As Corvus stepped into the campsite, the tension in the air was immediately palpable. Anger at his own failed chase intensified as he realised he was facing a new problem. The camp was quiet, but tension permeated every corner. The weak light of the camp fires illuminated the tired and cautious faces of the soldiers. All the soldiers who had gone on the scouting mission had returned, but something was wrong.

The face of Zarqa, who greeted him at the door, was unusually solemn. The man's eyes reflected the bad news that was coming. As Corvus made his way into the heart of the camp, Zarqa spoke up. "A scout team has been attacked," he said, his voice flat and controlled, but with a weight behind it. Corvus quickened his pace, his gaze shifting to the crowd in the camp square. There, tied to a pole, stood a man. He was without an arm, but he was still standing straight and defiant.

Zarqa continued to describe the situation. "A large group attacked. Somehow our men managed to overpower them.They even captured their leader." He paused for a moment, took a deep breath.

These words echoed in his mind as Corvus approached the man tied to the pole. Reconnaissance teams were chosen from skilled men because they had no other choice. They were the men who infiltrated enemy territory in small groups, watching the enemy's movements like shadows, returning without a trace. Talent was not an option for them, it was the only way to survive. But a large band of bandits... defeating them and taking their leader alive would require far more than a small scouting party could do.

Corvus fixed his eyes on the man tied to the pole. Despite his defiant gaze, he saw how the man held on with one arm. There was fatigue in his eyes, but the fire of resistance was not extinguished. At that moment, he began to realise that this man was no ordinary leader, that he was a threat.

Zarqa continued. "They spotted ours and both sides chose to fight rather than flee. Some of the bandits managed to escape, but we killed seven of them." Pointing to the man tied to the pole, he said, "This man stayed behind. He seems to have sacrificed himself to buy time for his fleeing men."

Corvus quickly reviewed the situation. Capturing his man alive meant a chance to interrogate the enemy, but he realised what a dangerous mission that would be. He turned his eyes to Zarqa for a moment and asked, "So, are there any casualties on our side?"

A deep sadness appeared on Zarqa's face. Corvus knew what she was about to say before he heard it. "We lost a man,"Zarqa said, his voice heavy. "Another is badly wounded. He will probably die too..."

This news deepened Corvus' pain. He valued the lives of his men above all else. Each one was more than a warrior to him; they were his responsibility. Each man he lost was like a part of his own body. The anger rising inside him flamed like an ember, but this anger was not stray. It turned into a determination that drove him.

Corvus took another step, approached the bandit leader and looked him in the eye. "We will listen to you," he said in a cold voice, "but every minute you do not speak will increase the price you pay."

There was a momentary flicker in the bandit's eyes, but then his defiant gaze returned. Corvus was determined to find out what lay beneath the man's resistance.

The laws of Rhazgord placed the honour of the warrior above all else. It was forbidden to kill a man unless it was necessary, and attacking unarmed men was considered a great shame and treason. When Corvus learnt that the man tied to the pole was from Rhazgord, the anger inside him was ready to erupt like a volcano. But there was not the slightest remorse in the man's eyes. He stared at Corvus, his lips trembling but resolute, "I want to die like a true warrior!"There was an arrogant and commanding tone in his voice, as if he had forgotten all his betrayals and demanded an honourable end.

When these words echoed around the camp, they chilled the blood of everyone there. The surrounding soldiers reacted to this insolence by clenching their teeth and fists. Everyone had the same thought in their minds, but it was Corvus who voiced it. There was both anger and disappointment in his voice. "You are not a true warrior so you can't die like one!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the camp.

"You attack defenceless traders, it is because of dogs like you that traders do not come to our country! That's why our people have to face hunger!"

Corvus approached the man tied to the pole step by step, each word sharpening like a sword. "You come here and tell me that you want to die like a real warrior! Is this worthy of a warrior's honour?" Corvus’ eyes met the man's.

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The gaze of the whole camp was focused on this confrontation, the soldiers gathered around the pole. Every one of them was like a wild dog trying to break free from its chains. As if on command they were ready to tear the man to pieces. Corvus's speech fuelled the rage rising in each of them.

At first the bandit seemed to maintain his defiant demeanour, but Corvus' anger and the weight of the truth began to weigh heavily on him. For a moment, regret and deep pain appeared in his eyes. His lips trembled, as if tears were about to fall, but he pulled himself together, biting his lips so as not to appear weak for a moment. The defiant expression on his face was completely gone. There was no trace of the proud demeanour of a few minutes ago, now there was only a broken man. A man crushed by his own past, his own actions and their consequences.

Then, all of a sudden, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Fuck the merchants!" The shout seemed to go beyond the borders of the camp and almost reached the city. Everyone froze. Desperation, hatred and pain were mixed together in the man's voice. It was a revolt, a wail. With tears in his eyes and clenched teeth, he continued, his voice now trembling. "The hunger is not because the traders don't come! It's because they exploit us! I had to sell everything I had for a piece of fucking silver! What was I supposed to do! How could I feed my children!"

These words of the man completely changed the atmosphere around him. Whereas at first everyone had judged him with anger, now they were witnessing his desperation. The soldiers retreated step by step. On the one hand, their anger had not subsided, but now the man before them was not just a criminal, but a victim of Rhazgord's disorder. Corvus' eyes narrowed a little more as he looked at the man. His hostility was still there, but now he was facing a more complex reality. What this man had done was shameful and horrible, but these actions were born of desperation. The darkness of hunger and poverty had pushed him to this point.

The anger inside Corvus had turned into an uncontrollable fire. With his eyes fixed on the man and his hands balled into fists, he raised his arm to strike a hard blow to the man's face. As he was about to swing, he stopped himself. At that moment, her anger outside turned inward and targeted her own conscience. It was as if the frustration and despair that had accumulated over the course of a whole day was gnawing at him from the inside and he began to see himself as responsible for everything. "Why didn't I act earlier?" he thought. Perhaps, if he had intervened a little earlier, this man in front of him would not have had to become a bandit. How could he have been so blind? How had he not realised the desperation of these people before?

The direction of Corvus' anger suddenly changed. The target was no longer himself, but his own family, who had ruled the Rhazgords for centuries. Why had they not acted? Why had no one done anything while these people were driven to crime by hunger and desperation? Corvus began to see himself as part of this injustice. He himself was part of this order and perhaps by remaining silent, he had deepened the suffering of these people.

Lost in thought, he stood in the centre of the camp, a few steps in front of the man tied to the pole. Time seemed to stop. The world around him blurred, he could only hear the screams in his own mind. His fists were so clenched that the fingernails of his hands were embedded in his palms and blood began to drip onto the ground. The blood mixed with the dust of the ground, forming a fine mud.

The soldiers around him were silently watching their leader. The fact that Corvus had become so quiet, deep in thought, made them uneasy too. Zarqa noticed this tension. He realised that his commander was slowly losing himself and after a moment's hesitation, he put his hand on Corvus' shoulder. "Pull yourself together, Corvus," he said in a low voice, leaning into his ear. "Everyone is watching you." Zarqa's voice pierced through the clouds of dark thoughts. Corvus took a deep breath, relaxed his fists, and began to recover, though with difficulty.

Slowly he looked around. Hundreds of gazes were locked on him. Some soldiers had anger in their eyes; they wanted revenge. Others felt sympathy for the pity and helplessness of the man in front of them. At that moment, he felt the weight of this decision. He knew that a rash decision in this situation would have disastrous consequences. His anger and frustration prevented clear thinking. He was faced with a more complex problem than he had ever faced before. It would have been easy to kill this man, but it was not that simple.

"Tomorrow," he said in a firm voice, a determined tone that echoed through the camp. Turning to the crowd around him, he continued, "These men are going to decide what happens to you!" He was delaying the decision because he felt that any decision he made now might be wrong. As his anger cooled, he needed to think more clearly. The hatred or pity of the soldiers created a great conflict in Corvus' conscience.

Corvus turned his eyes once more to the bandit leader. The man had completely lost his defiant demeanour of a few minutes ago. Corvus walked back to his tent to collect his thoughts. His mind was churning as if he was in the middle of a battle. Anger at both his family and himself magnified the turmoil within him.