Naira closed her eyes.
The image of Laurence, covered in blood as he cut through the Imperial lines with terrifying precision, appeared in her mind once again.
"The Reaper of Death..."
She slowly opened her eyes.
A thin smile appeared on her lips.
"Let's see how long you can stay standing."
She did not know she was making a grave mistake.
Not because her strategy was wrong.
But because she had just given Laurence exactly the kind of war in which the Douglas were most dangerous.
Night fell over Dara.
The battlefield, which during the day had been a hell of fire and steel, was now covered in near-total darkness.
Corpses remained scattered before the walls.
Mud had mixed with blood.
The craters left by magic still released thin columns of smoke.
The Imperial army had extinguished most of its torches.
They did not want to reveal their advance.
Thousands of soldiers began moving slowly toward the positions around Dara.
This time, there would be no drums.
No shouting.
No banners.
The attack had to begin in silence.
The strategy was simple.
One force would advance toward the southern wall, forcing the defenders to concentrate there.
Meanwhile, other units would approach different sectors to keep the walls under pressure.
The combat mages would advance under protection in the center.
If they reached the proper distance, they could bombard the defenses before the defenders realized where the real attack was coming from.
It was a logical strategy.
And on paper, it was difficult to counter.
But there was one problem.
In the forest, several hundred meters from the Imperial lines, fifty figures stood perfectly still.
They carried none of the heavy banners of the Douglas.
Nor did they wear the full armor used by the main army.
They wore light equipment.
Dark cloaks.
Short weapons.
Armor designed to make as little noise as possible.
They were not assassins capable of disappearing from the world.
They were soldiers.
Douglas soldiers.
The difference was that all of them had been trained to fight in darkness.
And almost all of them possessed an affinity for it.
Darkness did not make them invisible.
But it could conceal a silhouette for a few seconds.
It could dull the shine of armor.
It could swallow the light of a torch.
It could turn a movement into a shadow impossible to distinguish from the trees.
And fifty men who knew how to take advantage of those moments could be far more dangerous than five hundred soldiers who could not.
Laurence stood at the front.
He raised one hand.
The fifty warriors stopped.
Ahead of them, several Imperial scouts were moving slowly.
One of the soldiers raised a torch.
He looked toward the forest.
Nothing.
Only trees.
"Keep moving," he whispered.
The torch lowered again.
Laurence made a small movement with his fingers.
The light of the torch weakened.
It did not go out.
Just enough.
A shadow moved between the trees.
The scout barely had time to turn.
A hand covered his mouth.
A blade pierced his throat.
The body was carefully lowered to the ground.
Another scout fell.
Then another.
And another.
There were no screams.
No alarm.
The fifty warriors advanced.
They were not trying to defeat the Imperial army.
Not yet.
First, they needed to take away its eyes.
Scouts.
Messengers.
Sentries.
Men responsible for carrying orders between units.
Each disappearance created a small delay.
Each delay created confusion.
And in a nighttime battle, a few seconds could become a life.
In less than ten minutes, part of the Imperial surveillance network had been blinded.
Laurence observed the result.
He raised his hand again.
The unit changed direction.
Now they were heading toward the real target.
The mages.
Gareth Helmström advanced in the third line.
Mud clung to his boots, and the weight of his armor was beginning to settle heavily on his shoulders. At Level Sixty-Five, after six campaigns and three sieges, he had learned to recognize the smell of a battle before it began.
Tonight smelled like victory.
A veteran of the Sixth Legion, with a Beta affinity and a specialization in earth magic, Gareth marched with the confidence of a man who had survived too many times to fear one more battle.
"How far?" Arken asked beside him.
"Less than a kilometer."
Gareth raised his eyes.
Through the trees, the walls of Dara were barely visible.
"When the mages begin the bombardment, that fortress will fall."
Arken smiled.
"That's what they said yesterday."
Gareth chuckled softly.
"Yesterday, the entire army was watching us. Tonight will be different."
Something moved between the trees.
Gareth stopped smiling.
He turned his head.
Nothing.
Only branches swaying in the wind.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Gareth kept watching for a few more seconds.
Then he continued.
He did not see the shadow behind the column.
Nor the second.
Nor the third.
A hand emerged from the darkness.
An officer disappeared without making a sound.
Farther ahead, a messenger collapsed among his own comrades.
Then a captain.
The march continued.
No one realized that the chain of command was dying behind them.
Finally, the shadows reached the mages.
Laurence raised two fingers.
The fifty Douglas warriors stopped.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
Ahead of them, magical circles began to glow.
Gareth extended both hands.
He felt earth mana gathering beneath his feet.
"First formation..."
Laurence clenched his fist.
The shadows exploded into motion.
Fifty warriors burst from the darkness.
The first mage fell before he could even finish inhaling.
Another took a sword through the chest.
A third tried to raise a shield.
A dagger pierced his hand.
"What...?!"
The scream barely escaped his throat.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"
The Imperial formation turned as one.
Too late.
The Douglas were not looking for soldiers.
They were looking for the mages.
One fell.
Then another.
And another.
"Protect the spellcasters!"
"Form a perimeter!"
"Where are they coming from?!"
Swords slashed through shadows.
The Douglas appeared, struck, and vanished before anyone could pin down their position.
Gareth felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
"Defensive formation!"
He slammed one hand into the ground.
"Stone Reinforcement!"
The earth began to rise.
Then a silhouette appeared in front of him.
CLANG!
Gareth blocked the strike on pure instinct.
The impact shook his arm.
The Douglas warrior stepped back.
"Now!"
Three soldiers lunged at him.
The figure disappeared.
"Where is he?!"
"Left!"
Gareth turned.
A flash of steel.
The soldier who had shouted fell with his throat open.
Blood splattered across the mud.
Gareth stood frozen for a moment.
Then he understood.
"No..."
He looked around.
The mages were falling one after another.
They weren't attacking the army.
They were tearing out its eyes.
"Withdraw the spellcasters!"
His order was lost amid the screams.
No one answered.
The officers responsible for relaying it were dead.
The formation began to collapse.
Then an alarm sounded from the walls.
Gareth looked up.
Dara had seen the chaos.
The gates remained closed.
There was no need to open them.
From the towers, a rain of magical projectiles descended upon the Imperial positions.
BOOM!
The ground trembled.
Another explosion.
The soldiers raised their shields, desperately trying to determine where the next attack would come from.
And in the middle of that confusion...
"Withdraw."
The voice was calm.
The Douglas began to retreat.
They did not run.
They did not pursue.
They did not look back.
Gareth could barely believe it.
They had entered the middle of the Imperial army, killed their mages, and disappeared before anyone could react.
Laurence was the last to leave.
As he passed between the trees, he stopped.
Gareth saw him.
Their eyes met.
There was no anger in the duke's eyes.
Nor pride.
Only a calmness that frightened him far more.
Laurence slightly lowered his sword.
Then turned away.
And disappeared into the darkness.
Gareth remained motionless.
He looked at the corpses of the mages.
Then at the trees.
"Who the hell is that man...?"
A soldier beside him swallowed.
"Duke Douglas."
Gareth clenched his jaw.
He had faced monsters, armies, and sieges.
But that night, he had learned something no report had ever taught him.