The patrol of imperial knights approached the village. They were a small force, three knights in polished armor, but their leader, a knight with a glowing hand that pulsed with power, was more than enough to crush the demoralized rebellion. He was a minor noble, but his magic was potent, a raw, uncontrolled power that could shatter stone and melt steel. They had come to collect the monthly "tithe," a cruel tax of grain and livestock that left the villagers with little to survive on.
The resistance's plan was simple and suicidal: a direct charge on the knights. The rebels, armed with rusty blades and brittle bows, would rush the knights in a desperate, last-ditch effort to prove their worth. Elias, still in chains, observed the pathetic strategy. He could see the flaws in their plan, the obvious chokepoints, the lack of cover, the inevitable slaughter. "You'll die," he said to Ser Kael, his voice laced with the cold certainty of a combat veteran. "All of you. Their armor is enchanted; your rusty blades will shatter on contact. They will stand there, a wall of living steel, and slaughter you like sheep."
Kael bristled. "And what would you have us do, outlander? Surrender? You offer no magic, no power. We fight with honor, even if we lose."
Elias looked at the terrain. The village was nestled in a shallow valley, with a single, winding road leading in and out. The hills on either side were steep and rocky, filled with loose stones and thick brush. "No. We'll use the terrain. A simple ambush. We'll use their numbers against them." He outlined a strategy of choke points, staggered volleys, and using the high ground to funnel the knights into a killing field. He spoke of tactical superiority, of using the element of surprise, of a new kind of warfare, a war of the mind, not of magic. The rebels, for the first time, were presented with a plan that wasn't a desperate charge. They were nervous, but they weren't charging to their deaths. Not yet.
Kael was fascinated. This wasn't magic, but it was a different kind of power. He released Elias's chains. "Your plan. Let's see if it's worth more than our lives." The rebels, driven by a flicker of hope and Kael's uncertain command, followed Elias's instructions. They positioned themselves on the high ground, their rusty blades and brittle bows at the ready. They were no longer a disorganized mob; they were a unit, a well-oiled machine, guided by a mind that saw the world not as a land of magic and chivalry but as a strategic puzzle.