---
Chapter 61: plans, weapons and ambush
The camp of the human army roared with life beneath the setting sun.
Tents flapped in the warm wind, torches crackled in iron sconces, and the scent of smoked meat and spilled ale clung to the air like a second skin. All around the wide clearing carved into the mountain's edge, soldiers danced, laughed, and dueled in mock combat near the roaring central bonfire—armor clinking, blades clashing harmlessly, and wild cheers echoing into the darkening sky.
But behind all the noise and bravado, in a heavily guarded command tent surrounded by armed guards, General Cedric Valden stood hunched over a massive table lined with stone markers, maps, enchanted ink trails, and thin strings of mana-thread that moved as if alive. The human general was a tall man with a scar over his right eye, gray streaks in his beard, and a mind sharper than any sword on the battlefield.
Around him sat his war council—a mix of grizzled veterans, sharp-eyed strategists, dwarven engineers, and one particularly bored noble picking at his wine.
"Alright," Cedric growled, pushing a rune down into the center of the vampire territory map. "This... is our target. The Power Stone Vault, hidden beneath Nekareth. We don't have the luxury of overwhelming force like the vampire bloodlines or magical dominance like their aristocrats. So we outthink them. We bleed them through precision and disruption."
A woman leaned forward—Commander Lyssia, one of the youngest officers ever promoted from the border war campaigns. "How do we even get close without being torn apart by their night beasts and blood mages?"
Cedric smirked. "Because we won't send everyone at once."
He gestured to the first glowing map section—North-West Vampire Border Post, Virellian Ridge.
"We send Phantom Squad, cloaked and wind-silenced, with smoke glyphs and terrain illusion charms—crafted by our best elven smiths—to act as a decoy infiltration team. They'll strike just enough to draw the attention of the vampire patrols."
"Suicidal," muttered one of the older captains.
Cedric pointed at him. "That's why we'll back them with Arcanite Scatter Mines—new dwarven tech. The moment they retreat, the entire ridge collapses in a fog of mana disruption. Vampires won't be able to track them."
"Good gods..." one strategist whispered.
The dwarf at the table—Gorrim Firebrow, red-bearded and half-drunk on berry ale—slammed his mug down. "An' while they prance 'round like bats with broken wings, me lads'll be hammerin' out the meanest forge-beasts ya ever saw!"
He slapped a blueprint onto the table. It showed:
Sunsteel Longswords – forged with magic-resistant alloy and etched with radiant runes to burn undead flesh.
Repeating Crossbolts – able to fire four rapid enchanted bolts before needing a recharge.
Groundbreaker Spears – shockwave-infused tips that explode on impact, useful for breaking vampire formations.
Chain Shields – wielded on the arm, able to deflect both magic and blade through kinetic absorption enchantments.
"And what of the defense?" Lyssia asked.
Cedric nodded, shifting the map. "We station Shieldwall Division on the outer perimeter of the hills, hidden in trenches. If the vampires launch a full-scale counter, our archmages will activate the Mirrored Barricade Ritual, reflecting their spells back for seven full strikes before collapse."
The noble yawned. "And when do I get to be the hero?"
"You don't," Cedric said without looking at him. "You get to live to tell your children about it later."
Someone snorted.
"Any chance of ally support?" another general asked.
Cedric paused. "Our scouts say the Beast Tribes are already engaging vampire caravans... but they won't trust us. Not unless someone... personal reaches them."
A pause.
"We don't need them," another captain scoffed.
"We will," Cedric said grimly. "Because if the vampires wake their ancestral knights buried under Nekareth, our numbers will mean nothing."
At that, silence filled the tent.
The flames of the brazier flickered. The soft cheers from outside continued, oblivious to the weight of what was being planned inside.
Finally, Cedric spoke again.
"We move in five nights," he said. "Weapons distributed in three. Phantom Squad preps in two. Beast communication begins now."
His hand hovered over a figure placed beside Nekareth.
"And if all else fails..." he muttered, "...we unleash The Broken Flame Protocol."
No one spoke.
Everyone had heard of it. A weapon so dangerous it was banned in every kingdom. A weapon Cedric had sworn never to use again.
But in the silence, every officer nodded.
Because they all knew—
They would not leave without that stone.
---
The night around the camp still alive with laughter and the clash of practice swords as nobles and soldiers alike enjoyed their temporary break from war. But elsewhere, away from the bonfires and jovial banter, dark intentions simmered in the mind of one particular noble.
Inside a finely decorated tent near the edge of the nobles' camp, Lord Renald, the same young noble who had once harassed Fin and been humiliated by Selena, seethed in frustration. His lip was still swollen from where Selena had struck him, and his pride—far more fragile—was shattered.
"I can't let her get away with this," he growled, slamming a goblet of wine against the table.
His two elder brothers, Lord Hamrick and Lord Velos, looked at him with mild irritation. Hamrick was tall, broad-shouldered, and already tired of Renald's dramatics. Velos, the more cunning of the trio, remained silent, sipping wine as he listened.
"She humiliated me!" Renald barked. "In front of other nobles! And that common street rat Fin dared to insult me like an equal! I demand justice for my beautiful face!"
Hamrick sighed. "You demand attention, little brother. You were drunk, reckless, and you've always had a problem knowing your place. You bring this on yourself."
"I'll make it worth your while," Renald said, lowering his voice. "A thousand gold coins each. Plus... the girl. Selena. She's beautiful, proud, fiery. You can do whatever you like with her."
Velos raised an eyebrow.
That got their attention.
Hamrick frowned but was visibly tempted. Velos smirked. "You always did know how to bargain with filth."
Renald grinned. "Send your personal guards. She's alone in her tent. She won't see it coming."
Moments later, six black-clad personal guards—seasoned mercenaries hired by the brothers—moved through the shadows toward Selena's tent.
The flap of her tent glowed dimly from the light within, silent and still.
But just as the first guard reached to draw the flap aside—a figure dropped from above, landing silently between them and the entrance.
She stood tall, her white and silver armor gleaming faintly under the moonlight. A violet sash wrapped her waist, and her long hair flowed behind her like a shadow with life. Her presence alone made the guards hesitate.
It was Cassandra.
The sixth Pillar of the Colovia Kingdom. Ranked 47th among the strongest beings on the human continent. A living legend.
One of the guards stepped back, hesitating.
Renald approached behind his guards and narrowed his eyes at her. "Who the hell are you to stand in our way? Do you have any idea who I am?"
Before he could continue, Velos grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. "Shut up."
"She is Cassandra," Velos whispered coldly. "The Sixth Pillar. Do you have any idea what she's capable of?"
Cassandra's gaze was unblinking. Cold. Calculating.
"You know your books," she said with a faint, unreadable smile. "Then you also know this will end badly if you continue."
"We're not here for trouble," Hamrick said quickly. "Just settling a personal grudge."
"I know what you're here for," Cassandra replied, her tone dropping. Her eyes glowed faintly white. "And I know your intentions toward the person inside this tent. I will not allow it."
Velos narrowed his eyes. "May I ask, is she... a relative? A servant?"
"No," Cassandra said flatly.
"Then why protect her?" Hamrick asked.
"Because she doesn't deserve to be prey."
Renald growled. "This is pathetic! You're standing in our way for some girl who dared insult me? We offered you no disrespect, yet you threaten us with violence! If my brothers won't act, I will!"
Renald stepped forward, hand raised to cast a spell—but before he could even utter a syllable—
Shhhh—SLASH.
A faint silver gleam in the air.
A clean, perfect cut.
Renald's hand hit the ground before he even realized what had happened.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His scream pierced the night, and blood spattered onto the dirt. He fell to his knees, clutching the bleeding stump.
"I warned you," Cassandra said calmly. "And now you suffer the consequence."
Hamrick's face twisted in rage. "How dare you! That was my brother!"
"He raised a hand against someone under my protection," Cassandra said, drawing her sword fully now. Its blade shimmered like moonlight—graceful and deadly. "I don't care for his name. Nor yours."
Hamrick pointed at her. "Kill her."
The guards charged.
Five men. Trained killers. Armed with swords, spears, and enchanted armor.
But they never even touched her.
Cassandra's eyes flickered again.
She moved like wind through leaves—flowing between strikes before they happened, seeing every step and slash before they were made. Her blade danced—not with rage, but with elegance and deadly finality.
One by one, she crippled them.
A slash to the thigh. A stab through the hand. A precise cut across the arm. A slice to the foot.
Not a single kill.
But every guard was left bleeding, groaning, powerless.
They lay in a heap at her feet, writhing and disarmed.
Velos and Hamrick stared in horror.
"She... she saw all of their moves... before they moved," Hamrick muttered, stunned.
Cassandra looked up at them, her expression calm.
"You're free to carry your brother to a healer," she said. "But the next time you think of preying on the weak... remember this night."
Without another word, she turned her back on them—something only a supreme warrior could afford to do.
Velos grabbed the wailing Renald, while Hamrick ordered a soldier to carry the broken guards. Humiliated, angry, but utterly defeated, they left.
The night returned to its silence.
Outside, Cassandra stood at the entrance like a statue, her sword still warm in her hand.
"Cowards," she whispered. "No better than beasts in noble skin."
Inside the tent, Selena hadn't moved—but she knew what was happening . She had heard it all and later thanked Cassandra.
---