Eryndor Estate – A Declaration of War

The morning light streamed through the grand windows of Leon’s study, illuminating the faint traces of last night’s battle—the shattered whiskey glass, the scarred wooden desk, and the lingering scent of burnt candle wax.

Celica sat on the edge of the desk, her arms crossed. "You think Draymore will back down after this?"

Leon leaned back in his chair, swirling a fresh drink. "No. If anything, this will piss him off even more."

Aldric stood near the door, scanning a fresh report. His expression darkened. "It already has. One of our warehouses was hit last night. Burned to the ground."

Celica’s grip tightened on her dagger. "Casualties?"

"Three dead. A dozen wounded. They left no survivors from the attacking side, but the message was clear."

Leon exhaled slowly, his gaze turning distant. "Kain wants to escalate."

Aldric nodded. "And we can't afford to sit back."

Leon took a sip of his drink, then set the glass down. "Then we take the fight to him."

Celica smirked. "Now you're speaking my language."

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The Crimson Vultures’ Stronghold – A Premature Funeral

The Crimson Vultures had made their home in a fortified district near the city’s edge, a collection of repurposed warehouses and illegal gambling dens. Their leader, Scarface, nursed a hangover as he lounged in his office, oblivious to the danger approaching.

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A knock at the door.

"Who the hell—?" Before he could finish, the door burst open.

Leon walked in, his coat billowing behind him. Celica and Aldric followed, their weapons drawn.

Scarface shot to his feet. "You’ve got some nerve—"

Leon raised a hand, and a sharp *click* echoed through the room. The Vulture guards who had reached for their weapons froze as a series of small, mechanical devices embedded in the ceiling whirred to life.

"Explosives," Leon said casually. "Tied to a single trigger in my pocket. So unless you feel like redecorating this place with your organs, I suggest we have a chat."

Scarface paled. "You wouldn't—"

Leon took a step forward, lowering his voice. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?"

The gang leader swallowed hard, then slowly sat back down.

Aldric leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You attacked our people. We could kill you right now and no one would bat an eye."

Scarface gritted his teeth. "I didn’t have a choice. Draymore—"

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you had a choice. You just picked the wrong one."

Scarface clenched his fists. "Look, we’re mercenaries. We take the best offer."

Leon smirked. "Then here’s a new one: betray Draymore. Work for me."

Scarface blinked. "You serious?"

Leon pulled a pouch from his coat and tossed it onto the desk. It landed with a heavy clink. Gold. More than enough to buy loyalty.

"Draymore sees you as disposable," Leon continued. "I see you as an investment. But if you’re too stupid to recognize a better deal…" His fingers hovered over the detonator.

Scarface hesitated for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Leon’s grin widened. "Smart man."

---

House Draymore – Blood on the Streets

Kain Draymore sat in his office, reviewing the latest reports when a breathless subordinate burst into the room.

"Scarface turned!" the man gasped. "He’s working with Eryndor now!"

Kain’s hand tightened around his glass, shattering it. "That traitorous bastard."

"That’s not all," the man stammered. "Leon’s men hit three of our operations last night. Arms shipments, gambling rings, smuggling routes—all gone."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Then Kain smiled. A cold, predatory grin.

"So… he wants a war?" He stood, brushing shards of glass from his palm. "Then let’s give him one."

Outside, the city of Velkath braced for bloodshed.

The first real battle had begun.

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End of Chapter Thirteen