The change in the air was unmistakable. The hunting parties returned with less game, the scouts reported fewer animals in the surrounding woods, and the streams near Emberhold ran clearer—too clear. The Baron's men had been working in the shadows, ensuring Emberhold's resources dwindled.
Alexander stood at the watchtower, eyes scanning the treeline. They were being suffocated. No open attacks, no raids—just a slow, creeping chokehold that would wear them down without a single battle.
Elias joined him, his usual smirk absent. "The men are getting restless."
"They should be," Alexander muttered. "This is exactly what I'd do if I wanted to break an enemy without fighting."
Silas approached, his face grim. "The Baron's men are cutting off everything—game, trade routes, even the river upstream. If this keeps up, we'll be starving within a month."
Alexander clenched his jaw. He knew this was coming. The Baron was patient, calculating. He wasn't going to make the mistake of a frontal assault again.
Tyrell walked up next, arms crossed. "We can't just sit here and let them squeeze us to death. What's the plan?"
Alexander took a deep breath. There was only one option left.
"We break the siege."
A Desperate Plan
The settlement gathered as Alexander stepped forward, standing on a makeshift platform near the central bonfire. The faces that looked up at him weren't just villagers anymore. They were survivors, warriors, fighters who had endured too much to go down without a battle.
"The Baron is trying to starve us out," Alexander began. "He wants us weak. He wants us desperate. He thinks that if we get hungry enough, if we run low on water, we'll give up. We'll kneel."
A murmur of anger rippled through the crowd.
"But he's wrong." Alexander's voice rang out stronger now. "Because we're not just a group of scattered men and women trying to survive. We're Emberhold. We've fought him before, and we'll do it again. But this time, we take the fight to him."
Elias grinned, cracking his knuckles. "That's what I like to hear."
"We can't match him in numbers," Alexander continued, "but we don't have to. We strike where he's weakest. His supply lines, his forward camps. If he wants to starve us, we'll make sure he suffers first."
Gareth, standing with his arms crossed, nodded. "Then we hit him where it hurts."
"We'll divide into three teams," Alexander said. "One will go after the supply depot he's using to store rations for his troops. Another will take out the patrols and messengers keeping his forces coordinated. The third will hit the dam they've built upstream to choke our water supply."
Tyrell grinned. "Finally, some proper work."
Silas, ever the strategist, nodded in approval. "This could work. If we move fast enough, we force him into action before he's ready."
Alexander met the eyes of his people. "This is our chance. If we fail, the Baron will tighten his grip even further. But if we succeed—we show him that Emberhold doesn't break."
A chorus of agreement rang through the settlement.
They would not sit and wait for death.
Striking Back
Night fell, and the teams moved.
Alexander led the assault on the supply depot, a small outpost where the Baron's forces stored food and weapons. The guards were lax, too confident that Emberhold was pinned down.
They never saw the attack coming.
Silently, Elias took down the first sentry with a knife to the throat. Marcus and Tyrell dispatched the next two before they could cry out.
Then, the real fight began.
The guards inside the depot fought back hard, but they weren't prepared for trained fighters, for men who had spent weeks honing their skills. Within minutes, the depot was ablaze, smoke rising high into the night.
At the same time, the second team, led by Gareth, ambushed a Baron patrol near the eastern road. The messengers never reached their destinations. Emberhold had just severed the Baron's communications.
The final group, under Silas, reached the makeshift dam upstream. Working fast, they broke apart the structure, letting the water rush freely once more. The next morning, when the Baron's men checked their work, they found nothing left.
The siege was breaking.
The Baron's Fury
By dawn, word of the raids had reached Baron Valtor.
His war tent was tense, filled with commanders shifting uncomfortably as their leader paced in front of the map of Emberhold.
"They destroyed the supplies?" the Baron asked, his voice calm.
Darius, standing stiffly at his side, nodded. "Burned everything. They also took out a patrol and collapsed the dam."
The Baron let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming against the table. Then, without warning, he slammed his fist into the map, knocking it to the ground.
"They mock me," he growled. "They think they can defy me."
Darius swallowed. "They've forced us to resupply from the nearest town. That'll take at least a week."
The Baron's gaze was ice-cold. "Then we take Emberhold before they can strike again."
Darius hesitated. "They'll be expecting that."
The Baron smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.
"They won't expect what comes next."
Before the Battle
Back in Emberhold, Alexander stood on the watchtower again, staring at the distant treeline. They had struck hard, but he knew the Baron wouldn't sit still.
Silas joined him, arms crossed. "We bought ourselves time. But it won't be long before he responds."
Alexander nodded. "He's coming."
Silas exhaled. "Then we better be ready."
Down below, the people of Emberhold were sharpening weapons, reinforcing walls, and preparing for the next fight.
Because this time, it wasn't just survival.
It was war.