The air grew colder with every step the rebels took into the northern mountains. Snow dusted the rocky paths, swirling in the wind as the peaks loomed higher and higher around them. The forests that had once shielded Ironhold gave way to jagged cliffs and narrow passes, forcing the group into single file as they trudged forward.

Juri Winkler walked at the head of the column, his sharp blue eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of danger. His cloak was pulled tight against the icy wind, but the cold didn’t bother him. His mind was far too preoccupied with what lay ahead.

They had left Ironhold a week ago, abandoning the fortress in favor of finding a safer, more defensible position. But the journey had not been easy. Supplies were running low, and morale was beginning to waver. The rebels were tired, hungry, and increasingly unsure of whether the boy they followed could truly deliver on his promises.

Halrick caught up to Juri, his breath visible in the frigid air. “We’ve got a problem,” he said, his tone low.

Juri glanced at him. “What now?”

“The recruits are getting restless,” Halrick replied. “They’re cold, they’re hungry, and they’re starting to wonder if we’re marching to our deaths. Garrick’s trying to keep them in line, but it’s only a matter of time before someone snaps.”

Juri exhaled through his nose, his breath forming a plume of mist. “Let them wonder. If they can’t endure a little hardship, they’re no use to me.”

Halrick raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a way with people, kid. Real inspiring.”

Juri’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “I’m not here to coddle them. I’m here to win.”

The rebels made camp that night in a sheltered canyon, the cliffs on either side providing some protection from the biting wind. Fires crackled in makeshift pits, casting flickering light over the weary faces of the group.

Juri sat at the edge of the camp, a crude map spread out on the ground before him. He had drawn it himself over the past week, using scraps of parchment and bits of charcoal to mark their route through the mountains. His hands were stiff from the cold, but he continued working, muttering calculations under his breath.

Nearby, Garrick was speaking with a group of recruits, his voice low but firm.

“We’re almost there,” Garrick said. “The kid knows what he’s doing. We just have to hold out a little longer.”

One of the recruits, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, crossed his arms. “And what if he doesn’t? What if we freeze to death out here chasing some pipe dream?”

Garrick frowned. “You think the Academy’s going to let you live if you give up? This is your best chance at survival, whether you like it or not.”

The man didn’t respond, but the tension in his expression didn’t ease.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Halrick approached, his sword slung across his back, and clapped Garrick on the shoulder. “How’s morale?”

Garrick shrugged. “Holding together. Barely.”

“Let me guess,” Halrick said, his tone wry. “They’re not thrilled about following a magicless boy into the middle of nowhere?”

Garrick’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Something like that.”

Halrick sighed, glancing toward Juri. “He’s got a vision, Garrick. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I know he’s not going to stop until he proves himself right.”

The next day, the rebels continued their march through the mountains, following a narrow pass that wound between two sheer cliffs. The snow was deeper here, slowing their progress and muffling the sound of their footsteps.

Juri kept his eyes on the cliffs above, his instincts prickling. The pass was too quiet, too still. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

He raised a hand, signaling the column to stop.

“What is it?” Halrick asked, his voice low.

“Something’s not right,” Juri replied. “We’re exposed here. Tell the recruits to spread out and keep their weapons ready.”

Halrick nodded and moved down the line, relaying the orders. The rebels shifted into a looser formation, their eyes scanning the cliffs and the snow-covered trail ahead.

The attack came suddenly.

A hail of arrows rained down from the cliffs, striking the rebels before they could react. Shouts of alarm filled the air as several recruits fell, their bodies crumpling in the snow.

“Take cover!” Garrick bellowed, pulling a young recruit behind a boulder as more arrows streaked through the air.

Juri dove behind a rock, his mind racing. He caught a glimpse of their attackers—figures in dark cloaks moving along the cliffs, their faces obscured by masks.

“They’re not Arcanists,” Halrick said, crouching beside him. “Too crude. Bandits, maybe?”

“Bandits don’t ambush groups this large,” Juri muttered. “They’re being paid.”

Halrick grimaced. “Great. So someone wants us dead.”

“Someone always wants me dead,” Juri said, pulling a small device from his satchel.

The device was a grenade—a crude but effective creation that Juri had crafted back at Ironhold. He twisted the timer mechanism, then hurled it toward the nearest group of attackers.

The explosion was deafening, sending a plume of snow and debris into the air. Several of the masked figures were thrown from the cliffs, their bodies tumbling into the pass below.

“Push forward!” Juri shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Get out of the canyon!”

The rebels rallied, returning fire with their Repeaters as they fought their way down the pass. Juri stayed at the rear, covering their retreat with precise shots from his modified Repeater.

By the time they reached the end of the canyon, the attackers had withdrawn, leaving the snow stained with blood.

The rebels made camp in a sheltered hollow that night, their numbers thinned and their nerves frayed. Juri worked tirelessly to tend to the wounded, using improvised medical tools to patch up injuries as best he could.

Halrick sat beside him, his expression grim. “That wasn’t just an ambush. They knew exactly where we’d be.”

Juri nodded, his jaw tight. “Someone sold us out. Or someone’s watching us.”

As he spoke, one of the scouts returned, clutching a scrap of parchment in his gloved hand.

“This was pinned to a tree near the ambush site,” the scout said, handing it to Juri.

Juri unfolded the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he read the elegant script.

“You cannot escape the reach of the magical nobility. Turn back, or be destroyed.”

Halrick peered over his shoulder. “The nobles are involved now. That explains a lot.”

Juri crumpled the parchment, his expression hardening. “Let them come. They want to play games? I’ll show them what happens when they underestimate me.”

Halrick smirked faintly. “There’s that fire. Thought you’d gone soft for a second.”

Juri stood, his voice cold and sharp. “We’re not turning back. If the nobles think they can scare me off, they’re about to learn how wrong they are.”