The morning was grey, the sky overcast as Adrian sat atop his horse, surveying the assembled soldiers. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke from the morning fires. The men moved about, tightening straps, adjusting saddles, checking weapons—preparing for the march ahead. Their makeshift camp was little more than a scattering of tents and bedrolls among the sparse trees lining the road, a temporary shelter against the dangers of the night.
Adrian flexed his sore fingers against the reins. The previous day's training had left his muscles aching in a way he had never experienced before. Every motion was a reminder of his inadequacy—a dull, persistent ache that kept his thoughts sharp.
Klaus rode up beside him, his armor clinking as he adjusted his saddle. "The men are ready, my lord. The scouts have reported no sign of enemy movement."
Adrian nodded, though his thoughts remained clouded. The attack from the assassins still weighed on him. Someone wanted him dead. Someone who had the means to send trained killers into the wilderness to cut him down. The question was—who?
"Good. Then we move."
He spurred his horse forward, and the column of soldiers began its slow march. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and boots filled the silence, blending with the rustling of the wind through the trees. Adrian could feel their eyes on him—his men, watching, waiting, judging.
He had to prove himself. Not just with words, but with action.
The journey was grueling. The roads were uneven, riddled with deep grooves left by heavy wagons long past. Mud sucked at their boots, slowing their pace, while the morning chill seeped into their bones. They had to navigate dense thickets, cross shallow rivers, and keep a wary eye on the treeline.
Adrian rode among his men instead of ahead of them. He watched their faces—the exhaustion, the strain of carrying heavy packs and weapons over long distances. These were not knights. They were hardened mercenaries, professional soldiers, but they were still men. And men could break under the right pressure.
During a brief halt, Adrian dismounted and walked among them, striking up small conversations.
"How's your leg holding up?" he asked one man, a grizzled veteran wrapping a bandage around his calf.
"Had worse, my lord. Just need to keep moving."
To another, a younger recruit, he handed a small piece of bread. "Keep your strength up. Long marches will drain you faster than battle."
The recruit hesitated, then took the offering with a grateful nod. "Thank you, my lord."
Otto watched from a distance, arms crossed. He said nothing, but Adrian could see the approval in his eyes.
By mid-afternoon, the scouts returned with grim expressions.
"My lord," one of them, a wiry man named Dietrich, said as he pulled his horse alongside Adrian's. "We found something ahead. You might want to see it yourself."
Adrian exchanged a glance with Otto and Klaus before nodding. "Show me."
They rode ahead, following a winding path through the hills until they came upon a clearing. What they found there sent a chill down Adrian's spine.
A wagon lay overturned in the middle of the road, its wooden frame splintered, arrows protruding from its sides. The horses were long dead, their bodies covered in bloodied slashes. Scattered around the wreckage were bodies—men, clad in the colors of a noble house Adrian did not recognize. Their corpses were fresh, the blood still dark and glistening on the dirt.
"Raiders?" Klaus asked, dismounting and kneeling beside one of the bodies.
"Perhaps," Otto muttered, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the treeline.
Adrian dismounted and stepped closer, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. Something about the scene felt… wrong.
He crouched beside the wreckage, brushing his fingers over the fletching of an arrow lodged in the wood. The craftsmanship was too fine for simple bandits.
"No," he murmured. "This was planned."
Otto nodded. "Aye. And they didn't just kill these men. They executed them."
Adrian rose, his mind racing. The assassins were one thing. But this? This was a deliberate ambush. Someone had wanted these men dead, just as someone wanted him dead.
"We should burn the bodies," Klaus suggested. "Leave them like this, and scavengers will come."
Adrian hesitated, then nodded. "Do it. But first… search them. I want to know who they were."
By nightfall, the bodies had been laid to rest in a mass grave, the fire burning away what remained of their worldly presence. The soldiers sat around their own fires, some speaking in hushed voices, others sharpening their blades in silence. The atmosphere was tense, a heavy unease settling over them all.
Adrian sat near the main fire, staring into the flames. The faces of the dead lingered in his mind. How many more would he see before this campaign was over?
"Thinking too much again," Otto remarked as he approached and sat beside him.
Adrian sighed. "It doesn't sit right with me. That wasn't just a random attack. Someone sent those men to die."
Otto nodded. "The world is full of people who pull strings from the shadows. The question is—how many of those strings lead to you?"
Adrian exhaled slowly. "Too many."
They sat in silence for a moment before Adrian finally spoke again. "Back in my old life… things were simpler."
Otto glanced at him, waiting.
"There were wars, sure, but they weren't like this. I didn't have to worry about assassins in the night, or nobles playing games with people's lives. And if I wanted food, I could just… walk into a place and order it."
Otto smirked. "A noble who fetches his own meals? Strange world you must've come from."
Adrian chuckled despite himself. "Yeah. Strange."
He let the memories wash over him. The diner, the scent of frying bacon, the laughter of his friends as they shared old stories. It felt like a lifetime ago.
But he wasn't that man anymore.
He turned back to the fire, his expression hardening. "No matter what happens next, I can't afford to be weak anymore."
Otto clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll make sure you aren't."
As the fire crackled, Adrian let the warmth seep into his skin. He didn't know what awaited them on the road ahead, but one thing was certain—
He would be ready.
No matter the cost.