The army advanced slowly through the narrow valley that opened between the imposing mountains of Kardithal, a mountain range that cut through the continent like a wall of stone and ice.
The cutting wind brought with it a mixture of fine snow and dust from the dirt trails, but nothing seemed to stop the march of men and beasts.
The sky was overcast, with heavy, dark clouds that seemed to weigh down on the army, as if the weather itself had allied itself with the mountains in the task of testing the resistance of the soldiers.
Ahead, the peaks of Kardithal rose like colossuses, their black silhouettes contrasting with the dirty snow that accumulated on the ground.
The snow fell without ceasing, transforming the terrain into a white, cold sea, where the soldiers fought against the cutting wind and the thickness of the ice sheet beneath their feet.
Each step was an effort, a battle against the merciless environment of the mountain.
The thin air made breathing difficult, and fatigue began to weigh on the shoulders of the warriors, whose muscles were strained from the constant struggle against the cold and the treacherous terrain.
The troops were divided into three columns, with the lighter soldiers at the front, advancing cautiously along the narrow trails that wound through the slopes.
The shadows of the distorted trees seemed to watch them, their dry branches like bony fingers pointing towards the cloudy sky, and the terrain was undulating, with large rocks and ice formations jutting out of the ground, daring the men to cross them.
In the center of the column, the heavy supply wagons were being dragged with effort by the knights and the few peasants who had been forced to follow as auxiliaries.
The sound of the horses' hooves hitting the rocks and the clang of their armor mixed with the whisper of the wind, creating an eerie music that could only be heard among the mountains of Kardithal.
The rearguard of the army was made up of seasoned men, the veterans who had crossed Kardithal on other occasions, and who now led the younger men steadily forward.
They knew that if the march was interrupted or the army scattered, the mountains would become a deadly prison.
Some of the veterans whispered of the mountain specters, those ancient legends that said the range was guarded by the vengeful spirits of the ancient savages who had once inhabited the region.
But these rumors were just a shadow in the minds of the war-hardened soldiers.
Further back, a long line of archers and spearmen marched in formation, their eyes trained on the horizon and the terrain ahead.
Each man knew that the march could end in an ambush or a skirmish with savages. As the army climbed a narrow pass, the sky grew darker, as if the mountains themselves wanted to swallow the light.
The snow was falling more heavily now, like a thick velvet curtain, and the sound of boots and hooves on the snow had almost disappeared.
The vanguard commander signaled for the central column to slow down, his eyes fixed on the tall rocks that surrounded the path. Something was not right.
The feeling that something was watching them hung in the air. A shudder in the distant trees, a sudden silence, as if nature itself was waiting for the march to unfold.
The commander then ordered the march to stop and signaled to the junior officer.
"Laertes, I want to speak to the commanders, tell the center commander."
Laertes looked at Dorian, and noticed that there was something wrong with his expression, as if he could see something unbelievable ahead. He glanced sideways at Dorian before setting off for the center of the column.
Mounting his horse, he quickly passed the heavy infantry soldiers, and when he got close to the center, Thales signaled and allowed them to approach.
"Something wrong with the vanguard, Laertes?"
"I'm not sure, sir. The vanguard commander ordered me to tell you that he wants to talk."
Thales, looking at Laerte's expression, didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, and ordered the other commanders to be called to a meeting.
"What is the purpose of this meeting and the pause in the march, Dorian?" Timon, a skilled swordsman who was responsible for commanding the rearguard, asked.
Dorian, looking at the five commanders in front of him, replied, "Very simple, my dear companions. I think we're walking into a trap."
Thales, with a cold expression, asked, "What trap are you talking about and how did you come to that conclusion?"
"Look, Thales, I have experience crossing the Kardithal mountain ranges, and never during my crossings have I gotten this far without encountering any savages."
"My suspicion is that the settlement was attacked, and the savages are stalking us and waiting for an opportunity to attack us."
Hector, the commander of the left flank, teased with a mocking smile.
"So you're scared, and based on your hunch, you're asking us to abandon a humble village with several peasants?"
Dorian, with an angry expression, was about to respond aggressively when Cassandro, the commander of the right flank, interrupted and in an attempt to pacify Dorian.
"I disagree with your point of view Hector, if that was Dorian's purpose, he wouldn't have come with us to a land of savages in the first place."
"He certainly has a strategy to remedy this situation."
Dorian, with a mocking smile, replied, "Indeed, commander of the left flank Sword Dancer, I am afraid of the savages, but as evidenced by the brilliant Cassandro, I have a suggestion."
"Bastard!" Hector shouted. Sword Dancer is an informal nickname he had received from his peers, and suggests that his skill with the sword is more theatrical than effective.
"Calm down Hector, proceed Dorian."
"Very well, general, my suggestion is to strengthen the vanguard with heavy infantry soldiers from the rear and center. I want to add two rows of 30 men."
The entire army consisted of two hundred men, 60 men in the vanguard was equivalent to about 30% of the army's strength.
"No, the rearguard would be vulnerable, I am willing to provide 30 men."
Dorian knew that Thales would never agree to such a suggestion, so he suggested a high number to obtain an ideal number.
"Thank you for accepting my suggestion, sir."
The march continued, however, no savages were sighted and the crossing of the mountain range was smooth.
However, the lack of skirmishes with the savages made the commanders who still had fresh memories of Dorian's advice nervous and redoubled their attention.
The path was muddy due to recent rain, making life difficult for the men and the logistics squad.
But due to the smooth crossing, Thales chose to camp and wait for the next day.
The night, though calm, gave rise to a nightmare that would haunt them throughout the expedition.
The infantrymen of the vanguard swore that a woman of unearthly beauty had bewitched Akleos, a young soldier, and devoured him.
Although it was an unfounded rumor, many soldiers believed it, and it was supported by the fact that a soldier had disappeared during the night.
The night was cold, and the small fire crackled, casting flickering shadows over the faces of the soldiers gathered around it.
Sergeant Timaeus, a weather-beaten man with deep wrinkles on his face and a scruffy gray beard, adjusted his cloak over his shoulders as he watched the fire with tired but watchful eyes.
His helmet, worn and dented, lay next to his sword on the ground, a silent symbol of past battles.
He lifted his head and began to speak, his hoarse voice cutting through the murmur of the wind.
"Have you heard of Onoskelis?"
The young men around the campfire leaned in attentive. One of them, smiling, joked, "Wouldn't that be another story to scare us, Sergeant?"
Timaeus ignored the comment and continued, his eyes fixed on the flames.
"She is an ancient spirit. They say she looks like a woman of incomparable beauty, capable of stealing a man's breath with just one look."
"But don't be fooled."
He pointed to the fire with a slow movement.
"Her skin is white as bones washed by the sea, but there is something wrong with her, something you only notice when you are too close."
"Her eyes are embers, like the coal that burns here. And her legs… well, they say they end in donkey hooves."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, but it was soon broken by a young man, who laughed and shook his head.
"If she's that beautiful, I don't care. I'd happily die for a night with her."
Timaeus slowly looked up, contempt etched in his expression. His voice was firm, like a sharp blade.
"Idiot. She doesn't want your passion, only your flesh."
The laughter died in the young man's throat. Timaeus continued. "Onoskelis devours men."
"First, she charms you with sweet words and smiles. Then, when you're vulnerable, she attacks."
"Her claws are sharp as knives, and her hunger is insatiable." Another soldier, now restless, asked. "And how do you defend yourself against her, Sergeant?"
Timaeus narrowed his eyes, considering the question, and answered.
"Iron."
"A forged and well-honed blade is the only thing that can hurt her. But make no mistake, she is fast and deadly. If you find something so perfect, so irresistible in the middle of the darkness, look at her feet. If you see hooves, run."
The group fell silent, the crackling of flames the only sound for a moment. Timaeus picked up his sword, testing the edge with his calloused thumb before concluding.
"Or better yet, don't trust anything that looks too pretty. Beauty can hide hunger, and hunger always wins."
The flames danced on the steel of his blade, reflecting the cold gleam in his eyes. No one laughed at that time.
The following night, despite having advised the young men, Timaeus was the next victim.
In a meeting with the five commanders, Hector exploded.
"It's unsustainable Thales, we have to do something about it, I've already lost two good men."
Looking at him with a cold expression, Thales replied.
"That's your responsibility, isn't it?"
"Indeed, but I am not a monster hunter, much less an Onoskelis hunter."
"Incompetent!" Dorian commented, with a provocative tone.
"Bastard, I'll kill you-" Thales interrupted Hector in the middle of his speech.
"Conflict will get us nowhere, as a measure I order that Timon provide more men for the night watch."
Timon, with a frowning expression, objected and commented.
"Why not the vanguard? They have more men now, so they should provide more night guards."
"The vanguard is responsible for the first confrontation in case of conflict, if they are overwhelmed during the battle we will succumb."
Cassandro, who was silent, commented.
"Why don't we send scouts to this village and check the situation there, and camp here?"
Thales replied. "I will consider that suggestion, but we have to keep marching and get to the village as quickly as possible."
"Even if we hurry, it will still take us 4 days, if they have resisted until now they should resist until we get there."
"Your words make sense, but we must be aware that this village has been out of contact since winter and we left almost 1 month ago, we must urgently get to it."
Cassandro replied. "The garrison of this village is large with about 50 men, it is a large village, and has about 550 civilians."
"They have the capacity to resist a siege by the savages, in addition the mercenaries of the Braveheart group have 15 men, more than enough to defend this village."
"Yes, but besides checking the village and protecting it, our task is to pacify the region." Timon commented.
Tch! Hector grumbled. "Did you forget that we are dealing with an Empusa?"
"Empusa?" Dorian asked.
"It's another name for Onoskelis," Thales replied.
"Wow, so much culture, Hector." Dorian commented sarcastically.
"Are you still hurt, Dorian?" Hector teased with a mocking expression.
"That's enough, you two, my resolution is that the rearguard will provide more guards to patrol at night, and I will personally go hunt that freak tomorrow." Thales replied.
In his heart he was already irritated with this expedition, but the thought of obtaining the Spathariosen family's ethereal breathing technique was his consolation.
After the meeting ended, they continued their march.