A single monster, however powerful it might be, was not a significant challenge for an army—as long as it wasn’t a dragon or something ridiculous like that.

The great salamander had to be very old, and Luke could personally attest to its might, having been the recipient of several of its attacks, which left him conflicted as he watched it exhale its last breaths. He liked to think of himself as a decent fighter, but he hadn’t been able to do more than annoy it while the royal mages had defeated it in little more than two minutes.

Of course, they had the benefit of spamming their spells freely from behind a ward, which would have made his life much easier, but their ability to act together as one, even so diminished, was still noteworthy. It just highlighted how ridiculous the Grand Marshal was, to no-sell their efforts like that.

Eventually, the beast passed on, and Luke exhaled a breath of relief. He hadn’t doubted it would happen, but some trepidation hadn’t left him until the very last moment.

Now, it was time to play the second act.

“I have to admit, though, that if the undead repelling wards hadn’t let you through, I’d have struck you down as a damn lich, Smith. I saw you fight against a Master.” The nobleman beside him commented.

Luke snorted. He hadn’t been sure of it himself for a while.

Captain Vokoss was technically his equal in rank, but no one believed that. Noble-born and genuinely talented, he had only avoided promotion to General because Treon already had Locke, and he wouldn’t accept a secondary posting. Everyone knew he was a shoo-in for the position once it became open, and they treated him accordingly.

Much as Luke might have liked to complain, he knew Vokoss deserved his rank. He did not have the explosive power of a Master like Locke—though rumors speculated he was working hard to get there—nor the battlefield acumen that Luke himself had, but he was a fine tactician and dangerous swordsman. The fact that the only victory in the campaign—Woodsman’s Town’s gamble—belonged to him only increased his standing.

Luckily, Vokoss didn’t feel threatened by Luke, considering him an asset rather than a rival. This perception of his had been carefully cultivated and would now be tested to its limits.

“Captain, I have been told repeatedly that I have the luck of a devil. I don’t know if the Light is watching over me, but I can assure you, I’m no undead.” The reply earned a smirk from the nobleman, who looked around at the motley crew Luke had brought along.

They made for a sorry sight. All dirtied up from the run across the plains, with bloody gashes and tears that badly needed to be looked over before they could become infected, no one would suspect them of being anything but the wounded remnants of a defeated Corp.

The illusion held, and Vokoss looked away and back toward the salamander. “How did you come across that thing? I thought we had gotten rid of them all during the reclamation of the swamp.”

At least he didn’t ask me specifically how I survived the battle. It’s a bit of a taboo since I obviously must have sacrificed others in my company to do so, but since he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing, and other Captains actually did that to get away, he won’t question me further. For now.

Luke awkwardly chuckled, selling the image of a sheepish commander. “A persistent group of rebels was chasing us down, and I thought that if I needed to die, I’d at least bring them with me and started sending air slashes everywhere. One hit a barren patch of land, which must have been where it was hiding.” Unsaid went that rather than fight the two enemies at once, the rebels had left them to their fate, and Luke had desperately led his men to the main camp to get help.

A captain like him would have found that embarrassing to admit—they were supposed to stand their ground!—and so Vokoss merely nodded with a slight smile of amusement, probably filing the weakness away for a later time.

I’ll take his mockery if it lets me in and to the warding scheme. I just need to destroy it beyond repair, and they’ll be forced to abandon the hill. Staying here would mean certain death, and Locke is not stupid enough to think he can rebuild them after having spent days, if not weeks, setting them up.

A wave of Vokoss’ hand saw that his adjutant detached from his side and walked over to the dirty, tired men, gesturing for them to follow along. They went with only a look at Luke, who smiled placidly, as if that didn’t leave him alone in the middle of what now was an enemy camp.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

With them also went Doomspear, still acting as a common soldier. Luke didn’t know for sure, but he suspected the man had a secondary mission to accomplish. He just hoped he’d show some restraint. If the whole thing went tits up because of his ego, Luke would be very cross.

He watched his men shuffle off, relief and concern warring in his chest. They had successfully infiltrated the camp, but now the real challenge began. Vokoss tilted his head, motioning for Luke to follow him. "Come along, Smith. The General will want to hear what you have to say. Though I must admit, your penchant for theatrics is quite amusing.”

"Thank you, Captain," Luke replied, maintaining his calm facade. The last thing he needed was to let Vokoss see any sign of nervousness, especially if he was looking for people to blame. They were both old hands at the game of politics, though they played in different fields. Appearing worried now would be an alarm bell.

They made their way through the camp, weaving between tents and the occasional solid structure. The camp was a bustling hive of activity, with soldiers and the occasional mage moving with purpose.

Even a couple of days after the battle, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, dirt, and the metallic tang of blood. Luke observed his surroundings closely, noting that while most noble commanders still expressed superiority, they were mixed with genuine worry. The recent defeat had shaken their confidence, and it showed in their tense, hurried movements.

Finally, they reached the General's tent. It was a large construction of wood and rich fabric, standing out amidst the more utilitarian structures surrounding it. Locke was practical, but not showing off his wealth would be seen as a sign of weakness, even here. Such were the trappings of nobility.

Vokoss held the flap open for Luke, who stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. The General was seated at a large table, surrounded by his adjutants. Maps and documents were strewn across the surface, and the air smelled of ink and parchment. The man looked up as they entered, his gimlet eye fixing on Luke with curiosity and suspicion.

"Ah, Smith," Locke said, his voice measured. “I don’t believe I’ll need to listen to the report of who caused the commotion, will I?”

Luke bowed his head respectfully. "Sir, I did what I could to return with valuable information. The salamander was an unfortunate encounter.”

"Unfortunate indeed," the General replied, his tone neutral. "Take a seat, Smith. We have much to discuss.”

Luke sat down, back straight and mind racing. He hadn’t intended to waste too much time playing games, but he now that he had the chance to influence the General's strategy, he’d try to plant the seeds of overconfidence and complacency.

Of course, he had to keep in mind that once the ruse was revealed and his status as a traitor was out, they wouldn’t trust a single word from him. But he could use that to his advantage, too.

The adjutants eyed him with the usual mix of disdain and curiosity. They were all noble-born, and their arrogance was evident in their postures and expressions. Yet, beneath their superior airs, Luke could see the flickers of genuine concern. The revolutionary army had proven to be a more formidable opponent than anticipated and these people weren’t so foolish as to ignore the writing on the wall.

Locke leaned back, dark eyes scrutinizing Luke’s face. He had fine, regal features, with hair that was just starting to go silver and a neatly cropped beard. His presence was unmistakably that of a Master, and Luke knew personally how dangerous he could be if sufficiently riled up. It was lucky that it took a lot for that to happen.

"Give us your report," The general commanded.

"Yes, sir," Luke began. "The revolutionary army is better trained and equipped than we initially believed. Their tactics are coordinated, and their soldiers are disciplined. I initially believed this to only be possible for the forward squads they sent out as reckon, but I was proven wrong.” Admitting to a fault among a gathering of nobles was tantamount to committing suicide, but it would also lend credence to his words. “However, I noticed something during the battle. Leonard Weiss kept away from the elites we fielded and only directly intervened toward the end. He’s obviously powerful and capable, but this could have been the end of the Southern campaign if he had been able to beat us decisively. That he didn’t makes me think he may not be as formidable as we feared.”

A murmur ran through the tent, the adjutants exchanging glances. Luke knew this was a dangerous lie, but stroking their egos and making them less careful was necessary. It also had the benefit of forcing them to focus on the one man who couldn’t be beaten, once they realized his betrayal.

"Interesting," Locke mused, his eyes narrowing. "Are you suggesting that Weiss is overestimated?”

"Possibly, sir," Luke replied cautiously. “He’s undoubtedly powerful, but I believe we spent too much time focusing on him rather than the commanders he has brought to his side. If we were to eliminate them surgically, we might do more damage than by simply treating the rebels as a mass of peasants hiding behind Weiss. It’s worth considering in our future engagements.”

Locke leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Very well. I will keep this in mind. For the moment, I have already decided that any rash action could see us lose the strength we have retained unnecessarily. We will stay here as we rebuild our stocks. I will face some blowback for this, but that’s my business. Dismissed.”

And that’s the reason why we can’t just leave him be. Locke is a competent commander. He’s risking a lot, especially since he didn’t even reference the order I know he got from Luster-Treon, which means he’s hiding it from everyone. That’s some balls.

Luke rose and bowed, leaving the tent without letting his emotions show.

Vokoss’ adjutant waited for him outside and tilted his head in acknowledgment, barely giving him face, before walking away, expecting to be followed despite being a whole rank lower in power and hierarchy. Luke held his tongue, more than used to such treatment, and caught up as they walked to the infirmary where his men were being tended to.

The scent of antiseptic and the sounds of groans and murmured conversations hit him as he entered. As he had ordered, the men had made a spectacle of their injuries, insisting they required the full attention of everyone on staff.

Oh Light, Doomspear isn’t here. Why the fuck isn’t he here? I knew he had another mission. I just knew it. Light, don’t let him fuck up my hard work. I would be so mad if I had to run away from here without destroying the wards. That prick.

"Captain Smith," a medic called, drawing his attention. "Your men will be fine. They're strong and weathered the battle better than a lot of others. They’ll be fine with a couple of days of rest.”

"Thank you," Luke replied, offering a tired smile. “Don’t let them scare you and order them around as much as you like.”

Then, seeing that the still-unnamed adjutant had left and no one else seemed to want to bother him, Luke slipped away from the tent and towards the largest concentration of mana.

It was time to get to work.