Chapter Forty-Nine– Thirty Minutes
Chapter Forty-Nine– Thirty Minutes
The stone halls of David's Fortress were colder than usual, not from weather, but from the lingering presence of dread. The war had reached a point where even silence held weight—every footstep, every sword unsheathed in practice, carried the pressure of inevitability.
Kael sat in one of the small chambers, his arms bandaged, his breathing steady but tired. Lira rested beside him, watching the torches flicker, lost in thought. The wound on Kael's shoulder, where the Sultan's magic grazed him days before, was almost fully healed thanks to the fortress medics. But healing the body was easier than soothing the mind.
News had just reached them: the city of Glayrin—one of the last major cities under friendly control—had fallen to the Sultan's forces.
Kael clenched his fist.
"Another one gone," he muttered.
David entered the chamber moments later, eyes dark with calculations, a scroll in one hand, a map in the other. Behind him trailed Alex, walking slower than usual, his left arm wrapped tightly in blackened bandages—still recovering from his near-death at the hands of Sultan Mohamed.
"Get up," David said. "Everyone. We don't have time."
Kael and Lira rose, and the rest of the core fighters—Cristi, Greenwolf, and the others—filed into the war room.
David unrolled the map on the table, his fingers stabbing at a circle inked in deep red.
"They've taken Glayrin. We expected it. But it's not the Sultan's army I'm concerned about right now."
He took a breath, eyes sharpening.
"It's Andrew's Tenth Battalion. They've been seen marching at inhuman speed toward the city of Verthas—your mother's city."
Kael's heart stopped. Lira glanced over, her expression grim.
"No time to hesitate," David continued. "We're two days out if we walk, one day by horse. But the Tenth will be there in a day. That leaves us… thirty minutes to prepare defenses once we arrive."
"Thirty minutes?" Cristi said, incredulous. "That's suicide."
"No," Alex interrupted, voice hoarse. "That's war. And this war doesn't wait for our wounds to heal."
Kael swallowed his anger. "Then we ride now."
David nodded. "I've already ordered horses for the elite. Civilians are being evacuated from Verthas as we speak, but many refuse to leave—your mother included."
Kael looked down.
"She won't run. Not from Andrew."
"Good," David said. "Then we don't run either. We make our stand there. If they take Verthas, we lose a major passageway into the rest of the continent. And worse…"
He looked up.
"…Andrew gains a foothold in the heart of the last free lands."
By dusk, the warriors had gathered. Horses were prepared, rations packed, weapons reforged.
Cristi rode beside Kael, adjusting the new gauntlets enchanted by David's mages.
"Still can't believe I'm the Death Flame bearer," Cristi muttered. "I just wanted to help."
Kael gave a small smile. "You still can. By surviving."
They rode through the night. The road to Verthas was long, winding, and eerily quiet. No birds, no insects. Just the whisper of the wind and the distant rumble of the shadows.
Lira leaned closer to Kael. "What if we're too late?"
Kael looked ahead, eyes like steel. "Then we buy time until we're not."
As dawn broke on the horizon, the city of Verthas came into view—its high walls casting a long shadow over the green hills. Smoke trailed in the distance, signaling fires lit in defense. Citizens scrambled along the parapets, dragging stones, boiling oil, and archers into position.
David's group reached the gates.
"You have thirty minutes!" the city captain shouted.
Kael dismounted and ran straight for the eastern wall. The fog was coming fast. Too fast. Shadows moved within it.
And in the distance, riding in perfect unison across the fields—ten thousand warriors clad in black and crimson armor, weapons gleaming with magic—
The Tenth Battalion.
Kael looked to the sky, then toward the gate, where Natalia and Mario stood ready.
Lira stepped beside him and whispered, "It begins."
Kael nodded, drawing his blade.
"It does."