he pre-dawn air still carried the coppery tang of blood—a grim reminder of the night's brutal work.
Brad's small, hand-picked unit had moved like wraiths through the darkness, a silent, deadly force.
They ambushed a Rubak patrol larger than expected—nearly thirty strong.
The fight had been swift and merciless.
Liam moved with newfound fluidity—a blend of "frost-step" footwork and subtle magic.
He accounted for three kills, his mithril short sword flashing in the moonlight.
Lia Razakia, a whirlwind of motion, took down five with archery and close-quarters combat.
Her Razakia-honed skills were a terrifying spectacle.
Elara created openings with precise throws, and the remaining members showcased their skills.
Even Anthony, despite his initial nervousness, proved effective, his medium sword a blur.
Anayis, with her bow, acted as a silent executioner; her arrows found their marks with unnerving accuracy.
They lost no one—a testament to Brad's training, their growing skills, and the element of surprise.
Yet the victory felt hollow, overshadowed by chilling information from their lone prisoner.
The Rubak—a scarred, grizzled warrior—was reluctant to talk at first.
Brad, his face a mask of cold detachment, used methods honed over years in the shadows.
These methods bypassed pain and struck at a man's core fear.
Liam watched as Brad, with chilling calmness, dismantled the Rubak's will.
His questions were precise and his voice devoid of emotion.
He did not lay a single hand on the prisoner.
The information came in a torrent of broken Drakonian and guttural Rubak phrases.
It was punctuated by gasps and whimpers.
The new chieftain—the one who united the disparate tribes—was named Veigard.
A giant of nearly two meters, built like a bull and known for cunning and brutality,
he was not just a warrior, but a strategist, leader, and unifier.
In a short time, he forged the fractious Rubak tribes into a formidable force.
"Veigard… strong… smart…" the Rubak gasped, his eyes wide with terror and reverence.
"He… he is the one… the prophecy…"
The prophecy made Liam's heart skip a beat.
Another prophecy. Another looming threat.
"What prophecy?" Brad pressed in a low, dangerous tone.
The Rubak hesitated, fear clashing with deep-seated beliefs.
Then he whispered, "The… the Chieftain of the Frozen Wind… he will come… unite the tribes…"
He continued, "lead us to… glory… conquer the soft lands…"
He coughed, bloody froth bubbling at his lips, "Veigard… he is the one… the Frozen Wind…"
After that, the Rubak fell silent, his body going limp.
The wind now carried a new, urgent whispered report.
A haggard scout arrived shortly after Brad's group returned.
"Eight hundred," the scout rasped, his face grimy with dust and fear.
His eyes were wide with the memory of what he'd seen.
"At least. More joining every day. They're not just raiding, Captain. They're gathering."
He spat on the frozen ground—a gesture of disgust and defiance.
Karl Volgunder's hand tightened on his greatsword's hilt as the six stars on his tunic dimmed in the pale sunlight.
Beside him, Brian Volgunder remained calm, yet his blue eyes hardened like chips of ice.
Eight hundred echoed in Liam's mind—a crushing weight.
It was worse than they'd feared. Far worse.
The hastily assembled war council—Karl, Brian, Elara, and veteran officers—gathered around a crude map.
Their faces were etched with grim lines.
Lia Razakia, her playful demeanor replaced by focused intensity, stood apart with her hand on her sword's hilt.
Her gaze fixed on Brian.
Brad remained a silent presence, absorbing everything yet revealing nothing.
"This isn't a raiding party," Karl growled.
"This is an invasion force."
"They're not just targeting our outpost," Elara added, her voice tight with urgency.
"They're aiming for Volgunder Keep—for the heart of Drakonia."
A chilling silence fell over the group.
The implications were clear: full-scale war had begun, and they were woefully outnumbered.
"We can't face them head-on," Brian said calmly but firmly.
"Not here. Not now. We're too few and too far from reinforcements."
"Retreat?" scoffed Hektor, the Vangoria warrior.
"Never! We stand and fight!"
"We will fight," Brian countered, his gaze unwavering.
"But we will choose our battles. We cannot throw away lives against overwhelming odds."
He looked at Karl and continued,
"We need to warn Arthur. He must prepare Volgunder Keep's defenses and call on the other families."
"This is beyond us."
Karl nodded tightly, "Agreed. We send a fast rider with a small escort—no matter the cost."
Turning to a lieutenant, he ordered,
"Prepare a message. Emphasize the threat and urgency. Tell Arthur to prepare for the worst."
The lieutenant saluted and hurried away.
"And us?" asked Elara. "What do we do?"
A slow smile spread across Brian's face—a cold, predatory gleam.
"We do what we do best. We hunt."
He looked at Karl and continued,
"We split our forces. You, Captain, will lead the main body back to the outpost we set up thirty days ago."
"Fortify it. Turn it into a defensible barracks, secure the supply line, and prepare for a siege if needed."
Karl frowned, "And you?"
"I'll take a smaller group," Brian said confidently.
"Fifty men—volunteers: the best scouts, fastest riders, and most adaptable warriors."
His gaze flickered toward Liam, then Brad, then Lia.
"We'll stay behind to harass the Rubaks, disrupt their movements, and buy Arthur time."
"We'll be the wolves in the shadows, nipping at their heels, making them bleed."
Karl hesitated, knowing it was a risky, nearly suicidal plan.
Yet he trusted Brian's skill, cunning, and ruthlessness.
"Fifty men," Karl repeated slowly, "and… who will lead them?"
Brian's smile widened, a flash of white teeth in the grim landscape.
"I will," he declared.
Karl gave a curt nod, accepting the inevitable.
"Very well. Choose your man and prepare to move out as soon as the messenger is gone."
He paused, then added with a pointed look at Brian,
"Don't get yourself killed, Volgunder. Your father would not take it well."
Brian chuckled—a low, humorless sound.
"I have no intention of dying, Karl. Not today, at least."
He turned, and his gaze fell upon Liam.
His blue eyes narrowed, the playful warmth replaced by a calculating assessment.
"Liam. You will have no problem with my orders, yes?"
Liam met his gaze and nodded, his heartbeat quickening.
"Good.
We will make them pay."
The wind, a keening blade across the desolate plains, seemed to mock the solemn vows echoing from Brian Volgunder's lips. He stood before the now-divided attack force, his voice, though roughened by the biting air, carrying a resonant strength that reached every ear. "We stand at a crossroads," he declared, his blue eyes sweeping across the assembled warriors. "The Rubaks gather, a storm of steel and savagery poised to break upon Drakonia. But we are not a wall, to be shattered by their brute force. We are the wind itself – unseen, unpredictable, striking where they least expect."
He paused, letting his words sink in, a grim understanding settling over the faces before him. "Captain Karl," he continued, turning to the veteran commander, "you will take the majority of our force and return to the outpost. Fortify it. Make it a bastion against the coming tide. Secure our supply lines, for they are the lifeblood of any army. You are the shield, steadfast and unyielding."
Karl Volgunder nodded, his expression grim but resolute. "We will hold, Brian," he said, his voice a low growl. "We will make them pay for every inch of Drakonian soil."
Brian then turned to the smaller group, those who would remain with him. "And we," he said, a predatory smile playing on his lips, "we will be the wolves. We will hunt in the shadows, disrupt their movements, bleed them dry before they can even reach our walls. We will be their nightmare."
The selection process was swift and decisive. Brian moved through the ranks, his eyes assessing, his choices seemingly intuitive yet precise. He chose men and women known for their speed, their stealth, their resourcefulness. Most were familiar faces, veterans of his southern campaigns, their loyalty proven in countless battles. There was a wiry scout named Finn, with eyes that could spot a hawk in a blizzard; a silent, deadly archer named Sarah; a pair of twins, Roric and Bran, renowned for their uncanny ability to move as one. Each selection was met with a nod, a brief exchange of words, a silent understanding.
When he reached Liam, Brian paused, studying his younger brother. "Are you ready?"
Liam met his gaze, his own eyes steady despite the tremor in his heart. "I am," he said, his voice firm.
Brian nodded, a flicker of something that might have been pride in his eyes. "Good. Then you're with me." He then turned to Hektor, the Vangoria warrior, who had been chafing at the bit for a direct confrontation. "Hektor," Brian said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Your… enthusiasm… is admirable. But it needs to be channeled. You will lead one of the scouting units. Your aggression will be an asset, but only if you control it."
Hektor, bristling slightly at the implied criticism, nevertheless nodded. "I understand, Volgunder," he said, his voice grudging. "I will follow your orders."
The farewell between Brian and Karl was brief, but poignant. They clasped arms, their faces close, their words lost to the wind. There was a shared understanding between them, a bond forged in battle, a mutual respect that transcended rank and rivalry. Karl, his gaze shifting to Liam for a fleeting moment, placed a heavy hand on Brian's shoulder.
"Keep him safe, Brian," he said, his voice low and rough. "He's… he's still learning."
Brian met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "He'll learn," he said. "Or he won't survive." It wasn't a dismissal, but a statement of fact, a harsh truth of their reality.
Then, Karl turned and, with a sharp command, led the main body of the attack force away, a long column of warriors marching back towards the relative safety of the outpost, leaving behind a small, almost insignificant band of fifty souls, silhouetted against the vast, unforgiving landscape.
The silence that descended after their departure was profound. The wind seemed to whisper through the rocks, carrying with it the weight of their isolation, the magnitude of their task.
Brian gathered his chosen group around him, his voice now carrying a different tone – not the rousing call to arms of a moment before, but the focused, practical instructions of a hunter planning his stalk.
"We are outnumbered, outmatched, and deep in enemy territory," he said, his gaze sweeping across their faces. "But we have advantages. They expect us to be cowering, defensive. They expect us to be predictable. We will be neither."
He unfurled a crude map, drawn on a piece of tanned hide. "Our first priority," he continued, pointing to a series of jagged lines representing the Spinebreaker Mountains, "is to disrupt their supply lines. Eight hundred warriors require a lot of food, a lot of water, a lot of everything. They can't rely solely on hunting in this desolate land. They must have established routes, bringing supplies from… somewhere."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "We will find those routes. We will sever them. We will starve them out."
He then outlined his plan to divide into five smaller units, each with ten warriors. "Each unit will scout a different sector," he explained. "We will move swiftly, silently. We will observe, we will gather intelligence, and we will strike only when the opportunity is perfect. No unnecessary risks. No heroics. Our goal is to disrupt, not to engage in open battle."
He assigned leaders to each unit: Elara, known for her strategic mind; Anayis, commanding the archers; a grizzled veteran named Khel, and, to Liam's surprise, Hektor. The Vangoria warrior, despite his earlier protests, seemed to accept the command with a grim satisfaction. It was a test, a challenge, and Hektor, for all his bluster, was not one to back down from a challenge.
"And I," Brian said, his gaze settling on Liam and Brad, "will join you two. We will be the central unit, coordinating the others, responding to any… unexpected developments."
The units dispersed, melting into the landscape with surprising speed. Liam, walking beside Brian and Brad, felt a surge of both apprehension and excitement.
"So," Brian said, his voice low, breaking the silence. "Tell me about this… magic."
Liam hesitated, glancing at Brad, who gave a barely perceptible nod.
"It's… complicated," Liam said, choosing his words carefully. He explained, as best as he could, the awakening in the crypt, the stigma on his back, the unpredictable surges of cold, the limited control he had.
Brian listened intently, his expression thoughtful. "Magic," he murmured. "We need to understand your limits, Liam. Your strengths, your weaknesses. We'll have time to explore that later. For now, focus on Brad's training."
They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of their boots on the frozen ground and the whisper of the wind. Brad, as always, was a silent presence, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon, his senses alert to any sign of danger.
Their scouting led them along a narrow, winding ravine, the walls of rock rising high on either side, casting long, deep shadows. The air was cold and still, carrying the faint scent of something… organic. Something that wasn't the usual scent of rock and dust.
"Stop," Brad said suddenly, his voice a low murmur. He crouched down, examining the ground. "Tracks," he said. "Rubak. Recent. A hunting party, I think. And… something else."
He pointed to a series of faint, almost imperceptible markings on the rock face – crude symbols, similar to the ones Liam had seen in the hidden cave, near the tomb.
Liam felt a sudden chill, a prickling of his skin that had nothing to do with the cold. He recognized those symbols. They were… magical. Or, at least, they resonated with his magic.
"What is it?" Brian asked, his voice sharp.
"I don't know," Liam said, his voice hesitant. "But… I've seen them before. In Kael Volgunder's tomb. And… in that cave."
Brad's eyes narrowed. "The cave?" he asked.
Liam nodded, explaining briefly about his discovery, about the tomb, the rusty sword, the strange feeling. He still didn't mention the Umbral Core.
Brian listened, his expression growing increasingly serious. "This… changes things," he said. "These aren't just random markings. They're… signposts. Of some kind."
They followed the tracks and the symbols, the ravine narrowing, the shadows deepening. The air grew colder, and Liam felt a growing sense of unease.
Then, they found it.
A seemingly solid rock face, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding stone. But Brad, his eyes incredibly sharp, pointed to a faint, almost imperceptible crack, a hairline fracture in the rock.
"There," he said, his voice a low whisper. "An entrance. Concealed."
Brian examined the crack, his fingers tracing its outline. "Clever," he murmured. "Very clever." He turned to Liam. "Can you… sense anything?"
Liam hesitated, then closed his eyes, focusing his will, reaching out with his "Ice Gaze." He felt it – a faint hum of energy, a subtle distortion in the air, emanating from behind the rock face. It wasn't the cold of his own magic, but something… different. Something… older.
"Yes," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "There's… something there. Something… magical."
Brian nodded. "We go in," he said. "Carefully."
Brad took the lead, using his tools to carefully widen the crack, creating a narrow opening just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The air that wafted from the opening was stale and carried a faint, earthy scent, mixed with something else… something acrid, almost metallic.
One by one, they slipped through the opening, entering a dark, narrow tunnel. The air was immediately colder, the silence almost oppressive. Liam drew his mithril short sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the darkness. He could feel the Umbral Core, hidden beneath his tunic, pulsing faintly, as if resonating with the hidden energy of this place.
They moved slowly, cautiously, their footsteps echoing eerily in the confined space. The tunnel sloped downwards, winding deeper and deeper into the earth. The walls were rough and uneven, the air thick with dust and the scent of something… ancient.
As they rounded a bend, they saw a faint light ahead, a dim, flickering glow that cast dancing shadows on the tunnel walls. They approached slowly, their weapons ready.
The tunnel opened into a large, cavernous chamber. The source of the light was a series of torches, set in brackets along the walls, illuminating a scene that made Liam's heart pound in his chest.
The chamber was filled with supplies: crates of food, barrels of water, stacks of weapons, rolls of fabric, and other provisions. It was a Rubak supply depot, hidden deep within the mountains, a secret artery feeding the growing army.
And guarding it were a dozen Rubak warriors, their faces painted in grotesque patterns, their crude weapons glinting in the torchlight. They were caught completely by surprise, their expressions shifting from boredom to alarm as they saw the three figures emerging from the darkness.
"Now," Brian whispered, his voice a cold, deadly command. "We strike."
Behind all that , there was a giant gate made from unknown material.