The silence in the marsh was heavy and profound. Brandt, Hake, and Finn stared at the sizzling hole in the gator-lizard's carcass, their faces a mixture of awe and primal fear. It was one thing to see their young lord dispatch a bandit with impossible grace; it was another entirely to witness him kill a monster with what looked like a smoldering rock thrown from his hand.
Brandt was the first to approach, his steps cautious as if Kaelen himself might be radiating the same lethal heat. "My lord... what was that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "No Conduit of the Aether can do that without words. No Vessel's Anima can be projected like... that."
Kaelen turned from the kill. "It's a family skill," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "One that will help keep us alive." He offered no further details, and the men, trusting the leadership he had demonstrated, did not press the issue.
The journey back was a triumphant procession. It took the four of them hours to butcher the massive beast and haul the choicest cuts of meat and the valuable, armored hide back to the outpost. When they emerged from the treeline, laden with more food than the garrison had seen in a year, a ragged cheer went up from the men working on the walls.
That night, they feasted. The rare moment of celebration was a much-needed reprieve, a tangible reward for their weeks of toil. For the first time, the men of The Mire laughed and joked with the easy camaraderie of soldiers who had faced death and won. But through it all, they threw furtive, worshipful glances at their young lord, who sat slightly apart, watching them with his unnervingly calm eyes.
In the days that followed, while the men smoked the vast quantities of meat and worked on new projects—a smokehouse, a deeper well—Kaelen began a new, more focused training regimen. In a secluded clearing, he practiced his Cinder Dart Jutsu. He set up targets at varying distances, experimenting with different sizes of stones. He learned that smaller, pebble-like stones were faster and required less chakra but had less piercing power. Larger stones hit harder but were slower and more draining. He practiced the speed of the conversion, trying to reduce the time it took to heat the stone from seconds to a mere instant.
It was during one of these intense sessions that he felt the change. He was pushing himself, trying to create and launch three cinder darts in rapid succession. His chakra flared, his mind focused on molding the energy, while his eyes tracked the imaginary moving targets. The strain was immense. A sharp, familiar pressure built behind his eyes, more intense than ever before. He stumbled, catching himself on a tree, the world momentarily blurring.
He blinked, and the world snapped back into focus with a shocking new clarity. The leaves on the trees seemed to have sharper edges, the flight of a distant bird was smoother, less jittery. He rushed to a nearby puddle, his heart pounding. In his reflection, his crimson eyes stared back, and within each, two tomoe now spun lazily where before there had been only one.
His perception had sharpened dramatically. It was as if the world had been running at a lower resolution, and it had just been upgraded. A grim smile touched his lips. His power was growing, evolving with his will.
That evening, he gathered all twelve men inside the now-sturdy longhouse. The celebratory mood of the feast was gone, replaced by a serious, focused silence as Kaelen stood before them.
"For two months, we have labored," Kaelen began. "We have built walls, secured shelter, and found a sustainable source of food. Our foundation is laid. Now, it is time for the final step of our secession. To the world, the men who came to this outpost are about to disappear forever."
The men straightened, their expressions hardening with understanding. This was the moment they had all been waiting for.
Kaelen unrolled a crude map of the region he had sketched on a piece of cured hide. "The world thinks we are a forgotten outpost of thirteen men. We will give them a story that confirms their beliefs. We will give them a heroic, tragic end."
He tapped a location on the map. "Here. The wooded pass where we were ambushed. It is a well-known bandit haunt on the main path to the outpost. Any patrol sent to check on us will pass through there first."
His plan was simple and brutally effective. They would use the massive, terrifying skull of the gator-lizard and its largest bones to stage a battle scene. They would break their own spare swords and shields, tear pieces from the tabards bearing the von Hess insignia, and scatter them around the site. The evidence would suggest they fought off the bandits, only to be immediately set upon by a monstrous beast from the marsh far beyond their ability to handle.
"We will leave signs of a desperate, chaotic struggle," Kaelen explained, his voice cold and precise. "And for the final touch, Hake, you know the unstable rock formations on that ridge?"
The tracker nodded. "Aye, my lord. A good push would bring half of it down."
"Exactly," Kaelen said. "We will trigger a rockslide. It will partially bury the 'battlefield,' explaining why there are no bodies to be found and obscuring any inconsistencies in our story. It will look like a force of nature finished what the monster started. The tale will be told in taverns for years: the tragic last stand of the Blackwood garrison."
The men listened, their faces grim with admiration for the sheer, cold-blooded cunning of the plan.
Kaelen rolled up the map. "Brandt. Hake. Finn. You're with me. We will take the skull and the other items. We leave now, under the cover of darkness. The rest of you, double the watch. When we return, we will no longer be soldiers of the Baron. We will be the first men of a new nation."
He strode to the door and picked up the gator-lizard's massive, horned skull that leaned against the wall. It was monstrously heavy, a trophy of his first act of true power. He hefted it onto his shoulder and looked out at the night. This was the point of no return.
He gave one last look back at The Mire, his hidden sanctuary, before turning his face towards the dark woods. When he returned, the world would believe him dead, and he would finally be free to build his empire.