The Black Fortress loomed on the horizon like a scar etched into the earth.
It was a monstrosity of stone and metal, its thick walls and spiked towers glowing faintly in the dark, illuminated by the torches that lined its perimeter.
This wasn't just a base.
It was a kingdom of fear.
Kael crouched in the shadows of the forest, his sharp eyes studying every detail.
Two main gates. Armed guards. A steady stream of people—merchants, messengers, and warriors—flowing in and out.
This wasn't just a hideout.
It was the nerve center of the Ironbloods' empire.
Kael couldn't simply attack.
No. He needed to infiltrate.
And to do that, he would have to become one of them.
With a deep breath, Kael stepped out of the shadows and began walking directly toward the main gate.
The First Obstacle
The guards at the front gate were towering brutes clad in reinforced leather armor, long swords hanging from their hips.
They weren't there for show.
These were mercenaries—hardened warriors who would cut down anyone they didn't like without hesitation.
Kael kept his stride confident, his expression cold and calculating.
Rule One of Infiltration:
Never hesitate. Never look lost. Never ask for permission.
One of the guards stepped forward, blocking his path.
"Who the hell are you?"
Kael stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms.
"I'm the guy who killed one of yours and decided it was worth taking his place."
The second guard raised an eyebrow.
"You're joking, right, kid?"
Now came the real test.
Kael reached into his tunic and pulled out a simple iron necklace.
It was the one he had taken from the corpse of the bandit he interrogated.
Each official member of the Ironbloods wore one.
The fact that Kael had it meant someone had died for him to take it.
The guards exchanged glances.
The first scratched his chin, his gaze narrowing as he examined Kael.
"You killed one of ours… and instead of running, you came here?"
Kael gave a faint smirk.
"Run? Why? I did you a favor. If one of your men was weak enough to die by my hand, he didn't belong here in the first place."
Silence.
Then, laughter.
The first guard clapped the second on the shoulder.
"I like this guy."
He turned back to Kael.
"If you're as good as you say, go prove it. Straight to the boss."
Perfect.
Kael nodded and walked through the gates as if he'd always belonged there.
The first barrier had been breached.
Now, the real game began.
The Serpent's Den
Inside the Black Fortress, chaos reigned in organized form.
Men sharpened their weapons, drank heavily, or gambled around makeshift tables. Merchants hawked everything from crude swords to poisons to human slaves.
This wasn't just a bandit hideout.
It was an empire of crime.
Kael moved through the crowd like a shadow, his presence unassuming yet deliberate.
He didn't meet anyone's gaze.
But he listened.
Every conversation. Every whisper. Every boast and complaint.
Each piece of information was a thread to unravel the fortress from within.
And then…
He felt it.
A presence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
It wasn't like the crude power of the brutes outside.
This was refined, dangerous, calculated.
Valen.
The Meeting with Valen
The leader's chamber was on the top floor of the fortress, guarded by two men armed with spears.
Unlike the gate guards, these weren't just muscle.
Kael could feel the spiritual energy coursing through them.
They were cultivators.
If he tried anything now, they'd kill him before he reached the door.
But Kael didn't need to fight.
Not yet.
The guards glared at him.
"What do you want with the boss?"
Kael held up the iron necklace again.
"I heard he likes to know when the weak are culled."
The guards exchanged looks before one rapped on the heavy door.
"Boss, there's a guy here who says he killed one of ours."
A pause.
Then, a voice—calm, deep, and commanding.
"Let him in."
The door creaked open.
Kael stepped inside.
And finally, he saw Valen.
The Lord of the Black Fortress
Valen wasn't like the others.
He wasn't a thug or a simple brute.
He was a warrior—a survivor.
And Kael knew instantly…
This man wouldn't be deceived easily.
Valen lounged in a black leather chair, his feet propped on a table cluttered with maps and reports.
He was tall and broad, his body marked with scars that told stories of countless battles. His eyes—sharp and calculating—fixed on Kael the moment he entered.
The leader of the Ironbloods took a slow sip from a goblet of wine before speaking.
"So… you killed one of mine?"
Kael crossed his arms.
"He was weak. I figured I'd find a better spot here."
Silence.
Then, Valen smiled—a predator's grin.
"I like men with initiative."
He pointed at Kael.
"But words are cheap. You'll prove your strength here and now."
Kael didn't flinch.
He had expected this.
Valen snapped his fingers, and the door behind Kael opened again.
Two men entered.
Two armed cultivators.
Kael glanced at them, his expression neutral.
"You want a place among us?" Valen said, leaning forward, his grin widening. "Then earn it."
The test wasn't over.
It had just begun.
Kael adjusted his stance, his fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger.
The first cultivator stepped forward, his blade gleaming.
Kael smirked.
"Let's get started."