The battlefield stank of blood, smoke, and churned earth. The wind carried the metallic tang of iron, mingled with the acrid stench of burning oil. Ren stood at the edge of the ridge, his gaze locked on the plains below, where Varik’s forward units had tested his defenses for the third time that day. The bodies of mercenaries and soldiers alike littered the ground, a grotesque patchwork of steel and flesh.
“Status report,” Ren demanded, voice cutting through the crackle of flames and distant screams. His armor was streaked with dirt and blood, and his once-pristine cloak was now torn, but his eyes burned bright with an intensity that no exhaustion could dim.
Kael, his most trusted lieutenant, limped forward, one hand pressed to a bandaged thigh wound. “The outer barricades held, Sovereig
