"The worst defeat is not when the army dies. It's when it marches exactly where the enemy wants it to."— Military scholars, reflecting on Altan's tactics
They disembarked in disciplined waves. Caoren barely spoke, giving curt orders to supply officers while the wounded were stretchered to the rear of the base.
Colonel Renar, commander of the garrison, approached him at the pier. His cloak was soaked from morning frost, but his expression was dry and grim.
"You're late," Renar said. "Three days ago, I would've welcomed this many swords. Now," he paused, then looked Caoren in the eye, "you've brought reinforcements for an army that may no longer exist."
Caoren's expression didn't change. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Renar didn't answer immediately. He glanced behind him, then stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"We lost eight legions," he said. "At the Caldera. Walked straight into a kill zone. Trapped, encircled, broken. Fewer than five hundred made it out. It wasn't a rout. It was an execution. The Gale Army baited them in. Used terrain, decoys, false retreats. Our center collapsed by nightfall. No contact since. We tried to reinforce. The Caldera can only fit eight legions, just enough space to maneuver. Then we heard the battle. The entire ridge shook with it. We moved to enter, but the pass collapsed. The ridge entrance was gone, buried in stone. We tried to climb around, flank the heights, but the cliffs were held. Dark elves, silent and precise. Their archers cut us down before we could reach the ledges. They were prepared."
Caoren exhaled slowly. His hands, still gloved, curled into fists. "They knew exactly where to strike and when."
Renar held out a red-sealed scroll. "This is the official dispatch. Eyes only. Deliver it to Marshal Eltan and the Emperor directly."
Caoren took it without a word, eyes still on the ridges to the east.
"We still have six legions left inland," Renar added. "They're holding for now. But if another trap is waiting out there, they'll be next."
Caoren's jaw tightened. "My legions are offloaded. Ammunition, rations, all accounted for. I'll leave at first tide."
Renar gave a tight nod. "Only thirteen warships are staying behind. The rest of the fleet is yours."
By dusk, Caoren's ships were already pulling away from Kaldoran port, sails dark against the red horizon.
Behind him, eleven legions now stood between the Gale and the sea.
No one knew if it would be enough.
Imperial Court – Zhiyuan, Dazhum Empire
Dust clung to General Caoren's cloak, boots still coated with sea salt from the docks of Kaldoran. He stood before the imperial dais, his posture rigid with exhaustion. But more than fatigue tightened the air around him.
He bowed deeply.
Marshal Eltan stepped forward from the shadows beside the throne."You bring us good news, General? Has Tidescar fallen? Does the Dazhum banner now fly above its walls?"
Caoren kept his voice level. "I was ordered to return, Marshal. A coded message arrived at Kaldoran, bearing High Command authorization. It instructed us to disembark the legions, secure supply logistics, and return the main fleet to its home port immediately. I delivered the legions and followed the directive."
Eltan's brows furrowed. "What authorization code?"
Caoren extended a sealed dispatch scroll. "Colonel Renar received it three days before our arrival. It passed all cipher verification protocols."
Eltan broke the seal, scanned the header, then froze. His voice dropped.
"This didn't come from me."
The Empress Dowager rose from her chair beside the throne. "Explain."
Caoren bowed again. "Your Grace. Five and a half legions were offloaded at Kaldoran. Thirteen escort triremes remain at the port. The rest of the fleet, including supply carriers and troop ships, returned to our naval base per the order."
Eltan stepped beside the throne. "That order was never issued by High Command."
The silence was brittle.
Elder Seer Tanli moved like smoke through the chamber. "Then someone knew your ciphers. Your seals. Your command style."
Caoren's expression tightened. "Renar handed me the dispatch with one other message. Verbal. He said word had just arrived about the Caldera."
The court shifted.
Caoren continued. "Eight imperial legions. Gone. No organized retreat. Trapped and annihilated inside the depression. He told me to deliver the written report myself. We tried to reinforce, but the entrance collapsed. The cliffs were held by dark elf sharpshooters. It was a killing ground. The survivors that did escape were barely coherent."
Eltan's knuckles tightened around the scroll. "You mean you dropped off your command only to feed them into another massacre? Gods, send a rider. Tell them not to go inland. Halt the march immediately."
Caoren stepped forward, voice steady. "My lord, there was also a second message. It ordered the reinforcements to march beyond the Caldera and link with the inland force. That order passed cipher as well."
The Emperor raised one hand. Silence.
He spoke without rising. "And the legions still inland?"
Caoren nodded. "Six legions remain beyond the Blackpine Descent. Preparing to assault the Virak'tai strongholds. We've had no contact since the Caldera report arrived."
The Emperor looked toward the northern wall of the chamber, windowless and cold.
"No one moves. Not until we reestablish contact. The enemy is speaking in our voice. I will not risk a second slaughter."
Eltan hesitated. "With respect, Your Majesty, if we don't move now, they'll entrench deeper."
"They already have." The Emperor's tone was iron. "We charged forward and bled. Now we listen."
He turned to Caoren. "Return to Kaldoran. Fortify. Burn any order that does not come with my handprint."
Caoren bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
As the doors closed behind him, the Emperor finally spoke again, quietly, to no one in particular.
"They used our voice."
No one answered.
Later That Night – Palace Courtyard
A dust-covered courier arrived at the capital from the northern watchfort guarding the Kaldoran Strait, an outpost that monitored eastern troop movement and coastal traffic.
The guards were confused. The fortress had no prior directive to send reports. But the seal was correct.
When the scroll was unrolled, the chamber grew quiet.
The report was dated Day Nine, just after dawn. The commander of the eastern stronghold reported seeing thick smoke rising from the direction of the Kaldoran Forward Base, well beyond the hills. At first, they thought it a signal fire or drills.
By nightfall, survivors began to arrive, barely armed, many wounded, some half-crazed.
They came from the east. From the killing field.
The survivors claimed twelve to thirteen legions were destroyed. There were no full counts. Only fragmented accounts. All that could be confirmed was a single repeated phrase from those who could still speak:
"Massacre. Total."
No orders followed. No commanders returned.
The courier said nothing else.
The Emperor did not rise.
But now, the court understood:The war had not shifted.It had broken.
Private War Hall – Hours Later
As the chamber emptied and moonlight crept across the black marble floors, the Emperor summoned Marshal Eltan and General Caoren back into the private war hall.
"We hold the Kaldoran line. But it is not enough."
Caoren's face was drawn. "What would you have us do?"
The Emperor stood slowly. "You will reinforce the northern fortress. Ten legions of veterans. One elite legion from the Imperial Guard. And build new forts facing east, every pass, every ridge. Make the strait impassable to the enemy."
Eltan nodded. "It will be done."
"Also," the Emperor said, turning to his scribes, "send word to all inner prefectures and provincial governors. Begin conscription."
Eltan blinked. "You mean to raise?"
"New armies," the Emperor said. "Our population is vast. The central command still holds more legions than we've deployed. We draft from the heartland, from the border cities, even from the coasts. Forge them. Train them. I want them marching before first frost."
Caoren said nothing. Eltan inclined his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The Emperor turned back to the war table.
"We will not collapse. Not yet. Not without raising a storm."
Eastern Activity
Inside the granite war chamber of Dazhum Fortress, Marshal Eltan unrolled the latest courier dispatch from the strait's observation posts.
"Another structure," he muttered.
General Caoren looked up from the campaign table. "Another?"
Eltan tapped the map with a gauntlet-clad finger. "Eastern cliffside. Just beyond the ridge. Scouts reported movement two nights ago. By morning, it wasn't just camps. It was foundations."
"Impossible. That coastline is sheer," Caoren said.
Eltan handed over the parchment. "Apparently not. They're building into the rock itself. Reinforced tiers. Harbor spikes. Some kind of seawall defense."
Caoren scanned the sketches. "That's not a camp. That's a fortress."
"Named in the notes," Eltan said. "Khaldoran Gate."
Caoren's eyes narrowed. "They're claiming the strait."
Eltan nodded. "And doing it openly. The scouts say they're using our captured soldiers for labor. Qorjin-ke birds circle above the entire region. Which means their eyes are already in our skies."
Caoren set the paper down. "That explains why they haven't pushed west yet."
"They don't need to," Eltan replied coldly. "They're fortifying their knife at our throat."
He stared down at the map, then quietly added, "And we're still trying to count the bodies from the last massacre."
He turned to the aide at the doorway. "Send this information to the Emperor. Now."
Caoren didn't speak. He just stared at the fortress sketch.
They weren't just building defenses.
They were building permanence.
Author's Note – Signal Warfare
It started at Misty Grove. That was the bait.
Altan let the Empire bleed early, just enough to provoke full deployment. Then he used forged orders, false retreats, and terrain manipulation to pull the Dazhum army deeper. The Caldera was not the kill. It was misdirection.
The real trap came after.
Using captured codes, he issued sealed orders that redirected six more legions. They arrived late, thinking they were reinforcing a battle already lost. In truth, they walked into the final kill zone, planned from the start.
Altan was not satisfied with eight legions destroyed. He wanted more. He turned the promise of rescue into the engine of massacre.
He did not outfight the Empire.
He outsignaled it.
Now Dazhum must rebuild its entire command network. Until then, no signal is safe.