Leaning against a tree, slightly away from the camp's center, Astor had watched the entire exchange between Edmund and Selene. Though his body still ached, his mind was active, analyzing every word and gesture.
Selene hadn't directly accused Edmund, but neither had she ignored what had happened. Her way of handling the situation was a reminder of her natural leadership. Astor knew she was much more than a mere warrior; she was someone who understood the power of words and actions, someone who couldn't be easily intimidated.
Edmund, on the other hand, was letting his emotions control him. His rage toward Selene and his disdain for Astor blinded him, and Astor knew that, eventually, Edmund would make a mistake.
As the camp began to settle down, Astor closed his eyes, pretending to sleep while planning his next moves. The journey had barely begun, yet the tension between them was already at its peak. Deep down, Astor knew that the real battle would not be on the front lines but among themselves.
The sun rose slowly over the horizon, bathing the camp in a warm, soft light. The soldiers, well-versed in such situations, dismantled tents and cleaned the area with impressive efficiency. It was as if they had never been there.
The atmosphere was tense, though no one spoke of it openly. Selene, with her small group of men, led at the front, maintaining a steady pace. Edmund, for his part, led the Valenford soldiers a few meters away, clearly separating himself from Selene as a show of autonomy.
Astor, as always, stayed at the back of the group, silently observing every interaction, every gesture, every glance. He could feel the fragile nature of the situation, like a taut rope ready to snap at the slightest tug.
He knew the relationship between Selene and Edmund was a powder keg waiting for a spark. Selene's imperturbable attitude did nothing to soften Edmund's arrogance, and Edmund, with his wounded pride, seemed on the verge of an outburst.
The day passed without incidents but also without respite. The group moved at a constant pace, stopping only every few hours to rest the horses and eat. During those breaks, the soldiers exchanged words in hushed tones, but the separation between Selene's men and Edmund's was clear.
Astor continued to observe everything from his position at the rear. Each interaction was a reminder of how precarious the situation was. He knew that a single misunderstanding could spark open conflict between the two groups.
However, the day went on without major mishaps, marked only by the accumulating fatigue and monotony of the journey. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, they reached a small village—a modest place with a few wooden houses and a couple of dirt roads.
The prospect of resting in the village was quickly dismissed. The group's size made it impossible for everyone to find accommodations, and the village's resources were clearly limited. Thus, they had to press on, searching for a suitable spot to camp once again.
Eventually, they set up camp in a clearing by the roadside, but this time the camp was clearly divided. Selene's men stayed on one side, while Edmund's soldiers occupied the other. Though neither group openly said it, the distrust was palpable.
No fires were lit that night, and conversations were kept to a minimum. The camp felt more like an improvised shelter than a united group, each side cautiously watching the other.
Astor, this time, managed to set up his tent without help. Although he deliberately left it somewhat poorly done to maintain his inept image, it was functional enough to shield him from the cold night. Once inside, he relished the privacy the fabric offered him.
Inside the tent, Astor lit a small oil lamp he had brought along and pulled out his bow. The wood still bore the scars from his sparring with Selene—deep cuts and cracks that threatened to weaken its structure.
The bow had been an extension of himself for years. Every curve and fiber of its wood was familiar to him, but now he knew its time was nearing an end. As he cleaned and inspected every part, his thoughts drifted to the future.
The war was the perfect stage for his mother or Edmund to get rid of him. Whether it was by sending him on a suicide mission, betraying him on the battlefield, or outright ordering his assassination, Astor knew he had to be ready for anything.
Revealing his skills would be a last resort, but if it came to that, it would have to be decisive. He couldn't leave witnesses who might compromise his facade, and if the situation demanded it, he would have to act without hesitation.
Astor understood that the war posed imminent danger to him, and perhaps his only chance was to find a way out of the conflict before it escalated. He decided that his best option was to sow discord between the factions. If he managed to get the Valenford family withdrawn from the front, his chances of survival would increase significantly.
While working on the bow, his mind calculated every possibility, every risk. He knew he couldn't trust anyone—not even Selene, despite her different attitude toward him. The tension between the groups was evident, and the delicate balance keeping Selene and Edmund on the same side could be shattered with the right spark. And he intended to be that spark.
At last, he finished the maintenance. The bow was functional, but just barely. The damaged wood made it fragile, and he knew it would only last a few more uses before breaking.
He carefully stored the bow, aware that he would soon need a replacement. Building a new one would be ideal, but he lacked both the time and the necessary materials. For now, he would have to rely on his wits and the opportunities that arose.
Astor extinguished the lamp and lay down on his cloak, closing his eyes as his thoughts kept spinning around how to provoke a clash between the two groups.
With a plan in mind, Astor allowed himself to rest a bit longer before dawn marked the start of a new day. The night was cold, and the forest's silence enveloped them.
The day began like the last: the march continued, with Selene's men leading and Edmund's soldiers following close behind. Astor, as always, stayed at the rear of the formation, feigning clumsiness and incompetence while carefully observing every detail.
During one of the brief breaks, he saw his opportunity. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention to him, he picked up a small stone from the ground. His experience as an archer allowed him to calculate the throw precisely, and as they rode forward on horseback, he hurled it with force toward one of Selene's men at the front.
The hit was perfect. The stone struck the back of the soldier's head, making him stop abruptly and turn with a frown, his hand moving to the spot where he had been hit.
"Who the hell did that?!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the group.
The reaction was immediate. Edmund's men, who had witnessed the incident from behind, burst into laughter. The mocking sound rang out like a provocation, further irritating the injured soldier.
"What's wrong? Did a bird leave you a present?" one of Edmund's soldiers jeered, prompting even more laughter.
Selene's soldier began striding toward the man who made the comment, his fury evident in every step.
"Someone better say who it was!" he roared, his eyes scanning the group with anger.
Astor maintained a neutral, almost indifferent expression as he watched the spectacle from the back. He knew that if anyone discovered he was responsible, his plan would collapse completely.
Selene, sensing the rising tension, intervened quickly.
"Enough," she said, her voice firm and authoritative.
The soldier turned to her, still visibly upset, but he didn't dare challenge her.
"Someone hit me with a rock!" he protested, though his tone had softened.
"Perhaps it was a bird or the gallop of the horses," Selene said calmly, though her gaze made it clear she wouldn't tolerate further argument. "Let it go. We have a mission to complete."
The man, though unsatisfied, stepped back and rejoined his group. The laughter from Edmund's men continued for a few moments before the group resumed their march.
Astor smiled to himself. He had planted a small seed of discord without arousing suspicion, and this was only the beginning.
The march continued throughout the day, and the fatigue among the men became increasingly apparent. Astor knew that nightfall would provide another opportunity to deepen the division between the factions.
When the group stopped to set up camp, Astor, under the pretense of needing help with his tent, offered to help prepare the food for Edmund's men. No one expected much from him, but they didn't imagine he would make an intentional "mistake."
While stirring one of the cauldrons, he pretended to stumble and dumped a sack of salt into the pot. The food was completely ruined—inedible, far too salty to consume.
"For the gods' sake, Astor!" one of Edmund's soldiers exclaimed in frustration.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Astor murmured, lowering his head and feigning embarrassment.
Selene's men, who had been watching from their side of the camp, couldn't contain their laughter. The sight of Edmund's soldiers trying to deal with the ruined food was too amusing to ignore.
"Looks like you need a new cook," one of Selene's men commented, prompting more laughter from his companions.
The mockery didn't go unnoticed by Edmund's soldiers. Some cast furious glances toward the other group but restrained themselves, knowing that open conflict wouldn't be tolerated.
Astor, from his position, observed intently. He knew that each small spark he ignited would fuel the hostility between the groups. The key was not to cross the line that would reveal his direct involvement.
That night, Astor retreated to his tent, satisfied with the small successes of his plan. The tension between the two groups was higher than ever, and every step they took together felt like walking a tightrope.