Blackthorn Keep echoed with the sound of slamming doors as Captain Dresmar marched through the hall, face pale and eyes hard. Two enforcers followed close behind, half-supporting a third who still looked moments away from vomiting after what he'd seen at Ridgebrook's gate.
Baron Aldric Vantor sat on his elevated seat like a judge prepared to condemn the world. His sharp gaze took in Dresmar's shaken posture with clear irritation.
"You look as if you've seen ghosts," Vantor said, swirling wine in his goblet. "Where are the taxes?"
Dresmar bowed stiffly. "Milord… Ridgebrook refused."
The goblet stopped mid-swirling.
The hall fell silent. Even the servants froze.
"Refused?" Vantor repeated softly. "You allowed a dirt village led by a teenager to refuse me?"
Dresmar swallowed. "Not allowed, milord. They… made it impossible."
Another enforcer stepped forward, shaking. "They— they killed two of our men."
Vantor raised an eyebrow. "Bandits? Beasts? Wolves?"
"They were impaled, milord," the man whispered. "Displayed at the village gate. Like trophies."
Vantor's hand tightened around the goblet.
A heavy silence smothered the room.
"The chief," Dresmar added, voice low, "Liam Richard. He spoke without fear. Refused every demand. No hesitation."
Vantor let out a single laugh—sharp and humorless.
"A boy chief with no fear?" he said. "Impossible."
Dresmar hesitated. "Milord… he wasn't the one we feared."
Vantor leaned forward. "Explain."
"The warrior," Dresmar said quietly. "The northern one. Pale. Silent. He stood behind the boy and said nothing. Every man felt like he was being measured for burial."
The sick enforcer whispered, "Milord… he looked at me. I thought I was already dead."
Vantor's expression shifted—surprise giving way to intrigue, then something darker.
"So," he said slowly, "the stories were true."
Dresmar blinked. "Stories, milord?"
Vantor rose from his seat, cloak flowing like a shadow thick with anger.
"There were rumors," he said. "A wandering executioner from the northern frontier. A man who slaughtered ten raiders alone. A man who snapped a captain's spine with his bare hands."
Dresmar stiffened. "Milord… that man stands with Ridgebrook."
"Yes," Vantor replied softly. "And that makes Ridgebrook dangerous."
He slammed his goblet onto the table. It shattered.
"And dangerous villages must burn."
Dresmar stepped forward urgently. "Milord, with respect—the warrior is powerful. Even if he's only Rank 1, his killing intent—"
"Rank 1?" Vantor scoffed. "Pathetic. No Rank 1 frightens trained men."
"But," Dresmar said quietly, "he did."
Vantor's eyes hardened. "Then you are weak."
Dresmar said nothing.
"Send a messenger to the capital," Vantor ordered. "Request reinforcements from the regional knight order."
"Knights?" Dresmar whispered. "For a village?"
"For a northern demon," Vantor corrected.
He turned toward the window overlooking the forest.
"And summon the Warguard militia. I want Ridgebrook surrounded within three days."
Dresmar felt a chill crawl up his spine. "Milord… that will start a war."
Vantor smiled.
"Good."
He took up a document, dipped his quill in ink, and wrote with cold precision.
Ridgebrook refuses taxation.
Ridgebrook harbors a hostile foreign warrior.
He signed it with a flourish.
"This," he said, handing it to Dresmar, "is the story the kingdom will hear."
Back in Ridgebrook, villagers shrank away as I passed.
"That's the chief…"
"He stood up to them…"
"But the bodies…"
"What will Vantor do?"
"Are we doomed?"
Fear rolled through the village like smoke. Mothers clutched children. Men sharpened tools with trembling hands. Borrik hauled crates to reinforce the gate, sweat pouring down his face.
Lira approached quietly. "Liam… the enforcers left too quickly. That means they're reporting back. Whatever comes next won't be small."
I nodded, throat tight. "We need to prepare. Fast."
"Do you think they'll attack?" she asked.
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew.
They wouldn't just attack.
They would erase us.
Vlad stepped beside me, calm and composed—almost refreshed.
"As expected," he said. "They fear us."
"This isn't victory," I said, voice tight. "You made it worse."
He tilted his head. "Worse? No. Fear is the first step toward respect."
"They're going to retaliate," I snapped. "People will die."
"Then we kill them first," he replied.
"That is not diplomacy!"
"I do not practice diplomacy," he said mildly.
I rubbed my face. "I noticed."
Lira stepped between us. "Vlad, this is a village. Families live here. Innocents."
"Innocents die if not protected," Vlad replied calmly.
"That's not the point!" she snapped.
"It is my point," he said.
I took a slow breath. "Vlad. From now on, you do nothing without my command. Nothing. Do you understand?"
He was silent.
Then he lowered his head.
"As you wish," he said.
But his tone made it clear—
He didn't agree.
Not at all.
A heavy knock echoed at the gate.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The village tensed.
Borrik ran toward us, face pale. "Chief… a messenger. From Vantor."
Lira's breath caught.
Vlad smiled faintly.
I stepped forward, forcing my legs to move. "Open the gate."
A lone messenger stood outside, lightly armored, holding a sealed scroll bearing Vantor's crest—a black wolf's head.
He handed it to me with shaking hands.
I unrolled the parchment.
My blood turned cold.
Ridgebrook is hereby declared in rebellion.
All who resist will be executed.
Signed beneath it:
Baron Aldric Vantor
I looked up.
The messenger whispered, "He is coming."
Behind me, Vlad's eyes gleamed.
The war had begun.