The companions did not linger. The blood in the fog was still fresh when Kael lifted his blade and turned toward the looming ridges ahead.
"Forward," he said simply.
There was no protest. Their boots struck the broken earth in steady rhythm, carrying them deeper into the Sovereign's Vale. What lay ahead was not merely battle, but the heart of their enemy's power.
Hours later, the ridges parted into a valley seared by fire and smoke. Blackened banners marked the Sovereign's forward camp—spikes driven into the ground, armored watchmen pacing above, siege machines looming like skeletal beasts. Hundreds of soldiers clustered in lines, sharpening blades, tightening armor straps, waiting.
Seliora's eyes narrowed. "They're massing for a march. If we strike here, we cripple their advance."
Darius spat into the dirt. "Hundreds of them, maybe more. We won't break them with steel alone."
Kael's gaze lingered on the heart of the camp, where a single crimson pavilion stood, larger than the rest. The sigil of the Sovereign blazed on its fabric.
"That's where their commander hides," Kael said, his tone edged with certainty. "We sever the head, the body collapses."
Aric shifted uneasily, his young hand tight around his sword hilt. "And if the head proves stronger than we expect?"
Kael's crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the firelight. "Then we cut deeper."
Night fell. The companions moved like shadows through the outer ring of the encampment. Minor sentries spotted them, blades raised—only to be silenced in an instant.
Kael's sword hissed in arcs of black lightning, severing through shields and flesh alike. Each strike was a named death:
"Abyssal Fang." A soldier's halberd split, his chest with it.
"Obsidian Veil." Kael's blade swept wide, scattering sparks as it tore through three at once.
Aric fought hard at his side, his form still rough, but his strikes decisive. Seliora covered him with precise bolts, fire cutting down anyone who strayed too close. Darius thundered at the front, clearing paths with his spear as if tearing gaps in a wall of bodies.
By the time the companions breached the inner circle, corpses smoldered behind them, and the camp was in chaos.
They stood before the crimson pavilion. Torches flared, and the commander emerged—a towering man clad in darkened steel, helm crested with jagged horns. In his hand was a warhammer the size of a man's torso, its head wrapped in burning chains.
His voice thundered across the camp.
"Rivenhart! I have waited for this."
The ground shook as he strode forward, soldiers rallying behind him.
Kael lowered his blade, the red glow in his eyes sharp as flame.
"Then your wait ends now."