Inside the war tent, tension lingered, thick and heavy, mingling with the scent of burning oil from the dimly lit lanterns.
At the center of the room, a map of the northern territories lay spread across a dark wooden table, its edges weighed down by daggers, small stones, and empty mugs. Aric stood over it, his eyes tracing the lines of the settlements he had marked, his mask casting a cold shadow across his face.
Across from him stood Yrsa, the Legion commander. Her imposing frame was wrapped in thick furs, her violet eyes gleaming with both curiosity and wariness. The weight of her two-handed axe seemed almost irrelevant against her slender build.
Behind her, a handful of Northrender warriors stood, each radiating quiet, deadly confidence. Their presence carried an aura of intimidation, but beneath it was something more significant than simple menace—a profound assurance that, at any moment and without hesitation, they were prepared for battle.
"General," Yrsa’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and deliberate, carrying both suspicion and intrigue. "We’ve seen your effort, and I’m certain you summoned us for more than just a recount of last night’s victory. Speak plainly. What is it you propose?"
Aric’s hand hovered over the map, his finger resting on the northernmost settlement that had fallen under his command the night before. Ash and blood still clung to the snow outside, a testament to both the ruthlessness of the Northrenders and the efficiency of his own men.
His gaze lifted to Yrsa, the fire of unspoken ambition flickering behind the cold mask.
"The Valerian Empire is fractured," Aric began, his voice smooth and calculated. "Their northern settlements are weak, and their attention is scattered. The Byzeth King and I have plans to exploit this, but..." He let the word hang in the air, deliberately, knowing it would spark her curiosity.
Yrsa arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. "But?"
"The Valerians will not fall without resistance. Their forces are spread thin, yes—but we must ensure they have no chance to regroup. That is where you and your warriors come in."
She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And what exactly are you asking of us, General? If it’s a venture we seek, we will make use of it."
Aric smirked beneath his mask, stepping closer to her side of the table, lowering his voice as though unveiling a secret too dangerous for the lantern light. "I trust your strength—and that of your men—completely, Yrsa. And strength is precisely what we need now. I propose a series of rapid, devastating strikes against the remaining northern settlements."
He pointed to several locations scattered across the map—outposts, small towns, and fortified garrisons, all within Valerian territory.
"We strike them one by one. Hard, fast, without mercy. The key is this—their positions are designed to protect the heart of the empire. By targeting these settlements, we drive the Valerians into panic, forcing them to stretch their forces even thinner."
Yrsa’s expression shifted, her sharp violet eyes calculating. "You’re suggesting we carve a path through the settlements, crippling Valeria’s defenses?"
"Exactly." Aric nodded, tapping a particular settlement with emphasis. "The more they scramble to protect these insignificant places, the less able they are to defend the true prize. Once their forces are scattered and weakened, they will have no choice but to retreat to their capital."
"And what do we gain from this?" Yrsa asked, though her tone betrayed that she already knew the answer.
Aric let out a low, confident chuckle. "Glory. Blood. Spoils of war. And, when the time comes to sack their capital, it will be your legions at the vanguard. It will be your name the Valerians whisper in terror. You will be the hammer that shatters the empire."
Yrsa’s lips curled into a smile. "A tempting offer, General. But you know we Northrenders do not fight for glory alone."
Aric had expected this. He had prepared for it.
"And you won’t. Once the northern territories fall, the Byzeth King will grant you dominion over the northernmost lands—where winter reigns without end. Is this not pleasing to you, Commander? You will rule them as you see fit, and your people will expand their dominion beyond the northern sea. The Northrend Empire will hold more than respect—it will wield power and land. Enough to leave the Draken... unsettled. Perhaps even furious."
She was silent for a long moment, her gaze flickering between Aric and the map. He could see the storm of thought hidden in those violet eyes.
He needed her to believe that this war was about Valeria—that Byzeth’s rebellion was the key to her people’s resurgence. In truth, his ambitions stretched far beyond. It was Byzeth’s throne he desired. But Yrsa and her legion did not need to know that—not yet.
Yrsa finally turned to the warriors behind her. A silent exchange passed between them before she looked back at Aric, her decision made. "Very well, General. We will strike as you say. The settlements will burn, and the Valerians will bleed." Follow current novels on 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⁂𝔫𝔢𝔱
"Good," Aric replied, dark satisfaction seeping into his tone. "The faster we move, the greater the panic we unleash. Once they’re scattered, the path to their heart will be wide open. They won’t stand a chance."
As Yrsa and her legionaries left the tent, Aric lingered by the map. His gloved fingers traced slowly across the Byzeth Kingdom, a hidden smirk curling beneath his mask. The Northrenders would now serve his true purpose. An empire of terrifyingly formidable warriors would unknowingly carry out his will.
The chaos they sowed would not only weaken Valeria’s defenses but also bleed Byzeth’s strength—leaving Aszer’s forces vulnerable for the day Aric would turn against them.
In the end, he could almost feel the cold weight of the iron throne beneath his hand. He was closer than ever. The road to conquering Byzeth lay clear before him, and along that road would be a trail of blood—irrelevant to him, inevitable to all others.