The air in Valen's chamber was thick—laden with incense and the cold bite of steel from the weapons lining the shelves. The flickering candlelight barely pierced the shadows, casting jagged shapes along the walls.
Valen wasn't the kind of leader who ruled from a throne.
He was a warrior. A predator.
And Kael knew he was stepping onto dangerous ground.
He entered without hesitation, shutting the door behind him. His heartbeat was steady. In the game of manipulation, the first move was always the same.
Make the enemy trust you.
Valen's sharp eyes roamed over him, assessing every detail—the dirt on his tunic, the dried blood on his cloak, the calm in his expression.
Then, a slow, knowing smirk.
"You came back alone."
Kael tilted his head slightly. "Seems the ambush turned against us."
Valen didn't react immediately. He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid move before taking a slow sip.
"And the others?"
Kael exhaled, stepping closer to Valen's heavy wooden desk, resting his hands on its surface.
Lying outright would be foolish.
But the truth could be… shaped.
"Dead. Cut down before they had a chance to fight back."
Silence.
And then Kael set the bait.
"Someone warned the caravan we'd be there."
The reaction was instant.
Valen's gaze darkened, his grip on the glass tightening slightly. Kael could feel the shift in his thoughts—suspicion creeping in, calculation sharpening behind his eyes.
Doubt.
Distrust.
Rage.
Exactly what Kael needed.
The First Seed of Betrayal
Valen leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the wood.
"You're saying we have a traitor?"
Kael folded his arms. "All I know is what I saw. They were waiting for us. The attack was too precise. Too fast. That wasn't luck."
He didn't need to name suspects.
Valen's own paranoia would do the work for him.
And paranoia was the first crack in the foundation of any empire.
Valen sat in silence, his expression a mask of cold calculation. Then, he stood.
"This changes everything."
Kael hid his satisfaction behind a neutral expression.
The seed was planted.
Dividing the Wolves
In the days that followed, Kael watched the Ironbloods turn on each other.
Whispers of betrayal spread like a disease, infecting even the most loyal.
Old rivalries resurfaced.
Men who once fought side by side began watching their backs, searching for enemies among their own.
Kael didn't need to lift a finger.
The fortress was rotting from within.
But he wasn't done. He worked in the shadows, planting doubts in the minds of the right men—mercenaries who resented their place, warriors who felt overlooked, criminals who whispered that Valen was losing his grip.
He fed them carefully chosen words.
He let them believe the real problem was leadership.
That Valen was weak.
And soon, without ever drawing his blade, Kael had begun shaping his own rebellion inside the Black Fortress.
And Valen had no idea.
The Final Move
Everything was falling into place.
The Ironbloods were divided.
Valen's paranoia grew with each passing day.
And the Shadow Dawn was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Kael just needed to deliver the killing blow.
He made his way through the fortress's black market, slipping through the dimly lit alleys where contraband and whispered deals thrived.
He found the man he was looking for—a smuggler with loose morals and even looser lips.
And he handed him a message.
One simple note.
A name.
A name that would reach Valen's ears before sunrise.
The name of one of Valen's most trusted lieutenants.
A man who had never betrayed him.
But now, Valen would believe he had.
The Chaos Begins
Like a spark in dry brush, the fire spread fast.
Valen read the message.
Within the hour, his own lieutenant was dragged into the dungeons, bound in chains, accused of treason.
Tortured.
Interrogated.
The other lieutenants panicked.
No one knew who to trust. No one felt safe.
The Black Fortress was turning on itself.
And in the midst of it all, Kael watched.
Waiting.
Preparing for the checkmate.