When the sun was barely beginning to cast its pale light across the horizon, the echo of distant hoofbeats shattered the early morning stillness. A small cavalry unit, under General Rothgur’s command, advanced with determined urgency. Their mission was clear and honorable: to locate the barbarian raiders who had been terrorizing the region. Word had spread that the Blackbear Clan was responsible for a series of brutal attacks, and Rothgur was determined to put a stop to their savagery.

The riders fanned out, scanning every ridge and hollow for signs of passage. Vigilant eyes swept the landscape for footprints, overturned earth, or any hint of a makeshift campsite. Hours of searching had turned up little more than old tracks and the occasional abandoned fire pit. Just when the men were beginning to fear another fruitless day, a sharp cry rang out:

“Captain, over there!” one of the scouts shouted, pointing into the distance.

A thin column of smoke rose against the dull sky, its dark smudge barely visible in the half-light. Without hesitation, the cavalry wheeled their mounts and urged them into a swift canter, racing toward the source of the smoke. They crested a low hill, and what lay before them caused a collective knot of dread to twist in their stomachs.

An empty campsite sprawled below—a few ragged tents and smoldering embers were all that remained. Much of the area had been stripped bare, as if the occupants had left in a hurry. Discarded remnants of food and debris littered the ground, mingling with ash and blackened fire pits.

The Tenthblade in charge of the cavalry detail signaled for his men to dismount and search the area. They spread out cautiously, weapons at the ready, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. But the camp was eerily silent, devoid of any living soul. What they found next, however, was far from empty.

In the largest of the remaining tents, several bodies lay slumped in gruesome stillness. They belonged to the missing women and children from Rabar—and, horrifyingly, there were more victims than those known to have disappeared from that single village. The implication was clear: the Blackbears had likely been raiding multiple settlements, snatching the vulnerable under the cover of darkness and leaving a trail of carnage in their wake.

Faces went ashen with grief and fury as the soldiers confirmed the identities of the fallen. Grim silence descended over the camp, broken only by a few whispered curses and choked prayers for the dead. One of the cavalrymen gently covered the bodies with blankets, a small gesture of respect in the face of atrocity.

When General Rothgur arrived on the scene, his jaw clenched at the sight. The smell of burnt canvas and stale blood lingered in the air, and his men stood by, their expressions mirroring the disgust and anger in his own eyes. For a moment, no one spoke. There was nothing to say that would lessen the horror before them.

“Bring back the dead to their families and bury the unclaimed,” General Rothgur ordered in a solemn tone, watching as his men moved carefully around the ruined camp. These were the women and children who had been taken—innocent victims of a barbaric raid. The weight of their fate hung heavily in the air, evident in the bowed heads and hushed voices of the Frostbane soldiers. Each lifeless form was placed gently onto a waiting wagon, every movement laced with quiet respect.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Zack, ever dependable, approached and cleared his throat. “General, I have the investigation report,” he said, his voice subdued in the face of such tragedy.

Rothgur merely grunted, his gaze still fixed on the wagons being loaded. The sight brought a dark tension to his jaw, and his grip tightened at his sides. Finally, he gave Zack a curt nod. “Let’s hear it.”

Zack unfurled a small parchment. “They estimate this camp was big enough for four thousand men. The tracks indicate they headed toward Vadel. However, once our scouts followed them, they discovered those tracks merged with three other groups. They continued tracking until they reached the city, which was on fire. The banners flying from its walls weren’t Windstride…they belonged to the Blackbear Clan.” He paused, letting the grim news sink in. “It appears they seized the city.”

A flicker of anger passed over Rothgur’s features, but his voice was controlled when he spoke. “It was always our goal to take Vadel. This changes nothing.”

With that declaration, he turned away, leaving the wagons behind. Soldiers still carried the remains of villagers who would never see their homes again. Though sorrow pressed in on all sides, General Sanders remained resolute. The campaign would continue, and he silently vowed that those responsible for this atrocity the Blackbear would be made to answer for it.

As General Rothgur rode back into the devastated village, he was greeted by the sorrowful wails of fathers mourning the loss of both wife and child. Some of the dead lay unclaimed—no family remained to mourn them. The scene was grim, a stark reminder that tragedy had twice befallen these people. Still, the villagers clung to survival, buoyed in part by the Frostbane clan’s resolve to rebuild what had been shattered.

In the center of the village, the last of the elders approached Rothgur, tears shining in his eyes. “Thank you for bringing them home,” he said quietly, voice trembling under the weight of shared grief.

“It’s a great loss that we couldn’t save more,” Rothgur replied, his own tone grave. “We have worse news, though—raiders still roam, and we plan to strike back. Perhaps you can help us.”

The elder nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, shoulders sagging beneath the burden of his people’s suffering.

Rothgur inclined his head. “Good. I have matters to attend to, but please, speak with my aide, Zack.”

Stepping forward, Zack offered the elder a respectful bow.

Zack stepped forward, addressing the elder in a low, urgent voice. “We found the raiders’ trail. It appears they combined forces, forming a larger group—large enough to capture the city of Vadel.”

The elder’s eyes widened in horror. “How is that even possible?” he whispered, voice trembling at the thought of such devastation.

Zack shook his head grimly. “We’re not certain. We still plan to retake the city, but we have little information about what lies inside—no idea of its current population, nor the state of the defenses. All we know is it was burning when our scouts arrived.”

He paused, letting the weight of those words settle. “Any knowledge you have of Vadel could be invaluable,” he added, his gaze steady. “Please, tell me what you can.”

The elder hesitated. He glanced around the wreckage of his village—the ruined huts, the grieving families, the haunted faces of survivors—and seemed to imagine, with a shudder, how much worse it might be for the twenty thousand souls once living behind Vadel’s protective walls. In the end, pity and dread overcame his reluctance.

With a weary sigh, he nodded. “Very well,” he said, voice trembling despite his resolve. “I’ll tell you everything I remember about the city.”

And so he began, recounting every detail he could recall of Vadel’s layout, its strengths and weaknesses—anything that might help the Frostbane soldiers wrest the city back from the raiders who had plunged it into chaos.