The fires of Greystone still burned as the rebels returned to their hidden valley. From their vantage point in the mountains, they could see the faint glow of the flames against the night sky, a distant but unmistakable reminder of what they had accomplished.
Juri Winkler walked at the head of the column, his sharp blue eyes scanning the winding path ahead. His mind raced with calculations and contingency plans, already anticipating the nobles’ response.
“They’ll move fast,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “They’ll want to retaliate before we can disappear.”
Halrick, trudging beside him with his sword slung over his back, let out a low chuckle. “That’s the understatement of the year. You just poked the hornet’s nest, kid.”
Juri smirked faintly. “Good. Let them come.”
Behind them, the rest of the team moved in silence, their faces etched with exhaustion. Garrick’s normally steady gait was slower than usual, and Kira’s dark eyes flicked toward the horizon every few minutes, as if expecting an ambush.
When they finally reached the valley, the rebels waiting at the camp greeted them with a mix of relief and awe. Word of the operation had spread quickly, and the destruction of the nobles’ key supply hub had cemented Juri’s reputation as a leader willing to strike where it hurt.
But not everyone was celebrating.
In the center of the camp, Juri stood before the gathered rebels, recounting the details of the raid. His voice was calm and measured, his words precise as he outlined the damage they had inflicted.
“We hit their processing plant, their supply depot, and their armory,” he said. “We’ve cut off one of their most important supply lines, and we’ve shown them that their infrastructure isn’t untouchable.”
The rebels murmured in approval, but the tension in the air was palpable. Supplies were still running low, and the wounded from the previous battle were far from recovered.
Dane, standing near the edge of the crowd, folded his arms and scowled. “And what did it cost us?” he muttered, loud enough for others to hear. “Another ten dead? Half of us can barely stand as it is.”
The murmurs grew louder, and Garrick shot Dane a warning glare.
Juri’s sharp gaze locked onto Dane. “Do you have something to say?”
Dane stepped forward, his scarred face twisting into a sneer. “Yeah, I do. You keep talking about victories, but all I see is more of us getting killed while you chase some fantasy about beating the nobles. You think they’re scared of us? They’ll send ten times as many Sentinels next time, and then what?”
Juri’s voice was cold and steady. “Then we’ll destroy ten times as many.”
The crowd fell silent, the weight of Juri’s words hanging in the air.
Dane shook his head. “You’re delusional. You’re going to get us all killed.”
“Then leave,” Juri said, his tone icy. “If you don’t believe in what we’re doing, there’s the exit. Go ahead and crawl back to the nobles. See how they treat you.”
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Dane hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. The tension between him and Juri crackled like a live wire, but after a moment, he turned and stormed away, disappearing into the shadows.
Halrick leaned closer to Juri, his voice low. “That one’s going to be a problem.”
“I know,” Juri replied “But I have bigger problems to deal with.”
Far from the rebels’ hidden valley, the nobles convened in a grand chamber illuminated by the ethereal glow of mana crystals. The room was filled with the soft hum of magic, the air charged with restrained power.
Lorian Vehr stood at the center of the chamber, his dark coat immaculate despite the tension in his posture. The other nobles sat in a semicircle around him, their expressions a mix of anger and impatience.
“Greystone burned,” Lorian said, his voice cold. “The spire is gone, the supply lines are severed, and one of our most valuable hubs lies in ruins. This… boy is no longer a nuisance. He’s a threat.”
One of the nobles, a stern woman with silver hair and piercing green eyes, leaned forward. “And what have you done to stop him, Lorian? He’s humiliated us twice now.”
“I sent the Sentinels,” Lorian replied, his jaw tightening. “They were supposed to crush him. Clearly, that wasn’t enough.”
“Then send more,” another noble said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Send everything we have. Wipe him out before he has a chance to strike again.”
“It’s not that simple,” Lorian said sharply. “The rebels are in the mountains. They’ve fortified their position, and they’re no longer operating in the open. If we march in blindly, we’ll suffer losses we can’t afford.”
The silver-haired woman frowned. “Then what do you propose?”
Lorian’s gray eyes gleamed with cold determination. “We starve them out. Cut off their access to supplies, force them to come to us. And when they’re desperate enough to make a move, we’ll be waiting.”
The council exchanged glances, their expressions hardening.
“Do it,” the silver-haired woman said. “But make no mistake, Lorian—this is your mess to clean up. Fail again, and you’ll answer for it.”
Back in the valley, Juri gathered his most trusted allies—Halrick, Garrick, Kira, and a few others—in his workshop. The air inside was warm from the fire burning in the corner, but the mood was tense.
“The nobles will respond quickly,” Juri said, pacing in front of the table covered with maps and blueprints. “They’ve already sent Sentinels after us, so we can assume they’ll escalate.”
Kira leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. “Escalate how?”
“They’ll try to isolate us,” Juri replied. “Cut off our access to supplies, force us to fight on their terms.”
Halrick frowned. “So how do we stop them?”
“We don’t let them take the initiative,” Juri said, his voice firm. “We hit them before they can hit us.”
He pointed to the map, marking several key locations. “We focus on their supply lines—caravans, warehouses, anything they use to move resources. If we keep them off-balance, they won’t have the time or manpower to come after us.”
Garrick studied the map, his expression thoughtful. “It’s risky. We’ll be stretched thin.”
“Risky is all we’ve got,” Juri said. “But we won’t just be playing defense. While they’re chasing us in the mountains, we’ll be building something they can’t counter.”
Kira raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”
Juri smirked, tapping one of the blueprints on the table. “A machine that can move faster, hit harder, and operate without a pilot. The Sentinels were a crude attempt to combine magic and machines. I’m going to show them how it’s done properly.”
As Juri planned the next phase of the rebellion, Dane’s resentment festered in the shadows. He gathered a small group of disillusioned rebels, their doubts feeding off one another as they whispered plans of desertion.
“We can’t win this,” Dane said, his voice low but urgent. “Winkler’s got his head in the clouds, and he’s dragging us all down with him. If we leave now, we can still save ourselves.”
“And go where?” one of the rebels asked. “The nobles won’t just let us go.”
“They don’t care about us,” Dane replied. “They want him. If we hand Winkler over, they’ll let us walk.”
The rebels exchanged uneasy glances, their hesitation clear.
“Think about it,” Dane said. “This is our chance to survive.”
As the rebels worked to prepare for the next phase of their campaign, the tension in the camp grew. Juri could feel it in the air—the unease, the doubt, the fear. But he didn’t let it show.
Standing on the ridge overlooking the valley, he watched the horizon, his mind racing with plans and contingencies.
“They’ll come soon,” he murmured. “And when they do, they’ll regret it.”