The howling wind bit through Elara's heavy winter coat, yet sweat beaded on his neck. He stood on a snow-blind ridge overlooking a narrow, frozen gorge. Two thousand infantrymen waited below, their breath pluming in the cold. This was his first independent command, and the weight of it sat heavy in his chest. If he failed here, Lord Kent and High Mage Kelvin's northern campaign would crumble.
Elara closed his eyes, forcing his pulse to steady. General Ulric Stone's jagged smile flashed in his memory: I used to be a bandit. Stealing heavy cargo in a snow-blind pass is the easiest work in the world.
"Right," Elara muttered, his eyes snapping open. "We don't fight fair. We fight like bandits."
He turned to his lieutenants. "The mercenaries are escorting a reinforced wagon. We need it intact. Have the men dig a three-foot trench across the gorge's bottleneck. Cover it with pine boughs and pack it with loose snow."
"A pitfall trap, sir?" a lieutenant asked.
"Just deep enough to snap an axle," Elara confirmed. "Then bury the men in the snowbanks on both sides. Absolute silence. Nobody breathes until the horn blows."
The infantry moved swiftly. Within twenty minutes the trap was set, leaving the gorge looking untouched—just another stretch of pristine, deadly white.
An hour later, the low rumble of hooves and grinding wheels vibrated through the pass.
Three hundred hired swords rode in a sloppy, loose formation. They were hardened men in mismatched iron, passing a wine flask and laughing, utterly confident that the Dwarven army miles behind them was their only real threat.
In the center of the column rattled the heavy, iron-plated wagon.
From beneath a snowdrift, Elara watched the lead horses cross the invisible line. Three... two... one.
CRACK.
The pine branches gave way. The wagon's front wheels plunged into the trench, shattering the thick wooden axle with a gunshot bang. The convoy piled up instantly; mercenaries spilled from panicking horses as the rear ranks slammed into the halted vanguard.
"Ambush!" the mercenary captain roared, ripping a jagged broadsword from its scabbard. "Defend the cargo!"
On the ridge, Elara stood and brushed the snow from his shoulders. He raised a curved war-horn and blew a single, booming note that rattled the icicles on the cliffs.
The snowbanks erupted. Two thousand infantrymen rose from the powder like ghosts, steel drawn, creating an unbroken ring around the chaotic convoy.
"Lay down your weapons!" Elara's voice carried over the wind. "You're surrounded by the Phoenix Order!"
The captain spat into the snow, eyeing Elara's slim build and lack of plate armor. "He's just a kid! Cut him down and the infantry will break!"
With a roar, the massive captain charged up the embankment, sword raised high. Three of his best fighters dogged his heels, eager to cut the head off the snake.
Elara didn't panic. He didn't even draw his blade. He just breathed out, raised his left hand, and pooled mana into his fingertips.
As the captain launched himself into the air for a killing strike, Elara snapped his fingers.
Vacuum.
He instantly pulled all the air from a tight sphere right around the man's head. The captain gasped, finding nothing. The sudden, extreme depressurization ruptured his eardrums and wrecked his equilibrium. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped face-first into the snow, dead to the world before his sword could swing.
The three mercenaries rushing up behind him skidded to a halt, frozen in sheer terror. Their invincible captain had just dropped like a stone, and the young commander hadn't even touched him.
Now, Elara slowly drew his broadsword, the steel singing in the cold. He leveled the tip at the remaining men. "Drop. The. Swords."
A clatter of iron filled the gorge as three hundred weapons hit the ice.
Heart hammering against his ribs, Elara ordered his men to bind the prisoners.
Sheathing his sword, he walked down the embankment to the crashed wagon. Heavy iron doors secured the back, locked with a complex Dwarven puzzle-mechanism. Coating his fist in a dense layer of mana, Elara punched straight through the locking pin, shattering it into jagged shards.
He grabbed the heavy handles, hauled the doors open, and peered into the dark interior.