In the deep stillness of pre-dawn, precisely when fatigue settles in and vigilance wavers, we marched toward the fortress of the green wall. Quietly, of course.
Because more troops had been diverted to the Pale, the force accompanying our party numbered only about thirty men. However, considering we had a healer and our party's overall combat prowess, it was a fight worth taking.
The fort loomed beyond the thickets.
'If only Camilla were here...'
With her expertise in infiltration, she could have quietly assassinated the sentries and butchered the sleeping soldiers inside the barracks. Unfortunately, she wasn't with us. I'd have to make do with who I had.
The archers and I raised our bows, aiming at the sentries patrolling the ramparts. At a sharp hand signal from Legate Rikke, we loosed our arrows simultaneously at our designated targets.
—Thwack!
Naturally, my target dropped, but a few of the marksmen missed their marks.
"Ambush!!"
—Bwaaaaa-rooo!
One surviving sentry bellowed the alarm and blew a horn he kept for emergencies. Inside the fort, soldiers began to rouse from their slumber, scrambling to don their gear and grab their steel.
According to the classified documents handed over by Anuriel, there were roughly sixty men guarding this fort. We had just neutralized five sentries in the initial strike. While they were stumbling out of bed in a panic, we were in peak condition. This was more than winnable.
"For Ulfric!"
A moment later, Stormcloak soldiers spilled out of the fort's interior. We had to break past the inner walls before they could properly set up their positions on the ramparts. However, the entrance was blocked by wooden gates and barricades.
"Clear the entrance!"
At Rikke's command, the female Choi Ha-neul sparked intense heat in her left hand, manifesting a massive ball of fire.
—Boom!
Her Fireball shattered the barricades into kindling, opening the path. She charged in at the head of the formation.
"Wuld!"
Using Whirlwind Sprint to bypass the front line and dive deep into enemy territory, she cast Flame Cloak, an Adept-level Destruction spell. Orange flames erupted around her, spiraling outward and consuming the men who tried to surround her.
Cloak spells are excellent for area-of-effect damage, but they carry a high risk of friendly fire. That was why she had leaped into the middle of the enemy camp alone.
Meanwhile, under Rikke's command, I moved with the Imperial soldiers to deal with the troops guarding the walls. I tweaked the casting formula to summon a far more potent Flame Atronach than usual and hurled it toward the enemy lines. The massive, blazing entity slammed into the Stormcloak ranks, spewing fierce jets of fire.
While that lumbering fire golem drew all the attention, Lydia and I moved through the front, cutting down the rebels as they rushed us. However, the Flame Atronach began to falter under concentrated attacks from several Stormcloaks. It started to flicker and crack with unstable light.
At that exact moment, I intentionally interfered with the summon's magicka flow, causing it to collapse.
—Fwaaaa-sh!
"Gwaaargh!"
The Atronach detonated in an explosion even more powerful than a Fireball, swallowing the nearby enemies in a gout of flame.
'That's actually quite useful.'
Intentionally self-destructing a summon drained a significant amount of Magicka, but it was incredibly effective against groups. Looking around, I saw the Imperial Legion was systematically dismantling the rebels. In the center of the fort, I spotted the female Dragonborn locked in a desperate melee.
'She's going to run out of steam at this rate.'
"Lydia! Hold this line!"
"Understood! Leave this to me!" Lydia shouted back, shoving an approaching enemy away with her shield.
I left the rampart defense to Lydia and Eloise and sprinted down to support the Dragonborn without delay. She had already piled up more than ten dead rebels. However, the constant movement and spamming of spells had clearly taken their toll; her Magicka and Stamina were drained, her breathing was ragged, and her movements had slowed significantly.
I leaped into the fray and landed beside her.
"Need a hand?"
"Mister!"
I immediately conjured a Bound Battleaxe and hurled it at an enemy. The moment it struck, I dismissed it and summoned another to throw again. It was a Magicka-heavy tactic, but it provided immense mid-range pressure.
—Clang! Squilch!
I parried a reckless soldier, bashed him with my shield to break his balance, and sliced through his arm. Beside me, the Dragonborn was holding her own—either deflecting strikes or simply tanking them with her unnaturally tough physique. She looked fine on the surface, but the sheer numbers were becoming a burden.
"What about your Shout?!" I shouted over the din of battle.
"Almost ready!"
Shouts were powerful, but they were limited by their cooldowns. It had been quite a while since she first used Whirlwind Sprint, so the timing was just about right.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
—Gwaaaaah!
With her vocal cords primed, she let loose the third word of the Unrelenting Force shout. The shockwave erupted with devastating force, sweeping the Stormcloak soldiers off their feet and tossing them like ragdolls.
'Classic Dovahkiin...'
Every time I saw her shout like that, I found myself wishing I were the Dragonborn. It was the dream of every player, after all. Regardless, we easily mopped up the Stormcloaks who had been scattered by the soundwave. We had cleared over ninety percent of the fort's garrison.
The Dragonborn and I helped the Legion finish off the stragglers. Those who surrendered had their hands bound and were lined up in a corner of the fort.
"You're safe," Lydia and Eloise said, joining us after finishing the battle on the walls.
"Phew... I'm beat..."
The Dragonborn flopped onto the ground, looking completely drained.
"Hehe. Come here, I'll patch you up," Eloise said with a giggle.
I looked over toward Rikke. The remaining rebels were kneeling with their hands behind their heads. Naturally, any who had resisted were dead. The siege had been surprisingly straightforward. With this, the Imperial Legion had successfully reclaimed the Rift from the Stormcloaks.
"Report," Rikke called out.
"No casualties on our side, Ma'am."
"Excellent. Finally, we've taken this place back..." Rikke said, her voice laced with a hint of nostalgia and relief.
"I'll stay here with the soldiers to secure the fort and transport the prisoners. You four return to Solitude and report to General Tullius immediately."
"Yes, Ma'am."
After breezing through the gates of Castle Dour, we informed Tullius that the Rift was firmly under Imperial control.
"Stellar work. Truly. The Legion's advantage has grown markedly since you all enlisted."
"You're too kind, General."
Tullius wasn't stingy with his praise. Once he confirmed there were no eavesdroppers nearby, he got to the point.
"No need for modesty. Rikke filled me in. This elf... she's the Dragonborn, isn't she?"
"That's right... but could you keep that quiet?" the Dragonborn replied, sounding as if she'd been expecting the question. Tullius, ever the sharp politician, respected her wish.
"Of course. I wouldn't dream of refusing a request from a hero of legend appearing in such troubled times. To recognize your achievements, I'm promoting you ahead of schedule."
Tullius promoted me, Lydia, and Eloise to the rank of Quaestor. The Dragonborn, who had performed the most spectacular feats on the battlefield, was commissioned as a Praefect. Even in the military, the Dragonborn career path was on another level.
"Thank you, sir!" The Dragonborn saluted, looking a bit dazed by the sudden high-speed promotion.
"It's an honor!" we chimed in, offering our formal thanks. Tullius then laid out the future plans.
If my memory served me right, with the Rift secured, the next objective would be retaking Winterhold.
"I intend to speak with the Jarl of Winterhold. Since you've all been working tirelessly in Whiterun and the Rift, take some time to rest."
It made sense. In the game, the war was just a series of quests where you'd jump from one region to the next immediately, but in reality, there were logistics to consider. Tullius wanted peace; he preferred to restore Skyrim with as little bloodshed as possible.
"Whiterun is under Imperial control, and we've reclaimed both the Rift and the Pale. The Jarl of Winterhold will surely see reason and change his mind."
He added that he would call for us if the negotiations failed.
"Oh, and here is this month's pay and your performance bonuses."
"Whoa!"
Tullius handed over a hefty pouch. Based on the weight, it felt like there were at least a thousand Septims inside.
"Good day, General!"
Delighted by the payday, we saluted Tullius and exited Castle Dour.
"Haaah! Finally, a break!" the Dragonborn exclaimed, stretching as soon as we were outside the castle walls.
Elenwen's party was still nearly three weeks away. With Tullius handling negotiations, we suddenly had a good deal of free time.
"Should we?"
I felt it was a waste of time to just lounge around—I'd been planning to visit the Dawnguard—but honestly, I had been working these girls like dogs lately.
"Let's head back to Whiterun for now. Let's actually sleep in Breezehome for once."
Come to think of it, we'd owned the house in Whiterun for ages but had never actually slept there. It wouldn't be a bad idea to cook some proper meals and throw a small party to clear our heads.
"That sounds wonderful."
"I'm in! Totally in!"
***
"Please... spare me! My son is waiting for me at home!"
—Thwack!
The middle-aged man begged and pleaded for his life, mentioning his child, but the red-eyed strangers didn't even blink. They struck him with a blunt instrument, knocking him unconscious. Their eyes glowed a deep, sickening crimson, like fresh blood.
They loaded him onto a carriage disguised as a merchant's wagon. Inside were several others, already bound hand and foot. A young man, appearing to be the lowest-ranked member of the group, counted the victims with his finger.
"Seven, eight... we've hit the quota exactly!"
At his report, a figure draped in a red cloak spoke.
"Good work. This is your share."
The young man took the pouch of gold with greedy hands, showering his employer with flattery. "Hehe. Call me anytime. I'll keep rounding up the 'prey' for you."
As the red-cloaked figure and his subordinates boarded the wagon to leave, the youth, who had collaborated with them for a long time, finally asked the question he'd been holding back.
"By the way... where do you take all these people?"
The figure replied in a voice as cold as death.
"That is none of your concern."
"But what happens to them?"
The figure paused for a moment, then spoke a single word.
"Cattle."