"

Valtherion didn't let him finish.

With a flick of his wrist, his sword was already at the man's throat.

The bandit froze.

"Move," Valtherion said, voice cold. "Or die."

The others tensed, hands inching toward their weapons.

Big mistake.

Before they could react, Valtherion moved.

Steel flashed. Blood sprayed. In the blink of an eye, five men were already dead.

The remaining bandits staggered back in shock.

Valtherion's golden eyes glowed through the mist.

"You think you're predators?" He took a step forward, blade dripping crimson. "You are nothing but insects."

Panic spread. Some dropped their weapons. Others tried to run.

Valtherion sighed.

Cowards.

He raised his free hand, fingers snapping.

From the shadows, arrows rained down.

The fleeing men fell instantly.

The battle was over before it even began.

Valtherion turned to his soldiers.

"Burn the bodies. We keep moving."

His men nodded, their admiration clear in their eyes.

No words needed to be said.

They were following a monster.

And they loved every second of it.

Solmaria Prepares

Far away, in the capital of Solmaria, King Aldros sat in his throne room, eyes narrowed. Reports from scouts had just arrived.

Valtheria had moved.

But something was wrong.

"They didn't take the plains?" He frowned, gripping the armrest of his throne.

The general before him nodded. "No, my king. They've entered the Wraithwood instead."

A silence fell over the room.

Then—a curse.

Aldros slammed his fist against the table.

"He's not playing by the rules," he muttered.

The general hesitated. "Should we prepare an ambush?"

Aldros shook his head.

"You don't ambush a man like Valtherion." He exhaled slowly.

"No... you prepare for war."

The Storm Gathers

Back in the Wraithwood, Valtherion stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the distant city of Solmaria. His golden eyes burned with anticipation.

The war hadn't even begun, and yet—

He could already taste the blood.

"Soon," he murmured.

Behind him, Elyndra watched, arms crossed. "You're enjoying this too much."

Valtherion smirked.

"You have no idea."