Chapter 8: Rising Through the Ranks
Alaric sat by the campfire, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on his face. The other troops were laughing and gloating about the day's success, but Alaric remained motionless, lost in meditation. His accomplishment on the battlefield had not gone unnoticed. The men respected him, and the officers had come to look to him for advice. But his thoughts was never far from the broader purpose. Each skirmish, each step he took, was part of a broader plan. He would ascend through the ranks, not for glory, but for the power to reclaim what had been stolen from him.
His climb had began softly, as most things in his life did. No dramatic announcements or fanfare—just quiet competence, an unwavering focus that set him apart from the others. The soldiers followed him because they thought he would lead them to triumph. The officers took notice because he made their duties simpler. And now, after months of battle, Alaric was no longer just another nameless soldier. He was becoming someone significant again.
The conflict continued to rage, and with every skirmish, Alaric distinguished himself further. He had a genius for strategy, an ability to view the battlefield not just as it was, but as it could be. He predicted the enemy's actions, exploited the environment, and transformed seemingly impossible situations into victory. His fame increased, and with it came additional duties.
It wasn't long before word of his achievements reached the ears of General Thorne, a seasoned leader who had dedicated his life in service to the kingdom's army. Thorne was known for his unshakeable commitment to the monarch and his merciless efficiency on the battlefield. He was not a guy who gave trust readily, and yet, he had heard of Alaric's rising fame.
One evening, as the soldiers prepared for another day of marching, Alaric was summoned to the general's tent. He wasn't surprised—he had known this moment would come. The upper ranks had taken notice of his successes, his leadership, and now, it seemed, he was ready to meet the man who controlled the army's destiny.
The tent was huge, its interior sparingly furnished with maps and military equipment. General Thorne sat at a table, scrutinizing a chart of their current campaign. He was an older guy, his face worn by years of battle, yet his eyes were bright, vigilant. He looked up as Alaric entered, motioning for him to sit.
"So," Thorne continued, his voice gruff but calm, "you're the one they've been talking about. The soldier who sees the battlefield differently."
Alaric sat down, meeting the general's gaze without hesitation. "I've had success, yes. But it's the men around me that make it possible."
Thorne raised an eyebrow, surprised by the humility, though he wasn't fooled. He had seen men like Alaric before—ambitious, determined, but there was something different about this one. Something deeper. Thorne leaned back in his chair, watching him for a time before speaking again.
"I've been watching you, Alaric," Thorne replied, his voice softer now. "You've risen quickly. Men like you don't stay at the bottom for long, but I want to know what motivates you. Is it glory? Power? Or anything else?"
Alaric's jaw stiffened. He had learned long ago that exposing too much could be perilous, but Thorne was not a man who could be simply lied to. He would see through any false pretense.
"It's justice," Alaric responded, his voice steely. "I've been wronged, and I'm looking to make it right. But to do that, I need the strength to fight back."
Thorne's eyes sharpened, attracted by the honesty. "And this wrong you speak of—does it involve the Valemont name?"
Alaric's heart skipped a beat. The name he had sought to bury, to keep from these individuals, had emerged in the most unexpected way. Of course, Thorne would know. A guy like him would have heard of the demise of the Valemont family, of Alaric's humiliation. The general hadn't summoned him out of curiosity—he had known exactly who Alaric was all along.
"I see you've heard the stories," Alaric remarked, his voice carefully controlled. "But what you've heard isn't the truth."
Thorne offered a tiny nod. "Stories are often only half-truths. I've heard you were expelled, robbed of everything. That kind of tumble may destroy a man. But it seems it's made you stronger."
Alaric met the general's gaze, his resolve solid. "I'll do whatever it takes to reclaim what's mine."
Thorne regarded him for a long while, then eventually spoke. "Loyalty is what matters most in this army. Not just to the crown, but to the men who fight beside you. I've seen what you can do on the battlefield, and I believe you have what it takes to lead. But know this, Alaric—power won here isn't simply about tactics and triumphs. It's about trust. Earn mine, and there's no limit to how far you can rise."
The words hung in the air, and Alaric recognized the weight of them. This wasn't just an opportunity—it was a test. If he could earn Thorne's trust, if he could prove his commitment to the men and to the general, his road to power would be obvious. And once he had that power, he would use it to eliminate Edwin.
"I understand," Alaric answered, his voice firm. "And I will not fail."
Thorne nodded, satisfied with the explanation. "Good. We'll see how you fare in the next days. There's a huge offensive planned—one that could shift the trajectory of this conflict. I'll be looking closely."
Alaric stood, the fire inside him glowing brighter than ever. The way to restoring his honor was before him, and now, he had a formidable friend. But trust was a fragile thing, and Alaric knew that his every move from now on would be examined. One error, one failure, and he could lose everything.
As he left the general's tent and went to the camp, Alaric had a sense of purpose that he hadn't felt since before his banishment. This war was no longer just about survival—it was about redemption. And with General Thorne's trust, he would climb through the ranks, until the day he could finally return and make Edwin pay for what he had done.