Chapter 5: The Mad Command
The silence in the office of the Royal Guard's Commander was suffocating. Here, in the heart of Vaelmont's defense, there was no grandeur. Its stone walls were bare save for a single, worn map of the border, marked with so much red ink it looked like a wound that would not heal. The air smelled of old parchment and armor oil.
Captain Philip Hanssen stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared at Commander Gregor Vance, trying to read something in his master's face, which seemed to be carved from granite.
"Repeat the order, Commander," Philip said, his voice calm and measured, hiding the shock that churned within him.
Gregor sighed, the sound like grinding gravel. "The order comes directly from His Highness the Prince. Take one platoon to the western border. Find the northern Echo Bridge, and burn it to ash."
Philip frowned. Burn their own bridge? An piece of infrastructure, however old, was still a royal asset. This violated every military doctrine he had ever learned at the 'Alaric's Shield' Academy. It was an act of desperation, a scorched-earth tactic employed only by an army on the verge of total defeat.
"With all due respect, Commander," Philip pressed, "the logic behind it...?"
"The logic is that it is an order," Gregor cut in, his tired eyes fixing Philip with a sharp gaze. There was something there Philip couldn't read—not conviction, but... a confusion forced into compliance. "Our duty is not to question, but to execute. Perhaps His Highness sees something we do not. My analysis suggests it may be a maneuver to flush the enemy out or cut off a route we are unaware of. Whatever the reason, the order is clear."
Philip fell silent, his sharp, ambitious mind immediately spinning. Bandits. Of course. The same bandits whose equipment improved weekly, whose tactics grew more coordinated. The same bandits who had made Sir Ranugad's unit vanish without a trace.
This command, as mad as it sounded, had a cold logic behind it. An unconventional logic. A bold logic.
This is what Vaelmont needs, Philip thought, his years of frustration with the Royal Guard's stagnation now stirred by something new. Not just waiting for orders from behind castle walls, but a swift, sharp blade that dared to act.
This was a test. Either a test from the Prince to see if his strange commands would be obeyed, or a test from fate itself. Philip didn't care. This was his chance to prove he was more than just a captain of the capital's patrol.
"I understand, Commander," he said, his voice now firm and full of conviction. "Consider it done."
The night air on Vaelmont's western border was cold and smelled of iron. It carried the scent of damp earth after a rain and the metal of worn armor. Theo, a young soldier in the Royal Guard, pulled his cloak's collar tighter. The hand gripping his sword's hilt trembled slightly, not just from the night air, but from a bad feeling creeping in his chest.
Beside him, his comrades moved in a tense silence. Only the sound of boots on gravel and the creak of leather armor broke the quiet of the dark forest. They were all thinking the same thing.
This order was insane.
"The Prince himself commanded it, I hear," whispered a veteran soldier named Baelen, his breath forming a cloud of vapor in the cold air.
"Which Prince? The one we never see on the training grounds?" another shot back sarcastically.
"Hush! Watch your mouth," Baelen chided. "I heard he's changed. Since his meeting with the Commander this morning. Something's different. This strange order... it's not like the Prince we know."
Theo listened in silence. He was only nineteen. He had joined the Royal Guard a year ago with dreams of protecting the kingdom, inspired by the tales of King Alaric he'd heard since childhood. The reality he found was boring patrols, often-late pay, and nobles who fought like dogs over a bone. But this order... this felt different. This felt real. And terrifying.
At the head of the column, Captain Philip Hanssen walked with a steady stride, as if he felt none of the same doubt that plagued his men. His deep blue cloak billowed behind him, the only spot of bright color in the grim landscape. Theo watched his commander's back, trying to absorb courage from his upright posture.
They reached the edge of the gorge. The air grew colder, carrying the smell of moss and wet wood from the large structure before them. The northern Echo Bridge, with its frayed ropes and creaking planks, stretched across a pitch-black chasm. On the other side, the dense forest that shrouded the Kaelos border stood like an impenetrable wall of darkness.
It was too quiet. No sound of crickets. No howl of a distant wolf. Only the sound of the wind sighing through the bridge's weathered planks.
"Begin," Hanssen commanded, his voice low but firm.
Two soldiers moved forward cautiously, pulling barrels of oil from a supply cart. The liquid gave off a pungent odor that mixed with the scent of the forest. They began to douse the bridge's wooden pillars, the oil running like black blood in the wildly flickering torchlight.
Theo held his position, forming a defensive perimeter with the others. His eyes were glued to the darkness on the other side, his heart beating like a war drum.
Something was wrong. His instincts, honed by a hard life in a border village, were screaming. They were being watched.
That's when all hell broke loose.
Swiiish! Thunk!
Arrows shot out from the darkness. Not the random rain of arrows from common bandits. This was a precise volley, each shaft fired with purpose. A soldier next to Theo fell with a choked grunt, a black-fletched arrow embedded in the gap of his shoulder armor.
"AMBUSH!" roared Hanssen, his sword drawn in an instant. "SHIELD WALL! PROTECT THE OIL-BEARERS!"
From the trees on the far side, dozens of figures emerged. They didn't scream or charge blindly. They moved fast, in small, mutually supporting units, spreading out to envelop the Vaelmont troops with clear military tactics.
Theo swallowed hard. Their armor... it wasn't worn leather. It was well-made iron chainmail, its surface blackened to prevent reflection. Their swords were long, slender, and perfectly honed.
As one of them drew closer, Theo could see him more clearly in the torchlight. The blade of his sword had a distinctive bluish sheen. This isn't cheap bandit steel... he thought, his heart sinking. This gleam, its balance... this is the forgework of Ironrath Hold, the style favored by Kaelos!
The fight began, and the Vaelmont forces were immediately pushed back. They were outnumbered, out-armed, and out-disciplined. Every swing of Theo's sword was easily parried. Every time he tried to attack, his opponent had already anticipated it. This wasn't a fight; it was a massacre.
He saw Captain Hanssen fighting like a wounded lion, his sword a blur of motion, managing to cut down one attacker before having to parry strikes from two directions. But even the captain was becoming overwhelmed, blood beginning to seep from a wound on his arm.
A soldier near him screamed in horror, "These aren't bandits! This armor... it's the Kaelos Shadow Legion!" before a sword slashed his throat, silencing his warning forever.
Hope felt like an expensive luxury. Theo felt like a rat caught in a trap. He managed to parry one attack but lost his balance. His opponent grinned, seeing the opening. The sword was raised high, ready for the final blow.
Theo stumbled and fell backward, his eyes staring in horror at the cold, gleaming blade as it hurtled down to end his short life.
He squeezed his eyes shut.