Sir George stood on the hillside, observing the undulating terrain just south of the towering mountain range that loomed in the distance. He was surrounded by a small squad of men, the group a mix of humans and stout dwarves, each one alert and ready for action. The air was thick with anticipation as they waited for a signal from Percy—specifically, the flare that would indicate he was in need of their assistance.
Lost in his thoughts, Sir George's mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the day. Reliving the chaos stirred deep in him a sense of urgency and regret. "I've never seen my Lord so shaken or filled with rage," he murmured to himself, his brow furrowed in concern. "I wish I could have been of more help during the crisis. I should have kept a closer eye on Lady Rya. Then none of this would have happened."
His musings were abruptly interrupted by the excited shout of one of the men. "Look! The flare!" The soldier, pointing toward the ever-darkening woods, broke the stillness of the moment.
"Come! Percy needs our aid!" Sir George commanded, his voice steady with authority as he set forth down the slope, determination fueling his stride. The others quickly fell in line behind him, their boots crunching dry soil and rock as they made their way to the small forest, each step echoing the urgency of their mission.
As they approached the scene where Percy desperately awaited their arrival, Sir George's heart lifted at the sight of him, alongside Dalia and Nieren. They stood over a bound figure—the Mercenary they had captured in the ambush.
"Glad to see you're still alive, boy. What did you find out?" Sir George greeted Percy with a relieved smile, casting a quick glance at the captured Mercenary, whose eyes darted nervously.
Percy, his face alight with excitement, replied, "We managed to ambush four Black Rose Mercenaries. We had no choice but to eliminate three of them in the heat of the fight. And we wouldn't have caught this one if it weren't for Nieren's quick thinking." His grin widened, highlighting the sense of triumph that surged through the group like a warm flame.
"Aye. You three did well. Let's bring this one to our Lord. I'm sure he'll get the information we need. If not, well, he's going to die." Sir George said with a smirk as he led the group toward the camp.
***
The dust of the camp stirred around their boots, clinging to their sweat-dampened clothes as they emerged from the oppressive darkness. The air, thick with the scent of sage and hot stone, carried the low murmur of men assembled under the sliver of the moons. Torches cast long, dancing shadows, their flames licking at the night, as most of Baron Zellin's soldiers milled around a figure who stood with the stillness of a predator—Prince Quinus.
Quinus was in a hushed conference with the Baron and Hajdah, their heads close together. The crackle of a nearby fire was the only sound that dared to interrupt their tense exchange.
"Seven hundred, assembled in two hours? Remarkable," Hajdah murmured, a thread of anticipation weaving through his usually steady voice. "I managed to secure six from the Guild. A small boon, Your Highness."
A sigh, barely audible, escaped Quinus's lips. His gaze swept across the sea of tents and anxious faces, the flickering torchlight catching the sharp lines of his jaw. "I'd risk more if the night itself weren't an enemy. The Black Roses have eyes everywhere. An emissary rides for Kishin... may he be swift enough to bring the steel Rya needs." His voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken fears.
Then his eyes, two chips of polished amber in the gloom, landed on them. The murmur of the camp seemed to falter. He watched as Percy, Dalia, and Nieren approached, flanking Sir George who prodded a bound figure forward.
"My Lord," Sir George announced, his voice raspy. "We bring a guest."
Quinus detached himself from the Baron and Hajdah, his movements fluid and deliberate. He closed the distance to the captive, the man a dark silhouette against the sand. The Black Rose uniform, even in its soiled state, was unmistakable. Quinus circled him slowly, his gaze analytical, missing nothing.
He stopped, turning to Hajdah without taking his eyes off the prisoner. "What have we here?"
"A squad leader, by the sigil," Hajdah supplied, stepping closer. "Beyond his rank in the Roses, his name is dust to the winds. A nobody, I'd wager."
Quinus approached the man, his shadow falling over him. He crouched, bringing his face level with the captive's. The Prince's eyes held a faint, unnatural luminescence, like golden embers fanned to life in the deep dark. One might mistake him for a demon.
"Who are you?" The question was soft, yet it cut through the night air with the sharpness of a blade.
The prisoner simply spat, a glob of saliva landing just short of Quinus's boot. A sharp "Tch!" of defiance was his only answer.
The darkness pressed in on them, thick as velvet, as Quinus's patience finally snapped. "Your name," he said, his voice cutting through the night's chill like glass.
The prisoner, a defiant man with a split lip, spat blood onto the packed earth. "I'm not talking to some toothless—"
Sir George's gauntleted fist connected with a sickening crunch. The man's words dissolved into a strangled cry as he collapsed, his head smacking against the ground. The only sound was his ragged gasping and George's heavy breathing.
"Whatever madness drove you to insult my Lord ends here," George growled, his sword whispering from its sheath. The moonlight caught its edge, making it gleam like a predator's tooth.
The prisoner, Dan, pushed himself onto his elbows, coughing through the pain. A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "That all you've got?"
Quinus moved, his boots silent on the fallen leaves. He didn't kneel, merely leaned down, his golden eye flaring to life with an otherworldly light. The moment his fingers brushed Dan's shoulder, a visible pulse of energy rippled outward. Dan's body convulsed, his eyes rolling back as every muscle seized. For three heartbeats, he was utterly still, then he collapsed again, chest heaving as if he'd run for miles.
"Gods... what... what was that?" Dan sputtered, each word a struggle against the tremors still wracking his limbs.
Quinus's voice was devoid of all warmth. "I merely used you as a conductor for my mana. As one would a blade. Now. One last time. What is your name?"
Dan's thoughts buckled under a wave of raw, unadulterated terror. His Mana Vein, a fortress of personal power that had repelled every foolhardy man seeking to commandeer his body, now served as no more than paper before a flame. A momentary rebellion from his own energy surged to meet Quinus's, a desperate shove against the inevitable. It was a whisper against a hurricane, a single grain of sand against the grinding tide. The Prince was a force beyond comprehension, a walking calamity. Whoever gave Quinus the moniker "The Toothless Lion" was a fool of the highest order. This was no lion. This was a leviathan in human skin.
"Dan," he choked out, gasping for air. "Name's Dan. I'm a merc... served under Victor."
Quinus turned his head slightly toward the shadows where Hajdah stood watching. A silent question passed between them.
"Victor," Hajdah supplied quietly, "one of Rudolf's lieutenants. Killed in the Royal Betrayal by Marn's forces."
"That means nothing to me," Quinus said, turning back to the prisoner. "We know the Black Roses holed up in the old mines under Mount Galfrei. Tell me, Dan, how many are you?"
Dan swallowed hard, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. "About four hundred, last I knew. We've taken on recruits though... could be more now."
Zellin balked at that number. "Has the mighty Black Roses fallen on such hard times that you only have 400 hundred members? Your Highness, he has to be lying or misleading us. The last stories that I recall was they used to be of a size or 50,000 strong back when they invaded the Wood Elf Kingdom," he scoffed, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "Four hundred. What a joke."
Dan grimaced at the Baron's words, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "You think you know anything? The Black Roses have fallen on hard times, but it's not because we're weak." He leaned forward, straining against the ropes. "No one is more treacherous than nobles... That is the lesson the entire company learned," Dan shot a hateful glare at Quinus, "The only reason we have so few is because we've been fighting your kind for the last decade!"
"Careful, pig!" George snarled, raising a fist.
Quinus simply held up a hand, silencing his knight without a word. "You're lying to me... I can feel it," Quinus stated, a faint golden glow returning to his eye. "You want to die for your brothers, I can respect that." The Prince leaned close, the air between them crackling with energy. "But I will kill every last one of your kin if they don't release Rya... And if I find out that one hair was harmed on her head.... I will make sure to wipe the Black Roses from the face of Tertius."
'Rya? Is that the name of the dark elf? He's come for her?' Dan looked up to see Quin's face. That's when Dan realized it. He's seen that type of face on a man before.
It was the same face that he saw when he saw some of his comrades raping a man's wife in front of his face. A calm face that masked the fury and rage that was boiling deep inside.
'Rudolf. We shouldn't have messed with this man. He's not as weak as we think he is!' Dan thought as he tried not to piss himself in front of everyone.
Dan's resolve finally crumbled. The raw power in Quinus's threat was something no amount of mercenary training could prepare him for. He squeezed his eyes shut, spilling the truth in a rush. "The mines! Our men are spit up into ten Battalions in different areas to not get caught. Ranging from 300 to 500 men each. I don't all the details, but Rudolf's Battalion is about 400 strong, I swear!
A suffocating silence descended upon the camp, thick with unspoken dread. Zellin felt the weight of it settle in his gut, a cold certainty crystallizing—this was far beyond a simple raid. They were staring at the jaws of a war.
Quinus's gaze was a shard of ice, fixed on Dan. "Ten Battalion," he repeated, the words clipped and sharp. "What does Rudolf want with Rya?" The question was not merely asked; it was an accusation, a blade pressed to the informant's throat.
A tremor ran through Dan. "I... I swear, I don't know the specifics. Only that he needs her to seize Ironside. The dark elf is his key."
"He dares to lay hands on my city!" Zellin's voice cracked the silence, a roar of pure fury that shook the stone ground beneath their feet.
"The arrogance," Quinus snarled, a low, dangerous sound. His eyes, burning with a cold fire, flickered between the other men. "Does he truly believe the King of Fiafyr will stand by while the Black Roses carve up a city under my father's own banner?"
"Because," Dan said, his voice dropping to a monotone, void of all inflection, "he has Duke Alaric." He paused, letting the name hang in the air. "Alaric was the architect. We were meant to be the blade that cut the throne from beneath your father. And you."
Quinus's knuckles were bone-white. He didn't flinch, didn't break his stare, but a muscle feathered in his jaw. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the torches. Then, a smile, hard and without humor, touched his lips. "So, my uncle finally shows his true colors. He wishes to make me a murderer in his stead." He took a slow breath, his rage chilling into something far more lethal. "Very well. When I have Rya back, I will grant his wish. I will put my uncle down for his treason and scour every last trace of this rot from the soil."
"My Lord. You need to keep a calm mind. If you're clouded with anger, you might make a mistake. If you fall here, you will never be able to protect yourself and your people from the duke. Keep a level head, your majesty." Hajdah warned.
Quinus drew in a slow breath, the heat of his anger cooling into something sharp and calculating. His gaze settled on Dan, weighing the man's trembling form like a butcher sizing up a cut of meat.
"Baron Zellin." The name cut through the tense silence. "Sound the call to arms. I want the Black Roses withered by noon." Quinus's voice was low, each word a deliberate command.
Zellin's knuckles whitened as he saluted, the leather of his glove creaking. "At once, Your Highness. Every able-bodied man will answer the summons."
Quinus tilted his head. "Numbers, Baron. How many swords can you bring to bear?"
"I can muster perhaps fifteen, twenty thousand from the city's reserves, My Lord." Zellin's jaw tightened. "Though some... some may be loyal to your uncle. We cannot wait for reinforcements from Kishin."
"A risk we must take." Quinus's eyes flickered toward Sir George and Hajdah. "You two. With me when the first blade falls."
"Your will is mine to fulfill, my prince," Hajdah murmured, bowing low enough for her silver hair to brush the stone floor.
Sir George's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a rare smile breaking through his weathered features. "My life for yours, my Lord."
Quinus's attention shifted. "Percy. Lady Dalia. Lady Nieran. The old mine where they keep Rya. Slip through their defenses. Strike from the shadows when the moment is right."
Percy nodded, his expression unreadable. "As you command."
Dalia placed a hand on Quinus's arm, her touch light but firm. "We'll bring her home, Beta. I swear it."
"Rya's counting on us," Nieren added, her voice fierce despite her youth.
One by one, they filed out of the chamber, the rustle of cloaks and scrape of steel following them into the corridor.
Only Dan remained, shackled by the weight of Quinus's stare.
"So, prisoner," Quinus whispered, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed the smaller man whole. "Life or death?"
Dan's throat worked, a desperate clicking sound in the sudden quiet. "I want out," he managed, his voice cracking. "I'll renounce the Roses. Leave this kingdom and never return."
Quinus's lips curved, though there was no warmth in it. "We'll see if the tide of battle puts me in a forgiving mood." He gestured with two fingers. "Take him below."
As guards seized Dan's arms, Quinus turned away.
"The field awaits," he said to Sir George and Hajdah, his voice already carrying the promise of blood and glory.