Savina Border — North

  Behind the interwoven sandy and rocky hills, General Leander's camp was spreading horizontally at an uncontrolled pace.Tents were being planted, barricades stacked, and soldiers worked with exhausted hands while dust continued to rise into the air without pause.

  Leander stood on a relatively elevated point, his military cloak open at the chest, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip.

  "I want no gaps between the lines!The hills protect us now—but they'll kill us if you grow lax!"

  He gestured sharply toward the hesitant officers:"Security first. Construction comes after!"

  No sooner had his voice settled than a rider appeared from the northern direction, his horse panting, his armor coated in road dust.He advanced quickly, bowed, and began his report without preamble:

  "General, sir…The northern border camps of Orvalis are in a state of ease.No regular patrols.Weak guard presence, and there are clear breaches along the western flank that can be penetrated easily."

  A brief silence followed.Leander did not smile.Instead, he slowly turned his head, as if redrawing the map in his mind.

  Then he said, with dangerous calm:"Stop construction."

  Heads turned toward him in disbelief.

  "Divide the forces.One unit remains to guard the current camp only.As for me… I will lead the strike force."

  He stepped closer to one of the officers:"I want a messenger only after control is secured.Not before."

  The Road to the Northern Camps of Orvalis

  The forces moved at night, taking advantage of the terrain and the negligence described by the spy.The assault did not last long.

  Among the soldiers was a young guard, his name unknown, but he was one of those who witnessed what happened from within.

  At first, he heard the orders as distant echoes.Then he began to see General Leander himself advancing at the front lines.

  He did not shout.He did not hesitate.

  Each gesture from him was enough.

  The soldiers surged forward.The guards fell before alarm whistles could be raised.And when some attempted resistance, Leander was already there.

  The guard saw him strike without flourish, moving with steady certainty, as if the terrain were long familiar to him.

  When it was over, the general did not celebrate.He did not raise his sword.

  He entered the seized camp, walking between the tents, observing, assessing.

  "Count the supplies.""How much food do they have? How many arrows?"

  He stopped at a half-filled storehouse:"This will last us two weeks.Good… we'll use it."

  In that moment, the guard realized this was not merely an invasion.It was a calculated takeover.

  The Mountains — General Morgan's Forces

  On the other front, where the air was colder and the ground harsher, the mountains were being carved by hands unaccustomed to such labor.

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  The soldiers here were not yet fighting an enemy.They were fighting stone.

  Among them was a new recruit, who had arrived at the front only days earlier.

  At first, it seemed simple.Then the hours began to stretch.

  The pickaxe struck.The rock did not yield.The back burned.

  Above them stood an officer, his voice unchanging:"Faster!We don't have time!Are you moving, or are you turtles?"

  The recruit exchanged a glance with the man beside him.He said nothing, but thought:They told me it was service… they didn't say it would start like this.

  Sweat poured, hands trembled, but the shouting did not stop.And the orders were clear:The collapses must be prepared.There would be no delay.

  The Forest — The Main Camp

  Far from the shouting and dust, within the dense forest, the Supreme Commander stood alone beside a long map spread across a wooden table.

  He studied the lines.The distributions.The arrows he had drawn himself.

  "Will it be enough?"He asked himself silently.

  The plan was clever.Encirclement, misdirection, attrition.

  He convinced himself of that once more.

  Then… a single name crossed his mind.

  Faedor.

  His hand paused.

  He heard the man's reputation as though it were a whisper in his ear.Strength.Cunning.Strikes that never came from where one expected.

  A faint chill settled in his chest.

  "They're tense in the capital…"he told himself, as if clinging to the thought.

  He clenched his fist."Yes… the plan is solid."

  Then he added a new arrow to the map.A trap within a trap.A siege that does not close all at once, but tightens slowly.

  He lifted his head toward the darkness of the forest:"If they come closer… they won't leave."

  In the Capital…

  Ken clenched his fist for several moments, veins standing out clearly, then released it slowly.He turned toward the rows of the Sixteen Families.There was no fracture in his voice—only deliberate control.

  "I allowed my zeal in the service of justice to exceed the bounds of respect owed to this sacred hall,and to your standing, built upon centuries of loyalty and history…"

  He paused for a fraction of a second, then added in a firmer tone:"But… I will not lower my guard."

  He said no more.Then he turned toward the entire hall and inclined his head in a single, brief nod.

  "I overstepped the bounds of this place in my pursuit of truth.This hall is not to be dishonored.You have my apology."

  A composed silence followed.It was neither approval nor objection, but the silence of formal acceptance.

  The judge moved, rearranged his papers, then continued in a steady voice, as if nothing had fractured moments earlier:

  "The court now proceeds to the section of rewards, in recognition of the efforts that contributed to uncovering the truth and safeguarding the security of the kingdom."

  the link.