The smoke still rose from the remains of the Ironbloods.
The acrid scent of burnt flesh and dried blood clung to the cold morning air, lingering as a reminder of what had transpired.
Kael sat on the rooftop of one of the village's sturdier homes, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. Every detail of the terrain beyond was scrutinized with precision.
He knew this wasn't over.
If this band of raiders had a true leader, someone would notice their absence.
And when they did… they would come looking for answers.
Kael couldn't wait for that to happen.
If the true Ironbloods were out there…
He would find them first.
The Village's Fate
Before leaving, Kael descended to the village square.
The villagers had gathered, their faces pale and drawn, their minds still reeling from the events of the day before.
They didn't know what came next.
For so long, their lives had been dictated by fear—fear of the Ironbloods, fear of losing what little they had left.
And now, that fear was gone.
But what replaced it?
The old merchant broke the silence.
"You're just going to leave us now?"
Kael regarded him with a calm expression.
"Do you want me to stay?"
The villagers exchanged uncertain glances. No one had an answer.
Kael understood their hesitation.
They wanted protection.
But they didn't want to fight for it themselves.
He sighed, crossing his arms.
"You don't need me," he said plainly. "You need to learn to protect yourselves."
The old man clenched his jaw.
"And what if they come back? What if there are more of them next time?"
A fair question.
Kael swept his gaze over the crowd. Men, women, children… they weren't warriors.
But they weren't defenseless, either.
They just didn't know it yet.
Kael pointed to the bodies of the fallen Ironbloods, still sprawled across the dirt.
"Take their weapons."
The villagers' eyes widened.
"What?"
Kael's voice was firm.
"If you want to defend yourselves, start now. Arm yourselves. Train. Prepare."
If the Ironbloods had reinforcements, they wouldn't come immediately.
It would take time for someone to notice their absence and respond.
That meant the village had days, maybe a week, to strengthen itself.
The old man studied Kael for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"We'll do it."
Kael allowed himself a faint smile.
A good answer.
He turned and began walking toward the edge of the village.
His next step was already clear.
If the Ironbloods had a leader…
He would find them.
Tracking the True Enemy
Kael unfolded the map he had taken from the dead bandits.
Most of the villages marked on it were already crossed out, likely looted or abandoned.
But one location remained untouched.
The Black Fortress.
If the Ironbloods had a stronghold, that was it.
And if there was a true leader, they would be there.
Kael studied the route carefully. Two days' journey on foot.
He wasn't going to march in as an invader.
He was going as a shadow.
Adjusting the dagger on his belt, Kael set off, disappearing into the misty morning.
Hunters stalk their prey.
But this time… the hunter was him.