Chapter 5: The Fool (0) - II

Veylin Lorien

The King is suspecting me.

Of course, he is.

I should have expected this sooner. Regis isn't a fool. He may act like a man who plays his enemies like pieces on a board, but I've played this game longer than him. And yet, somehow, he has managed to shift the tide against me. I had hoped to maintain my closeness to him—to use his influence, to operate in the shadows while standing in his light—but now, that hope is gone.

If I get caught, I am finished.

I lean back in my seat, letting the sway of the carriage rock me in rhythm with my thoughts. I had planned so carefully, calculated every step, but this changes things. If I am to continue... I must deceive everyone.

I do not turn my head, but I know they are there. Regis' men. Following. Watching. They are skilled, well-trained, and certainly not fools. I have ignored them for the most part, allowing them to believe I do not notice their presence. Let them think I am unaware. Let them believe they still have the advantage.

I exhale through my nose. If I move against Callen while they are watching, I am done. My hands will be tied, and my carefully laid plans will crumble before they have even begun. But even in this predicament, I cannot help but chuckle softly.

Well.

Even in this situation... I have a plan ready.

I always do.

The carriage jolts slightly as the driver mutters something under his breath. The dirt road is uneven, winding through the sparse forest leading toward Eldoria, the capital of Castellan. Tall trees loom around us, casting flickering shadows under the early evening sun. My fingers drum against my knee, my mind already moving through possible contingencies.

Then, I hear it.

A sharp whistle cuts through the air, followed by the distinct thrum of an arrow slicing through the wind.

The driver barely has time to react before a heavy bolt embeds itself in his shoulder. He grunts in pain, slumping forward.

The horses rear up, panicked.

And then—chaos erupts.

Bandits.

I see them in the trees, their figures shifting between the branches. At least five warriors, clad in mismatched armor, their weapons crude but deadly. But my gaze sharpens on the real threat—a mage.

Cloaked in deep blue, his staff raised high, I can already feel the crackling energy in the air. He murmurs an incantation, and the earth trembles beneath us.

Damn.

The carriage lurches violently as vines burst from the ground, snaring the wheels, locking them in place. My guards react instantly, leaping from the carriage, drawing steel. I follow suit, landing lightly on the dirt path.

I assess. Three swordsmen, one spearman, one brute with an axe. All of them moving with the ease of seasoned killers.

And then—flames ignite from the mage's staff.

Ah. Fire magic.

Lovely.

One of the bandits rushes forward, his sword swinging low. I sidestep, my own blade flashing as I counter, deflecting the strike and slicing across his exposed forearm. He curses, staggering back.

Another lunges from my right. I block. Pivot. The weight of his attack forces me to slide back a step, but I regain my footing quickly.

I am not the best fighter. I know this.

But I am not weak.

The mage chants again, and suddenly the air is alight with flames. A fireball hurtles toward the carriage. The horses scream, rearing in terror. One of my guards barely dodges in time before the carriage bursts into flames, heat licking at the edges of my cloak.

"Tch."

I curse under my breath. This isn't good.

One of the King's men rushes in from the trees, his blade cutting down a bandit in an instant. Another follows, striking at the brute with the axe, forcing him back. The fools had no choice but to reveal themselves—they could not let me die here.

That works in my favor.

The mage, however, is the real problem. He raises his staff again, his eyes glowing with arcane power.

I act.

I rush forward before he can finish his incantation, my feet barely making a sound on the dirt. His eyes widen—he didn't expect me to attack directly. I close the distance, my blade flashing—

He raises a hand, and suddenly I am thrown back, an invisible force slamming into my chest. I hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact. My ribs ache, but I do not allow myself to linger.

The mage smirks, confident. Arrogant.

A mistake.

I move before he can cast again. This time, I feint left, but at the last second, I twist my wrist, angling my blade upward. His eyes widen—too late. My sword finds his gut, piercing through robes and flesh alike.

He gasps. His fingers tremble, trying to form another spell.

I twist the blade.

He crumples, breath hitching. The glow in his eyes dims, and then—nothing.

I exhale, pulling my sword free, barely registering the blood now coating my gloves. Around me, the last of the bandits are cut down by the King's men.

It is over.

The only sound that remains is the crackling of the burning carriage, the scent of charred wood and flesh thick in the air.

I press a hand to my side. I am wounded. Not fatally, but enough to slow me.

Still, I have survived.

Barely.

I stagger back toward the wreckage, reaching into my coat for the vial I always keep. The healing potion is small, the liquid inside shimmering with a dull golden hue. I uncork it, drinking it down in one swift gulp.

A sharp, burning sensation spreads through my body before relief floods my limbs. The wound at my side begins to close, flesh knitting together, pain fading into a dull ache.

I inhale slowly, regaining my composure.

That... was an unexpected complication.

But in the end—it works in my favor.

I glance toward the King's men, who are now tending to their own wounded. They had no choice but to intervene, to ensure my survival. And now? Now, I am the victim.

The cunning strategist, attacked in the wilderness by unknown forces.

A tragic stroke of misfortune.

I school my expression into one of weary gratitude, allowing my voice to carry just enough exhaustion.

"...It seems I owe you my life."

One of them—a soldier I recognize from Regis' personal guard—nods stiffly. He does not speak, but I can see it in his eyes.

They are reassessing.

Doubt is a dangerous thing, but so is misplaced trust.

And now, they will report to Regis. They will tell him of this ambush, of how I fought, how I nearly died.

They will believe that I, too, am being hunted.

That perhaps... I am not the enemy at all.

I allow my shoulders to slump just slightly, playing the part of a weary man who has just barely survived an attempt on his life. And in my mind, I smile before I shut my eyes closed and lost consciousness.

Even in this situation... I have won.

___________________________________________________

Regis von Castellan

"What?! What do you mean Veylin got attacked?!"

Doran knelt before me, his head bowed in deference. Behind him, his men stood stiffly, their faces grim from the weight of their report.

"My lord," Doran began, voice steady despite the tension in the room. "We followed him as you commanded. He was attacked on the road, just beyond the outskirts of Graymoor on his way the at the capital. A group of bandits ambushed him in the dead of night. If not for his quick thinking and his guards, he would have been slain on the spot."

I scoffed, exhaling through my nose. "And yet, he lives."

"Aye, my king. He suffered some injuries, but nothing grievous. The culprits were scattered, but a few got away."

Good. A pity he didn't die.

I schooled my expression, allowing only mild concern to show. "Troubling news, but fortunate that he survived. Veylin is a cunning fox—perhaps even the gods find him too amusing to let him die so easily." I let out a humorless chuckle, shaking my head. "No matter. We continue as planned."

Doran nodded, rising to his feet. "Will he be attending the war council, my lord?"

"No. His injuries render him... indisposed. We shall proceed without him."

I needed to make it clear that this was not my doing, no one must suspect...

But... Why did those Bandits attacked Veylin of all people?

***

The council chamber hummed with tension as the gathered lords and commanders settled into their seats. The dim glow of the candelabras cast flickering shadows over the great war table, where a sprawling map of Castellan and Valendria lay, its edges curled from repeated use. The scent of ink, wax, and old parchment filled the air—a familiar perfume of war councils past.

I sat at the head of the table, fingers interlocked, my expression unreadable. The men and women before me awaited my words, but I let the silence stretch a moment longer. Let them feel the weight of what was to come.

Then, at last, I spoke.

"Veylin will not be attending tonight's meeting."

Murmurs rippled through the room, some voices hushed in curiosity, others in concern. I caught Lord Edric's sharp gaze, ever the watchful one, before continuing.

"He was attacked on his way back from Graymoor," I explained. "A band of outlaws ambushed his convoy. Though his bodyguards managed to fend them off, he suffered injuries. He lives, but he is unfit to join us."

"An unfortunate turn of events," Lady Seraphina remarked, arms crossed over her chest. "Bandits grow bolder these days."

"Indeed," I replied. "But let us not dwell on it. The war does not pause for one man's misfortune." I allowed a brief pause before pressing on. "As such, we will proceed with the strategy Veylin outlined in our last meeting."

It was a subtle maneuver—one that would shield me from unnecessary scrutiny. By tying the plan directly to Veylin, I ensured that any missteps would be laid at his feet, not mine.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Edric, Lady Seraphina, Lord Harvin, Captain Varlen, and Commander Rholdan remain still, offering no signs of surprise. They were already well aware of the plan from our previous meeting.

However, Lord Aedric Dunmar, a cautious older noble who had not attended last time, frowned. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I was not present in the last council. What exactly is this plan?"

Beside him, Lady Helena Braxholm, a sharp-eyed woman with a mind for battlefield logistics, nodded. "If we are to commit to a course of action, all present should be fully informed."

I inclined my head, gesturing toward the map.

"Our enemy, Valendria, presses against the eastern front. Their aim is clear—the Narthis Highlands. If they secure the high ground, they will push past our defenses before winter." I traced a gloved finger along the map, outlining the key locations. "Their path is flanked by the Ebonwood to the north and the Serpentine River to the south. If they gain control over both crossings—Shadowmere Crossing and Sunhollow Bridge—we will be forced into open battle, where their cavalry will have the advantage."

Captain Varlen, who had already been briefed, gave a firm nod. "Then we ensure they never reach that point."

"Precisely," I said. "Which is why Veylin proposed a multi-layered defense. First, we reinforce Narthis Highlands—not as a single front, but through staggered positions. The Ebonwood's dense thickets will serve as natural cover for our archers. Hidden fortifications, oil traps, and spiked pits will make a direct advance costly."

Lady Helena tapped a finger against the table, analyzing the placements. "A strong position, but such defenses alone won't win us the war."

"It doesn't need to," I countered. "It only needs to hold long enough to lure them into our true trap."

I tapped Sunhollow Bridge on the map.

"This bridge is their lifeline. If they attempt a crossing, we let them believe they have secured it... then we collapse it at the perfect moment. Their supplies, their troops, their morale—it will all be swept away into the river."

Lord Aedric's brow furrowed. "Destroying the bridge is a dangerous move. If we miscalculate, we could sever our own means of retreat."

"Which is why we weaken the foundations rather than destroy it outright," I said smoothly. "A mere push at the right moment, and it crumbles beneath them."

Silence hung over the chamber as the weight of the plan settled in.

Lord Harvin sighed, rubbing his temples. "The strategy is sound, but what of supplies? Fortifications and weaponry require resources—timber, steel, rations. If we are to execute this, the kingdom's coffers must sustain it."

I waved a hand dismissively. "We will use what we already have. The Ebonwood provides ample timber. The mines of Ashford will supply the metal. And our scouts will disrupt the enemy's supply lines, ensuring that they furnish our war for us just like what Veylin mention in the previous meeting."

The room fell quiet. They understood the implications. A ruthless plan, but necessary.

Lady Seraphina, having already been in agreement during the previous meeting, simply leaned back with a smirk. "A bold strategy, correct?" she admitted. "If we succeed, Valendria will be forced into a retreat before winter sets in."

"And if we fail?" Lord Aedric questioned, his voice low.

I met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Then we make sure we do not fail."

There were no further objections. The council had been won over, the plan set into motion. And with Veylin's name attached to it, I had ensured that any future consequences would not stain my own.

I stood alone before the grand map after the council members departed, my fingers trailing over the routes we had outlined.

A masterful deception. A stroke of brilliance.

And yet... Veylin.

That cunning fox had devised this scheme. Even in his absence, his influence still laced every thread of our strategy. What was he truly after? What game was he playing?

I clenched my jaw. It was infuriating to admit, but the bastard was too useful to discard—at least, not yet. But one day, when the time was right...

Perhaps next time, the bandits would finish what they started.

For now, I would play along. I would watch.

And when the moment came, I would strike first.

_______________________________________

The Fool Arcana represents the beginning of a journey, marked by boundless potential and untainted optimism. It symbolizes a fresh start, where the subject is open to the unknown, with no preconceived notions or fears. Like a blank slate, The Fool signifies innocence, freedom, and the courage to step into new experiences without knowing what lies ahead.

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While the card often suggests a leap of faith, The Fool is also about embracing the journey itself. It's a card that encourages embracing the unknown, exploring new opportunities, and trusting in one's intuition. Though the path may be uncertain, The Fool assures that new beginnings are always worth the risk, for they open doors to personal growth and transformation.