The pre-dawn air still carried the coppery tang of blood—a grim reminder of the night's brutal work.

Brad's small, hand-picked unit had moved like wraiths through the darkness, a silent, deadly force.

They ambushed a Rubak patrol larger than expected—nearly thirty strong.

The fight had been swift and merciless.

Liam moved with newfound fluidity—a blend of "frost-step" footwork and subtle magic.

He accounted for three kills, his mithril short sword flashing in the moonlight.

Lia Razakia, a whirlwind of motion, took down five with archery and close-quarters combat.

Her Razakia-honed skills were a terrifying spectacle.

Elara created openings with precise throws, and the remaining members showcased their skills.

Even Anthony, despite his initial nervousness, proved effective, his medium sword a blur.

Anayis, with her bow, acted as a silent executioner; her arrows found their marks with unnerving accuracy.

They lost no one—a testament to Brad's training, their growing skills, and the element of surprise.

Yet the victory felt hollow, overshadowed by chilling information from their lone prisoner.

The Rubak—a scarred, grizzled warrior—was reluctant to talk at first.

Brad, his face a mask of cold detachment, used methods honed over years in the shadows.

These methods bypassed pain and struck at a man's core fear.

Liam watched as Brad, with chilling calmness, dismantled the Rubak's will.

His questions were precise and his voice devoid of emotion.

He did not lay a single hand on the prisoner.

The information came in a torrent of broken Drakonian and guttural Rubak phrases.

It was punctuated by gasps and whimpers.

The new chieftain—the one who united the disparate tribes—was named Veigard.

A giant of nearly two meters, built like a bull and known for cunning and brutality,

he was not just a warrior, but a strategist, leader, and unifier.

In a short time, he forged the fractious Rubak tribes into a formidable force.

"Veigard… strong… smart…" the Rubak gasped, his eyes wide with terror and reverence.

"He… he is the one… the prophecy…"

The prophecy made Liam's heart skip a beat.

Another prophecy. Another looming threat.

"What prophecy?" Brad pressed in a low, dangerous tone.

The Rubak hesitated, fear clashing with deep-seated beliefs.

Then he whispered, "The… the Chieftain of the Frozen Wind… he will come… unite the tribes…"

He continued, "lead us to… glory… conquer the soft lands…"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He coughed, bloody froth bubbling at his lips, "Veigard… he is the one… the Frozen Wind…"

After that, the Rubak fell silent, his body going limp.

The wind now carried a new, urgent whispered report.

A haggard scout arrived shortly after Brad's group returned.

"Eight hundred," the scout rasped, his face grimy with dust and fear.

His eyes were wide with the memory of what he'd seen.

"At least. More joining every day. They're not just raiding, Captain. They're gathering."

He spat on the frozen ground—a gesture of disgust and defiance.

Karl Volgunder's hand tightened on his greatsword's hilt as the six stars on his tunic dimmed in the pale sunlight.

Beside him, Brian Volgunder remained calm, yet his blue eyes hardened like chips of ice.

Eight hundred echoed in Liam's mind—a crushing weight.

It was worse than they'd feared. Far worse.

The hastily assembled war council—Karl, Brian, Elara, and veteran officers—gathered around a crude map.

Their faces were etched with grim lines.

Lia Razakia, her playful demeanor replaced by focused intensity, stood apart with her hand on her sword's hilt.

Her gaze fixed on Brian.

Brad remained a silent presence, absorbing everything yet revealing nothing.

"This isn't a raiding party," Karl growled.

"This is an invasion force."

"They're not just targeting our outpost," Elara added, her voice tight with urgency.

"They're aiming for Volgunder Keep—for the heart of Drakonia."

A chilling silence fell over the group.

The implications were clear: full-scale war had begun, and they were woefully outnumbered.

"We can't face them head-on," Brian said calmly but firmly.

"Not here. Not now. We're too few and too far from reinforcements."

"Retreat?" scoffed Hektor, the Vangoria warrior.

"Never! We stand and fight!"

"We will fight," Brian countered, his gaze unwavering.

"But we will choose our battles. We cannot throw away lives against overwhelming odds."

He looked at Karl and continued,

"We need to warn Arthur. He must prepare Volgunder Keep's defenses and call on the other families."

"This is beyond us."

Karl nodded tightly, "Agreed. We send a fast rider with a small escort—no matter the cost."

Turning to a lieutenant, he ordered,

"Prepare a message. Emphasize the threat and urgency. Tell Arthur to prepare for the worst."

The lieutenant saluted and hurried away.

"And us?" asked Elara. "What do we do?"

A slow smile spread across Brian's face—a cold, predatory gleam.

"We do what we do best. We hunt."

He looked at Karl and continued,

"We split our forces. You, Captain, will lead the main body back to the outpost we set up thirty days ago."

"Fortify it. Turn it into a defensible barracks, secure the supply line, and prepare for a siege if needed."

Karl frowned, "And you?"

"I'll take a smaller group," Brian said confidently.

"Fifty men—volunteers: the best scouts, fastest riders, and most adaptable warriors."

His gaze flickered toward Liam, then Brad, then Lia.

"We'll stay behind to harass the Rubaks, disrupt their movements, and buy Arthur time."

"We'll be the wolves in the shadows, nipping at their heels, making them bleed."

Karl hesitated, knowing it was a risky, nearly suicidal plan.

Yet he trusted Brian's skill, cunning, and ruthlessness.

"Fifty men," Karl repeated slowly, "and… who will lead them?"

Brian's smile widened, a flash of white teeth in the grim landscape.

"I will," he declared.

Karl gave a curt nod, accepting the inevitable.

"Very well. Choose your man and prepare to move out as soon as the messenger is gone."

He paused, then added with a pointed look at Brian,

"Don't get yourself killed, Volgunder. Your father would not take it well."

Brian chuckled—a low, humorless sound.

"I have no intention of dying, Karl. Not today, at least."

He turned, and his gaze fell upon Liam.

His blue eyes narrowed, the playful warmth replaced by a calculating assessment.

"Liam. You will have no problem with my orders, yes?"

Liam met his gaze and nodded, his heartbeat quickening.

"Good.

We will make them pay."