Chapter 15 The Pursuing Army

Luiz Amoro Martinez stood just outside the burning forest, his frustration mounting with every passing moment. The acrid scent of smoke filled the air, mixing with the tense murmurs of his dwindling force. The flickering flames cast long shadows over the soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers—a force that had started at 160 strong but now numbered closer to 140.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, his once-pristine armor smudged with soot and dirt. “We’ve assembled this much force,” he muttered to himself, then louder, addressing his captains, “so why in the world are we still stuck here?”

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but no one answered.

Luiz’s thoughts wandered as he stared into the inferno before him. This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. Two years ago, he’d been a rising star in the Order of the Silver Blade, a knight with a promising future. Then came The Whiskered Uprising.

It had started as a ridiculous rumor—a gang of cats orchestrating a heist in Felor. No one took it seriously until the chaos unfolded. A robbery that had turned into a raid, a camp by the river, a food storage facility emptied, and a daring escape through the city gates on horse-drawn wagons. It had all happened so quickly, so absurdly, that the city’s defenses were left scrambling.

By the time Luiz had pieced together a response, the cats were long gone, leaving a trail of humiliation in their wake.

What had the debacle cost him? Everything. His knighthood, his fiancée, his reputation. The sting of his disgrace was made only slightly bearable by the karmic justice dealt to Alfonso, the merchant whose greed had exacerbated the entire situation. Found dead in an alley, riddled with stab wounds and laced with poison—Luiz had no doubt the Grand Alchemist, whom Alfonso had blackmailed, was behind it.

“Karma,” Luiz muttered bitterly.

A captain approached him, breaking his reverie. “Sir, the scouts report heavy losses. The forest fires are spreading faster than anticipated, and our forces are struggling to maintain cohesion. They say the enemy is using hit-and-run tactics—ambushes and traps. We’ve lost another ten in the last hour.”

Luiz clenched his jaw. Ten more gone. Dammit.

“Have we identified the leader yet?” Luiz demanded.

“No, sir. The reports are conflicting. Some claim it’s a ginger cat wielding magic, others say it’s a larger feline coordinating the attacks. There’s also talk of poison being used—several of the horses we brought are already dead.”

Luiz cursed under his breath. The enemy was unlike anything he had ever faced—organized, intelligent, and utterly unorthodox.

“Send the scouts again. I want a full report on the terrain ahead,” Luiz ordered. “And tell the men to prepare for a push at dawn. If we stay here any longer, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

The captain saluted and hurried off, leaving Luiz to his thoughts.

When Luiz Amoro Martinez was assigned to lead a 160-strong combined force of soldiers, adventurers, and mercenaries, his initial reaction had been to refuse. But rejecting an order from his lordship was not an option, not unless he wanted to forfeit his life or worse. So, with gritted teeth and mounting dread, Luiz accepted the role, fully aware of the stakes.

The situation only worsened when Felor’s Adventurer Guild Master, enraged by the humiliation of the recent heist, elevated the pursuit of the cats into an official quest. This meant mercenaries and adventurers from outside Felor had flocked to join the hunt, many of them pompous individuals eager to show off their skills. Their presence prompted Luiz’s lord to double the soldiers initially assigned to him, inflating his modest squad of forty into an unwieldy force of 160.

Failure wasn’t just an option—it was a death sentence.

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Now, deep in the night, Luiz stood outside the burning forest, surrounded by chaos. His men were restless, their morale faltering as they grappled with the absurdity of their enemy: a band of cats. And not just any cats—cats who had outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and outfought every attempt to corner them.

As Luiz reviewed the situation, Alvin of Iron Wall sauntered up to him. The adventurer’s reputation as an A-rank preceded him, but Luiz knew the truth. Alvin’s rank was more a product of nepotism than merit, the result of being the Guild Master’s illegitimate son. His party of genuine A-rank adventurers had disbanded long ago, leaving Alvin desperate to prove himself once more.

The man was stout and broad-shouldered, his polished armor gleaming even in the dim light of the campfires. But his demeanor exuded arrogance rather than competence.

“It’s been only a few minutes since we launched the attack,” Alvin said, his tone dripping with disdain. “And we’re already on the back foot. Tell me, Sir Martinez, will you take responsibility for this failure? Oh, I’m sorry,” he added with a mocking smirk. “You’re not a knight anymore, are you? Why don’t you let someone capable—like me—take command of this force?”

Luiz bristled at the insult but kept his composure. He had learned long ago that reacting to provocation only gave men like Alvin more power. “If you have a strategy that doesn’t involve running headlong into a trap, I’m all ears,” Luiz replied evenly.

Alvin crossed his arms, his smirk widening. “It’s simple. We charge through the forest, burn it all down, and flush those furballs out. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Luiz shook his head. “That’s exactly what they want us to do. The cats are using the fire and terrain to their advantage. Charging in would only result in more casualties.”

“And doing nothing will result in what? A stalemate?” Alvin countered, his voice rising. “Face it, Martinez. You’re out of your depth. Let me take over before this turns into a massacre.”

The adventurer had done little to earn the respect his title supposedly commanded, and Luiz’s patience was wearing thin. The camp was tense, the air heavy with the smell of smoke from the burning forest. Soldiers whispered nervously about the strange and cunning enemy they faced, but Luiz had no time for their fears.

“It feels like just yesterday,” Luiz began, his voice laced with disdain, “that you were being slapped around by Alfonso. Do you remember that, Alvin? I do. I also remember your miserable failure to protect the one item that caused this entire debacle.” He stepped closer, his piercing gaze fixed on the adventurer. “Your career as an adventurer is already ruined. Some ‘Iron Wall’ you are.”

Alvin bristled, his broad shoulders stiffening as he tried to meet Luiz’s glare. “Watch your tone, Martinez,” he snapped, but his voice wavered.

Luiz opened his mouth to continue, but the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted him. A scout burst in between them, his face flushed from running. “Sir! We have confirmation of the enemy forces’ leader!”

Alvin scoffed loudly. “What is this? Are we treating them like an army now?”

“Go on,” Luiz ordered, ignoring Alvin’s outburst.

The scout nodded, catching his breath before continuing. “It’s a ginger cat, sir. A pyromancer! We’ve received word that this cat was seen spreading the fires.”

Alvin let out a sharp laugh. “A pyromancer? A cat spreading fire? This just gets better and better. How exactly do you know this, scout?”

The scout hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh… There’s a druid among the adventurers in our forces. They have the ability to communicate with animals. We managed to recover a cat from the initial attack and had the druid interrogate it.”

Luiz’s eyes narrowed, and he turned sharply toward Alvin. “You had a druid in your forces this entire time, and you didn’t tell me?”

Alvin threw up his hands defensively. “They’re just mages, right? What difference does it make? Don’t yell at me, you bastard!”

“Just mages?” Luiz hissed, his voice low but cutting. “That ‘just a mage’ might have saved us time, lives, and resources if you had the sense to utilize them properly. But no, you were too busy posturing to bother mentioning them.”

Alvin’s face reddened, but he said nothing, his jaw clenched tight.

Luiz turned back to the scout, dismissing Alvin from his thoughts. “Where is this druid now?”

“They’re tending to the wounded on the east side of camp, sir,” the scout replied.

“Good. Bring them to me immediately,” Luiz commanded. “I want a full account of what they’ve learned. And make sure the men know: this ginger cat isn’t just a nuisance. It’s a tactician. If we don’t treat it as such, we’ll continue losing ground.”

The scout saluted and ran off, leaving Luiz to deal with Alvin’s simmering glare.

“You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?” Alvin muttered.

“Not until you prove you’re worth even half of your reputation,” Luiz shot back. “And if you step out of line again, I’ll see to it that you answer for it—not just to me, but to the Guild Master as well.”

Alvin said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line as Luiz strode off toward the east side of camp. Luiz’s mind churned with the implications of what the scout had revealed. A pyromancer ginger cat—absurd as it sounded, it explained the fires and the enemy’s coordination.

After all, magic casters had always been known as thinkers…

This wasn’t just a matter of hunting down rogue animals. This was war, and Luiz had no intention of losing it.