The morning sun did not bring warmth to Castle Valerius. Instead, it illuminated a massacre. The crimson banners of the howling gale had been torn down, replaced by the raw, unpainted hides of mountain wolves. The Great Hall, once a place of whispered courtly intrigues, now echoed with the guttural songs of the North and the smell of roasting meat.
Ragnar sat on the Baron's throne. He didn't slouch; he sat with the predatory stillness he had learned from the Southern lords. He was wearing a mix of both worlds—fine silk breeches tucked into heavy fur-lined boots, and a chestpiece of blackened steel.
"The scouts have returned," a voice boomed.
It was Hrolf, the Chieftain of the White Wolves. He stood in the center of the hall, his axe still stained with the blood of the castle guards. He looked at Ragnar with a mix of respect and deep-seated suspicion.
"The Empire is not a dog that whimpers when kicked, Ragnar," Hrolf spat. "They are a hive of hornets. Our runners report three Legions—real Legions, not just vanguard trash—marching from the Southern capital. They bring trebuchets. They bring engineers. They will turn this stone pile into our tomb."
The Tactical Dilemma
Ragnar looked down at the tactical map he had taken from the Baron's solar. He had spent the night marking it with new symbols.
"They expect us to hide behind these walls," Ragnar said, his voice cold and analytical. "They expect us to fight like Southerners—counting our arrows and waiting for the ladders. If we do that, Hrolf, we die. A castle is only a fortress if the enemy doesn't know the exits."
"Then we leave," Hrolf growled. "We take the grain, the steel, and we vanish back into the mist."
"No," Ragnar replied, standing up. "If we vanish, they simply rebuild and come again next spring. We need to break their spirit. We need to show them that their 'civilized' warfare is useless against a wolf that knows how to use their own tools."
The Engineering of Death
Ragnar spent the next three days transforming the castle. He didn't just sharpen blades; he used his knowledge of Southern engineering against itself.
The Boiling Trap: He ordered the cauldrons on the ramparts filled not with oil—which was expensive—but with a mixture of pitch and animal fat from the castle stores.
The False Weakness: He commanded the Northern tribesmen to leave the postern gate "poorly" reinforced with rotting wood. To a Southern general's eye, it would look like a desperate, amateur repair.
The Funnel: Inside the main courtyard, he had the tribes build a secondary wall of sharpened stakes and debris, creating a "killing zone" where a heavy cavalry charge would be forced to bottleneck.
The Arrival of the Legions
On the fourth day, the horizon turned red. Not from the sun, but from the capes of the Imperial Legions. Twelve thousand men stood in perfect, terrifying formation. They didn't shout. They didn't howl. They simply moved like a slow-moving wall of iron.
At their head was General Kaelas, a man known as the "Architect of Ruin." He looked at the castle through a bronze spyglass and saw the wolf hides hanging from the battlements.
"A barbarian on a throne is still a barbarian," Kaelas muttered to his lieutenants. "They think walls will save them. We will show them that stone is only as strong as the man behind it. Prepare the trebuchets. We level the east tower by sunset."
The First Exchange
As the first massive stones began to scream through the air, crashing into the battlements with the sound of thunder, Ragnar stood on the highest tower. He wasn't wearing his helmet. He wanted to feel the vibration of the impact.
Elara appeared at his side. She was dressed in leather travel gear, a crossbow slung over her shoulder. "The men are afraid, Ragnar. They've never seen a wall crumble like that."
"Fear is a tool," Ragnar said, watching a section of the parapet disintegrate into dust. "Kaelas thinks he's sieging a castle. He doesn't realize he's walking into a slaughterhouse."
Ragnar turned to his signalman. "Give the order. Light the fires in the lower tunnels. It's time to show the General what happens when a wolf learns to use the Earth's own breath."