The Battlefield at Dusk
The first day of war between House Verentis and House Marestel ended not in glory, but in blood and uncertainty.
From sunrise to sundown, steel clashed against steel, and the valley that divided the two duchies echoed with roars of men and the screams of the dying. Spears broke, shields splintered, arrows fell like storms.
And yet, as dusk settled, neither side had broken.
The ridge — fortified with barricades and trenches — remained under Marestel's control, though barely. The Verentis forces had surged against it in relentless waves, their formations unnervingly disciplined for soldiers who had been thought broken after two decades of war at the border. Twice the ridge nearly fell, but Lady Ysoria Marestel rallied her soldiers personally, her sword gleaming under the sun as she urged them forward.
The Verentis forces, she told herself, were not led by brilliance but by desperation. They were fueled by the name of Duke Caldus Verentis, the old war hero who had once been a thorn in every politician's side. The rumor was that the duke himself had taken the field again, his soldiers marching under his orders, driven by his indomitable will.
That rumor chilled her more than she cared to admit.
Inside the War Tent
As night fell, the Marestel war tent was heavy with smoke, the air stifling with the stink of sweat and blood. Lady Ysoria's emerald cloak lay discarded, her armor still dented and scorched from the day's fighting. Her officers gathered around the war table, maps sprawled across it, candles flickering and casting shadows over grim faces.
"Report," she commanded.
General Athelred bowed stiffly.
"Over two thousand dead, my lady and almost three thousand wounded. But the ridge still stands. Our men are weary, but their spirits are unbroken."
"That may not last," muttered Lord Dorian, his hand clenched into a fist. "The Verentis soldiers fight like devils. It is said Duke Caldus himself commands them from the frontlines. No ordinary man could have driven them this far."
Murmurs rippled among the officers.
Lady Ysoria straightened, hiding the unease twisting in her gut.
"Then let the old wolf gnash his teeth. House Marestel has faced worse than Caldus Verentis. The ridge has not fallen. That is what matters."
But even as she spoke, she knew the truth: today had been too close. If not for her direct intervention, the ridge would already fly Verentis banners.
And if Caldus truly was commanding again, the threat was far greater than she had prepared for.
The Question of the Mine
Lord Dorian cleared his throat.
"My lady… there is another matter."
Her eyes narrowed. "Speak."
"The mine," he said, lowering his voice. "If Caldus Verentis has returned to command, then it will not be long before he moves for it. The mana stone mine is the true prize here, not the ridge. If Verentis reclaims it, our position in the kingdom collapses."
The tent went still. Everyone knew the truth: the mine was the heart of House Marestel's rise in power. Its mana stones funded their armies, bought their alliances, and secured their seat in the council. Without it, they were vulnerable.
Lady Ysoria's hand pressed against the map. "Then we cannot leave it undefended. Send a scout. Order the garrisons to abandon their posts and march here. I want every available soldier at the ridge tomorrow. If Caldus means to break us, let him find his army crushed against our walls."
The officers saluted, though unease flickered in their eyes.
The Scout's Return
Hours passed. The camp settled into uneasy silence. Wounded men groaned in their tents, priests whispered prayers, smiths hammered broken blades into shape. Across the valley, Verentis's campfires burned in steady lines, their drums beating low and ominous.
Lady Ysoria did not rest. She paced the command tent, her boots grinding into the dirt, her hand resting always on her sword. Her thoughts turned to Caldus — the man who had been banished to the border decades ago. Could he truly still wield such strength? Could an old wolf really rally an army this fierce?
At last, near midnight, the flap of the tent opened. The scout stumbled in, pale-faced, his armor torn and bloodied.
"My lady," he gasped, falling to his knees.
Her heart tightened. "Speak."
"The mine… it's gone."
The words dropped like stones into silence.
"What do you mean, gone?" Ysoria's voice was ice.
"Dead," the scout whispered. His body trembled as he spoke. "All the garrisoned soldiers… slaughtered. Hundreds of them. Not a single man left standing. And at the gates of the mine—Verentis banners."
Shock rippled through the officers.
"That's impossible!"
"They couldn't have—"
"Caldus Verentis… damn him!"
Lady Ysoria stood frozen, her blood roaring in her ears. All of them? The entire garrison, wiped out? The mine — the source of their power — stolen in a single strike?
Slowly, she sank into her chair, her knuckles white where they gripped the armrest.
The Council in Crisis
The tent erupted in fury.
"We must retake it at once!"
"If we march, the ridge falls!"
"If we stay, we lose the mine forever!"
The arguments spiraled, voices rising in desperation.
Finally, Ysoria's dagger slammed into the table, silencing them all.
"Enough."
She glared at each of them in turn. "We cannot march on the mine. Not now. To abandon the ridge is to hand victory to Caldus outright. He would crush us from behind. No — we hold here. We hold until reinforcements arrive."
General Athelred cleared his throat. "My lady… then we must call for aid. House Darestel, House Veynor — they owe us fealty. If they march beside us, we can surround Verentis and take back what is ours."
The suggestion stirred murmurs of both relief and shame.
Lord Dorian spat bitterly. "To beg for aid is to admit weakness. The court will sneer at us. They will whisper that House Marestel is broken."
"Then how about Him?"
Lady Ysoria widened her eyes as fears shivers through her.
"Are you crazy! You do know how terrifying that man is? Request help from him is the same as surrendering our estate from him!"
"Not him! Better broken pride than broken necks," Ysoria snapped. "Send the riders. Tonight. Tell our allies that Verentis has returned to the field under Duke Caldus, and that if they do not answer our call, they will be next."
The officers bowed, some grim, some reluctant. Messengers rode into the night, their horses carrying pleas for aid that would shake the balance of the kingdom.
Ysoria Alone
When the officers departed, Ysoria was left alone in the flickering lantern-light. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to the table.
The mine… gone. The garrison… slaughtered. And behind it all, the shadow of Caldus Verentis, the war-hardened duke who refused to die quietly.
She whispered to the empty tent:
"Caldus… if it is truly you leading them… then you have forced my hand. You will pay for this theft, even if I must bleed the kingdom dry to see you fall."
Across the Valley
In the Verentis camp, Achilles sat quietly beside the fire, sharpening his blade. His soldiers feasted and sang, celebrating their victory at the mine and their strength on the battlefield.
But Achilles did not smile. He had deliberately let the enemy believe Duke Caldus commanded them. His father's name was shield enough to mask his own presence.
The true storm, he thought, was yet to come.