In the daylight, near the edge of a forest, within a military encampment, General Marcus sat comfortably in an outdoor seating area, dressed in his bright, formal attire. Beside him, in a friendly setting, sat the merchant he had met in Nordhall.

  The merchant placed a heavy pouch, clinking softly with coins, onto the table between them. Marcus inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the payment.

  "Consider the matter settled," Marcus said, his voice calm and authoritative. "From this point forward, your caravans will be secure. Should any harm befall them, I guarantee compensation. It will be my responsibility."

  The merchant, visibly relieved, rose to his feet. "Thank you, General, for agreeing to protect my caravans. I am deeply grateful. Now, I must depart. I do not wish to take up more of your valuable time." Marcus also stood. "I was honored by your visit," the merchant added, bowing slightly.

  As the merchant turned to leave, a messenger suddenly arrived swiftly, his breathing heavy. "Sir!" he announced, bowing low before Marcus. "An urgent message for you!" The messenger extended the sealed scroll with both hands, keeping his body lowered respectfully.

  Marcus took the message with his right hand. He casually broke the seal with his thumb and unfurled the parchment just enough to scan its contents with his eyes. His facial expression remained carefully neutral as he read. Still holding the partially opened scroll low in his right hand, he looked towards the departing merchant, offered a polite smile, and gave a dismissive wave with his left hand.

  Once the merchant was out of earshot, Marcus swiftly crumpled the parchment into a tight ball within his right fist. His face remained impassive, but the decisive destruction of the message betrayed its urgency. He turned to one of the guards standing nearby.

  "Summon all commanders and officers," Marcus commanded, his voice low but firm, still maintaining his composed expression. "Immediately."

  The guard snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!" he replied, turning sharply to carry out the order.

  Inside a spacious command tent, senior officers and commanders stood gathered around a large, detailed relief map of Aslilia laid out on a central table. The atmosphere was tense, expectant. General Marcus entered, clad in his imposing military attire – the uniform of a General and Commander of the Forces. As he stepped inside, every officer snapped to attention, offering the formal military salute: the right fist pressed firmly against their chest.

  Marcus returned a curt nod, his expression stern. He walked directly to the head of the map table, his eyes scanning the depicted terrain. "Report," he commanded, his voice crisp and authoritative. "Give me the latest intelligence. What have you found?"

  One officer stepped forward. "Sir, we have confirmed reports. After Ricardi and his followers left Aslilia City, they headed southwest."

  Another officer, using a pointer to indicate a region on the map, continued, "Which leads us to conclude he has established a base of operations here," he tapped the pointer decisively, "in the Fog Swamp."

  A third officer added, "Sir, we've also received unconfirmed rumors. Followers are apparently flocking to him from various parts of the kingdom."

  Marcus listened intently, his gaze fixed on the Fog Swamp marker. He spoke aloud, partly to himself, but ensuring all could hear, "So, you finally made your move, Ricardi." He looked up, addressing the officers directly. "Numbers? What are we estimating?"

  The intelligence officer responded, "Apologies, sir, we lack precise figures. However, current projections place his strength between one thousand and two thousand fighters."

  Marcus nodded slowly. "He can gather more than that if given time. We need to eliminate this threat quickly, before it festers and becomes a major problem."

  A man stepped forward – Commander Borin, Marcus's second-in-command. "Sir," Borin suggested, "I propose we dispatch a force of five thousand soldiers. With such numbers, we can crush him and his followers decisively."

  Marcus considered this, his fingers tracing the borders on the map. "The Fog Swamp is not far from the Gorica border," he mused aloud. "I am certain Georgi is watching the situation closely." He looked up, his gaze sharp. "Moving five thousand troops will undoubtedly attract his attention. We cannot maintain communication silence over such a large deployment. If Georgi notices such a significant mobilization, he'll know we perceive Ricardi as a major threat. He will almost certainly send reinforcements to Ricardi, creating a complication we don't need."

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  Borin looked concerned. "Then what is the plan, sir?"

  Marcus's decision was swift and unexpected. "I will lead the strike myself. With five hundred men."

  A ripple of shock went through the assembled officers. Murmurs of disbelief and concern filled the tent.

  Borin voiced their collective apprehension. "Sir, with all due respect, five hundred men? In the Fog Swamp? That puts you in immense personal danger!"

  Marcus waved dismissively. "Do not worry, Commander. Most of Ricardi's followers will be green civilians with little or no combat experience. All I need are veterans," he scanned the faces of his commanders, "and plenty of rope."

  Borin hesitated, clearly uneasy, but his loyalty was unwavering. "It is difficult for us to accept this plan, sir… but as you command."

  "There is one more thing Borin" Marcus added.

  "What is it, sir?"

  "Mass all remaining forces near the Gorica border. Specifically, position them northwest of Gorica, close to their frontier. Make it visible. Make it obvious."

  Another wave of surprise hit the officers.

  Marcus allowed a grim smile. "Let us see what Georgi chooses," he said, his voice hardening. "Protecting his own lands, or protecting Ricardi."

  Borin's earlier hesitation vanished, replaced by understanding and enthusiasm. "At your command, sir!"

  Later, the chosen five hundred soldiers stood ready, mounted, and their gear secured. Bundles of thick rope were prominently visible, strapped to saddles and carried by designated men. Marcus, already mounted on his warhorse, surveyed his handpicked force from the front. He turned his horse to face them, his voice ringing out clear and strong.

  "Listen up, soldiers! We ride for the Fog Swamp! We ride hard and fast! Avoid open ground whenever possible. I want no enemy eyes spotting our movement before we strike! Is that understood?"

  A unified roar answered: "AAAYYYEEEE"

  Marcus nodded sharply. "Then let's ride!"

  With a thunder of hooves, Marcus and his five hundred elite soldiers surged forward, towards the Fog Swamp.

  ***

  In the daylight hours within Torzan, the capital city of the Kingdom of Gorica, the Royal Council convened in the palace. The chamber was modest compared to Aslilian splendor, the council members seated on simple wooden chairs attached along the sides of the room. Hiran, the former Queen, presided from the head seat, with Prince Georgi beside her. To the right sat Lord Falken and Lord Nubi. To the left is Lord Zagras and Lord Otemil.

  A messenger entered urgently, bowing low. "A report, Your Highnesses!" he announced breathlessly. "The King of Aslilia… has not fallen. He remains… bedridden."

  Nubi scoffed, her voice sharp with disdain. "That cursed monster won't go down easily."

  Georgi slammed a fist onto the armrest of his chair, his frustration evident. "Damn him!" he cursed. "Mother, brothers… I propose the time is now! We must support Ricardi! Send him reinforcements! This is an opportunity we cannot afford to miss!"

  Falken countered immediately, his voice calm but firm. "We are not ready, Georgi. All our preparations will be for nothing if we make such a reckless move."

  Georgi whirled on him, his anger flaring. "And what do you know of military matters, huh? I suggest you stick to what you excel at – your blasphemous sciences! You're not so different from them, are you?"

  Hiran's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. "Georgi! Respect the presence and position of your brothers! Even as a Prince, you are not here to insult them or dismiss their opinions!"

  Georgi bowed his head slightly, though his frustration still simmered. "My apologies, Mother. But I still insist on reinforcing Ricardi's forces."

  Zagras spoke, his tone measured. "In truth, brother, Falken is correct. Ricardi acted without coordinating with us, without any prior planning. This all happened suddenly, and now he asks for our aid."

  Otemil added his voice. "I, too, support their caution. However," he looked directly at Georgi, "should Aslilia move to crush Ricardi, then I support sending reinforcements, brother."

  Suddenly, another messenger burst into the chamber, even more urgently than the first. "Report! An Aslilian army, estimated at fifty thousand, approaches from the east! They are nearing our northeastern border, Your Highness!"

  Before the council could react, a third messenger arrived. "Report! Forces numbering twenty thousand approaches from the north, also heading towards our northeastern border!"

  A fourth messenger rushed in, breathless. "Report! Thirty thousand troops marching from the south! Converging on the northeastern border!"

  Georgi leaped to his feet, his face pale with shock. "They're massing their armies on our border!" He turned, his voice ringing with command. "Nubi! Zagras! Otemil! To arms! We move!"