The messenger arrived back at the camp, his face pale and strained from the journey, but more so from the weight of the news he carried. King Janusz and King Igor waited, the tension thick in the air as their armies huddled around campfires, exhausted from days of relentless harassment by Kara's forces. The looming uncertainty gnawed at the commanders, who were both eager for answers.
King Janusz was the first to speak, his voice sharp with anticipation. "We asked for Kara's terms. What news do you bring?" His gaze bore into the messenger, expecting something decisive—something that could sway the course of their fate.
The messenger, still catching his breath, wiped the sweat from his brow. "Your Majesty... Kara wasn't there." The words hung in the air for a moment, sinking in. "I spoke with Wolfram, the grandson of Kaiser Anno."
Both kings exchanged a quick, puzzled glance. Janusz leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Wolfram? Why would he meet you? What does this mean?"
The messenger hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "Perhaps... because I speak High German, Your Majesty. He addressed me personally. Kara was nowhere to be seen."
A murmur spread through the gathering soldiers, a ripple of confusion. King Igor stepped closer, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And where is Kara? If he wasn't there to negotiate, then where is he? Do you believe he's dead?"
The messenger looked between the two kings, unsure how to answer. "I do not know for certain, Your Grace. But... Wolfram seemed deeply upset. He looked like a man burdened, someone who wanted this to end. There was a sadness in his voice, as though he felt this whole ordeal had gone on long enough. He even gave me his cuff bracelet as a sign of peace."
Janusz stroked his beard, his face unreadable. "Wolfram may be young, but he's not a fool. If Kara is dead or wounded, it changes everything." He turned to Igor. "It's possible Wolfram is attempting to save face and end the battle before it spirals out of control. He isn't one of them after all. He wasn't born into their world."
Igor crossed his arms, his eyes darting back to the messenger. "That may be true, but we cannot trust this. Just because he sent the Teutonic Knights back doesn't mean his intentions are pure. Wolfram may have his own reasons for wanting peace, but we must be wary. This could all be part of a trap."
The messenger shifted uneasily. "I... I don't believe it was a trap, Your Grace. Wolfram seemed sincere, almost weary. He wants to end this and go home. He's not like Kara or the others. He's different—he doesn't belong to their world, not truly."
King Janusz let out a heavy sigh, his eyes scanning the distant horizon as if searching for the truth in the fog of war. "Different or not, Wolfram's not to be underestimated. But Kara's absence... that could change things. If Kara is indeed out of the picture, Wolfram may be struggling to hold the reins of command."
Igor, ever cautious, shook his head. "We don't have the luxury of assumptions. We must prepare for the possibility that this is a ruse. Wolfram may appear sympathetic, but that could be part of the game. He's still the grandson of Kaiser Anno, after all."
Janusz turned to the gathered captains and soldiers, his voice growing stern. "We move cautiously. We cannot afford to act recklessly now. I don't trust this situation, but we have little choice. Kara's absence is concerning, but we must not lower our guard. We will move from the blockade slowly, in phases, and be ready for an attack at any moment."
Igor nodded in agreement, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We'll send scouts ahead and ensure that the retreat is genuine. If this is a trap, Wolfram will not live to see another dawn."
The kings' decision hung heavy over the camp as the soldiers prepared for a cautious withdrawal. Janusz and Igor, though skeptical, knew they had no choice but to trust the fragile peace, even as uncertainty gnawed at their hearts. All eyes were now on Wolfram, the unlikely commander who had stepped into the void left by Kara's absence, and who now held the fate of the battlefield in his hands.