Colin's command cut through the suffocating tension like a blade.
"Bypass it."
For a heartbeat, the tent fell silent—then the meaning struck.
Barton let out a low, savage laugh. "Good… let it rot behind its walls."
Anna's lips curved faintly, approval flickering in her cold eyes. "Starve the beast. Strip away everything it feeds on."
No one argued. They never did. Colin did not give commands that failed.
That night, the army moved.
No torches. No voices. Only the muted grind of hooves and armor as thousands slipped past Iron Oak City like a shadow detaching from the earth itself. The fortress remained behind them—untouched, unchallenged, and far more doomed for it.
Because they were no longer coming for the walls.
They were coming for everything else.
"Logging camp ahead. Twenty-three households. Unarmed."
Colin didn't hesitate. "Erase it."
The cavalry descended like a storm with no thunder.
Men died first—cut down before they could shout. Those who ran were hunted. Arrows fell in tight, disciplined arcs, sealing every path of escape. There were no gatherings, no proclamations, no mercy. Only speed. Only efficiency.
Screams rose—brief, broken, and quickly swallowed by fire.
Axes tore through timber. Flames followed. Smoke climbed into the sky, thick and black, carrying with it the smell of sap… and flesh.
When it was over, nothing remained that could speak of what had happened.
It did not stop.
Village after village vanished. Farms burned. Wells were choked with stone and corpses. Granaries collapsed into ash. The land itself was stripped of breath, reduced to a scar that stretched farther with every passing hour.
The smoke no longer rose in isolated pillars.
It merged.
A spreading canopy of black that stained the sky, as if the world itself were rotting from above.
Behind it all, Colin watched in silence.
Numbers flickered in his mind—cold, precise. Each death a quiet increment. Each ruin another measure of power gained, and strength stolen from his enemy.
Harvest.
That was all this was.
Inside Iron Oak City, the world had already begun to die.
The gates were sealed. The streets were empty. Soldiers lined the walls in suffocating density, their eyes fixed on the horizon as if staring long enough might hold the darkness back.
It didn't.
"Captain… the north…" Balin's voice trembled. "Another one. That's the seventh…"
Gago said nothing at first. He watched the newest column of smoke claw its way into the sky.
"Green Grass Slope," Balin whispered, horror breaking through. "Three hundred people… the winter stores…"
He couldn't finish.
"Then they're gone," Gago said flatly.
Balin turned sharply. "We can still act! We have the men—we can strike out, bring them in—"
"Bring back what?" Gago cut him off, voice like stone grinding against stone. "Ash?"
Balin faltered, but desperation pushed him forward. "We can save some—"
"And lose the city for it?"
The words hit harder than a blow.
Gago stepped closer, pointing beyond the walls. "Look properly. Cavalry first. Always. By the time you arrive, the killing is done. Then the infantry comes. Slow. Methodical."
"If we leave these walls, we walk into their jaws."
His gaze hardened. "Tell me, Balin—when we're dead in the fields, who holds this city?"
Silence answered him.
Gago's voice dropped, colder than before. "My duty is not to chase ghosts. It is to hold this gate."
His fist slammed against the stone railing. "I warned those villages. Days ago. Told them to come."
A bitter pause.
"They chose to stay."
Balin's hands clenched until they shook.
Below them, the city held its breath.
Above them, the smoke spread.
By the time the fires died, there was nothing left to burn.
North of Iron Oak City had become a wasteland—silent, blackened, empty. No movement. No life. Not even the illusion of it.
Only absence.
Colin stood upon a rise, overlooking what he had made.
Behind him, his army waited—no longer a rabble driven by vengeance, but something sharper. Something colder.
A weapon.
"My Lord," Anna said quietly, exhaustion threading her voice. "There is nothing left."
Colin didn't look back.
His gaze had already moved beyond the ruined land… beyond the city… to the mountains in the distance.
He drew his sword.
The sound rang clear.
"Forward," he said.
The single word carried.
"The Northern Mine."
A pause—then, colder still:
"Our people are there."
"And we will take them back."
The response was not a cheer.
It was a roar.
Wolves howled. Steel struck armor. Voices merged into something raw and violent and alive.
Then they moved.
No more concealment. No more patience.
The storm had finished gathering.
Now it would break.