The horns blew at dawn.
Rows upon rows of soldiers in polished black armor lined up on one side of the valley road, while the BAM warriors — scarred, hardened, their red insignias painted like blood across their chest plates — stood on the other.
The order came down from Soren himself:
"One column. One march. No separation."
But walking beside each other felt like grinding stone against steel. Soldiers kept their steps precise, uniform, shields raised like a wall. BAM men moved rough, loose, their weapons slung and eyes sharp like predators.
Whispers buzzed.
"They'll slow us down."
"They walk like farmers, not warriors."
"If Soren wasn't here, we'd show them who bleeds first."
Daniel caught it all. He kept his men tight. His voice was low but heavy:
"Eyes forward. Keep the line. You break formation, you answer to me — not to them."
But then it started.
A BAM warrior shoved one of his soldiers aside, sneering.
"Your neat little steps won't save you at Karion. Out here, men fight with rage, not rhythm."
The soldier bristled, hand on sword. Daniel stepped in before steel flashed.
"Stand down."
The BAM warrior smirked, about to spit another insult, but then Soren's shadow fell over them.
Soren:
"You think this march is for comfort? This is the throne testing your spine. Keep bickering, and I'll cut both your throats myself and leave your corpses on the road as an example."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
The march resumed.
---
Nightfall, at the first camp.
Tents split the valley into two halves — soldiers on one side, BAM on the other. Fires burned, meat roasted, voices argued low.
Daniel sat by his tent, sharpening his blade. He knew it.
This wasn't just a march. This was a powder keg, waiting for a single spark.
One of his lieutenants leaned close.
"Commander… this won't hold. They hate us. We hate them. If a fight breaks before Karion, who do we obey? You, or Soren?"
Daniel looked at the flames, jaw set.
"We obey the throne. Even if it kills us."
And in the shadows of the camp, cloaked and silent, Chris Blackwood himself — hidden under the guise of a nameless soldier once more — listened to every word, unseen.