Dawn crept over Ridgebrook in a thin, gray line. The air was cold and heavy, pressing down on the village like the sky itself knew something terrible was coming. No one had slept well—not after seeing the bodies Vlad had impaled at the gate.
The smell of drying blood lingered in the air, metallic and nauseating. Flies gathered. Villagers whispered behind closed shutters, too afraid to look directly at the warning Vlad had left behind.
I stood at the gate with Lira and Borrik, my stomach twisting. Vlad stood just behind me, posture perfect, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't look like a man who had murdered two people and displayed them like butchered meat.
He looked satisfied.
I exhaled shakily. "Vlad… you do understand that when they arrive, they'll want someone to blame for this, right?"
"Yes," he said calmly. "You."
I choked. "Me!?"
"They must believe you ordered it," he replied. "Otherwise, you appear weak."
"I am weak!"
"Yes," Vlad said evenly, "but they do not know that."
I rubbed my temples, silently begging any god in this world to intervene.
Lira stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Liam… if this goes bad, we run. Promise me you won't let him drag you into a fight you can't win."
"I'm trying not to fight at all," I whispered back.
The sound of boots reached us.
Heavy. Organized. Controlled.
We turned as bushes rustled and metal clanked. Twelve armed enforcers emerged from the forest.
They stopped instantly.
Every one of them froze at the sight of the two impaled bodies swaying gently in the morning breeze.
A younger man gagged. Another stumbled backward. Even the veterans went pale.
Captain Dresmar stepped forward. Tall. Scarred. Hardened leather reinforced with metal plates. His jaw clenched so tightly I could hear his teeth grind.
"What… what kind of savagery is this?" he muttered.
I stepped forward before Vlad could say something catastrophic.
"Your men trespassed," I said, forcing my voice steady. "We defended our home."
The enforcers stared at me.
Then at Vlad.
Then back at the bodies.
Vlad did nothing. He didn't need to. His stillness alone made half the squad shift uneasily, hands tightening on weapons.
Dresmar straightened, struggling to reclaim authority. "We came to deliver Baron Vantor's terms."
"You came armed, with a full squad," I replied coldly. "And you camped on our doorstep. That isn't 'terms.' That's intimidation."
"You killed two of our men in the night!" Dresmar snapped.
"They disappeared," I corrected. "We found them like this."
Dresmar blinked. "You… don't deny it?"
"No," I said. "We don't."
Vlad remained silent, an unmoving threat.
Dresmar's gaze slid back to him. "You're the northern warrior."
"Yes," Vlad said.
"You have no right to act in this territory."
"I do not act for territory," Vlad replied. "I act for my master."
Dresmar stiffened. "A grown warrior calling a child his master? What kind of trick is this?"
"I do not trick," Vlad said calmly. "I kill."
Six enforcers flinched at once.
Dresmar fought to keep his composure. "This"—he gestured at the bodies—"is an act of rebellion against Baron Vantor's authority."
"No rebellion," I said. "Only self-defense."
"Then prove it," Dresmar said sharply. "Present your tax records."
"We have none," I answered. "Ridgebrook was never visited by tax officers until recently."
He scowled. "Lies."
"No," I said. "Your mercenaries tried to extort us. When that failed, they ran back crying lies to your baron."
Something shifted in Dresmar's eyes.
Doubt.
One enforcer spoke hesitantly. "Sir… the mercenaries did return unusually fast."
Another added, "And they weren't injured. Just scared."
Dresmar shot them a glare, and they fell silent—but the damage was done.
I pressed forward.
"You're threatening a poor village because hired thugs panicked," I said. "If you served justice, you'd discipline them instead of marching soldiers here."
Dresmar's authority wavered in front of his men.
He needed control.
So he pointed at Vlad. "You. Step forward."
Vlad didn't move.
"I said STEP FORWARD!"
"You command your men," Vlad replied softly. "Not me."
The tension snapped tight.
This was it.
If I didn't act now, blades would be drawn. People would die. Probably all of us.
I stepped directly between Dresmar and Vlad.
"Captain," I said firmly. "You came to talk. So talk. What are Vantor's demands?"
Dresmar studied me. Then Vlad. Then the bodies.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
"Triple taxes," he said. "Recognition of the baron's authority. And a formal apology for harming his men."
My chest tightened.
Triple taxes would starve us.
An apology would invite future abuse.
And bowing to Vantor meant surrender.
This wasn't negotiation.
It was submission.
I thought of the villagers hiding in fear.
Of Lira's worried eyes.
Of Vlad's silent loyalty.
I met Dresmar's gaze.
"No," I said.
Silence crashed down.
"No?" he repeated.
"Ridgebrook will not pay triple taxes. We will not apologize for defending ourselves. And we will not bow to a man who sends others to bleed for his pride."
Dresmar's face twisted. "Boy… you don't understand the cost of defiance."
"I do," I said quietly. "I'm looking at it."
He stepped back. "Then know this—Baron Vantor does not forgive insults. If I return with this answer—"
"You won't," I said.
His eyes widened. "Is that a threat?"
"No," I replied calmly. "But you won't return empty-handed. You'll return with a message."
I pointed at the stakes.
"The same message you already received."
Dresmar stared at me, stunned.
Vlad smiled.
And for the first time—truly and completely—
Baron Vantor's men feared Ridgebrook.