The first light of dawn crept over the battlements of Blackwood Keep, painting the stone walls in shades of pale gold and revealing the frost that clung to every crack. Kaelen had barely slept, his mind replaying the negotiation with Stackson Guild like a merchant tallying ledgers.

  The deal was a masterstroke—fifty-five percent of a fortune in Star-Silver and herbs, funneled through Clasta without Vancefort's spies sniffing the source. But as he stood on the ramparts sipping bitter tea, a chime pierced his thoughts.

  It wasn't a bird. It wasn't the wind.

  It was the System, urgent red text flashing in his vision.

  [Emergency Alert: Military Incursion]

  Location: Fortress of the Four (Hollow of Skulls)

  Attacker: Stone Eater Tribe (Led by Vorak)

  Status: Mud walls half-complete. Casualties: Low (12 dead, 47 wounded)

  Threat Level: High. Heavy infantry probing defenses. Expect escalation.

  Kaelen's tea cup shattered in his grip, hot liquid scalding his hand. He didn't notice.

  “Bastard,” he hissed.

  Vorak hadn't waited. The Patient Hunter had struck at first light, testing the half-built mud forts. Low casualties meant the chokepoints were holding—for now. But half-built walls were no match for Stone Eater hammers.

  Kaelen sprinted down the stairs, Battleforce flaring silver around his legs to propel him faster than any mortal run. By the time he burst into the barracks, servants were already rousing the guard with panicked shouts.

  “Elian!” Kaelen barked. “Runners to the villages—full alert! Council in the War Room, now! Victor, Jory, Tormund, Gareth, Elian, Haldor—all of you!”

  The keep came alive like a kicked anthill.

  ---------------------------------

  Less than an hour later, as the council assembled around the scarred oak table in the War Room, hooves thundered into the courtyard below.

  A rider staggered through the doors—Zarn of the Ash Wolves, his grey furs torn, blood matting his hair, one arm bound in a hasty bandage.

  “Lord Kaelen!” Zarn wheezed, collapsing to one knee before the Baron. “Vorak... he came at dawn. Like ghosts in the mist. His hammers smashed the half-built walls on the eastern pass. We held the choke points with spears and oil, but... twenty died. Thirty more wounded. The mud forts bought time, And they retreted but he will come again.”

  Kaelen gripped the young heir's shoulder, steadying him.

  “You rode through the night? Through their lines?”

  “Through ambush,” Zarn nodded grimly, his eyes haunted. “Vorak probes. He wants the Hollow. Wants revenge for Krag's blood. He taunted us—called us ‘rats hiding in mud.’ But the walls funnel them. They can't swarm.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Kaelen nodded sharply. “Wine for Zarn. Rest. You've done well.”

  Zarn took the offered cup with trembling hands, but his eyes stayed on the map.

  Kaelen turned to the assembled council.

  Victor , Jory , Tormund , Ser Gareth , Elian , and Ser Haldor sat tense around the table, the mountain map spread before them.

  “Status confirmed,” Kaelen said, voice like iron. “Vorak hits the Fortress. Mud walls holding—for now. We march. Reinforce before he attack again and plan a long term defencive strategy.”

  Ser Haldor stood first, his massive frame casting a shadow over the map. His face was thunder, veins bulging in his neck.

  “No.”

  The word hung heavy. Silence gripped the room.

  Kaelen met the master-at-arms' gaze evenly. “Explain.”

  Haldor slammed a fist on the table, rattling the inkwell.

  “The last time we marched north, your father died. Stone Eater assault on the passes. Two hundred casualties. The Barony most of it's soldiers in that. Currently we have only sixty soldiers . Sixty green lads and veterans too old for mountain fighting! Against Vorak's four hundred warriors? though tribes also have men but most of them don't know how to defend a fort. It's suicide!”

  Kaelen's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level.

  “The tribes have three hundred spears in the Fortress. With our sixty—”

  “Unreliable!” Haldor roared. “Savages! They'll stab us in the back the moment we turn. Or flee when the hammers fall!”

  Zarn surged to his feet. “We swore oath on the Wolf Spirit! You doubt our steel?”

  Haldor whirled. “Your steel bent last night, pup! Twenty dead already!”

  “Enough!” Kaelen's Battleforce aura flared silver, silencing them.

  “Haldor, you will recruit. Triple the watch. Arm every able man.”

  Haldor crossed his arms. “Recruit from where? The Barony population is less than Five thousand farmers, boys, old men. Elian?”

  Elian, the steward, cleared his throat nervously. “He's right, My Lord. We can raise two hundred max. Beyond that, fields go fallow. No harvest, no army. Villages unprotected.”

  Tormund rumbled from his seat.

  “Even two hundred... raw recruits against Steel Walkers? We'd need weeks. Months. Armor, training, weapons.”

  Hareth, , nodded grimly.

  “Roads are ice. Scouts say Vorak has supply lines from the peaks. He can siege forever. Our sixty couldn't punch through to relieve even if we wanted.”

  Hareth then said “ Even if recruit men they will not fight with the allied mountain tribes. Due to the long hostile relationship between the mountain tribesmen and us.

  Victor, with the Sun-Vein Root burning in his veins, spoke up.

  “Send supplies. Arrows, oil, food. The earth fortress are funneling them—kill-zones. Buy time to finish the walls.”

  “Not enough,” Jory said quietly, tracing ridges on the map. “Vorak's patient. He'll starve them or wait for a breach.”

  Kaelen paced, mind racing. The System overlaid probabilities.

  Reinforcement Success: 23%

  Defensive Hold: 67%

  Loss of Fortress: High if no action.

  “Haldor,” Kaelen said. “Recruit anyway. One hundred men. Arm them from the auction steel. Train night and day.”

  Haldor grunted. “It'll take time. Two weeks minimum. They need drilling.”

  “Do it in one,” Kaelen ordered. “Elian, ration grain—priority to fighters. Strip the villages bare if needed.”

  Elian paled. “My Lord, famine—”

  “Or invasion,” Kaelen cut him off.

  “Tormund, ready the sixty. Hareth, scout the Goat Path."

  Zarn interjected. “The tribes hold, but barely. Send something. Spears. Even promises.”

  Part 4: The Endless Debate

  The discussion dragged into midday. Arguments looped like vultures.

  Haldor: “Defend the valley! Let the tribes bleed!”

  Zarn: “Betrayal destroys the alliance!”

  Elian: “Two hundred max recruits. Economy first.”

  Tormund: “Traps on the road. Ambush supply lines.”

  Hareth: “Roads too exposed. Ice kills more than arrows.”

  Victor: “Reinforce with elite squad. Hit and run.”

  Kaelen listened, the System crunching data.

  Optimal Path: Unclear

  Risk: Extreme

  Hours passed. Lunch grew cold. The fire died to embers.

  Kaelen rubbed his temples. Vorak was methodically dismantling the mud forts. Time bled away.

  “Options exhausted?” Kaelen asked.

  Silence.

  Then Jory leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

  “I have an idea.”