The Scorched Plains were quiet at first light, but Alaric could feel the subtle stirrings of life scattered across the valleys. His mercenary band had grown — now numbering nearly thirty trained squads — and the new allies from the minor outposts he had subdued had integrated under his strict guidance. Discipline and coordination were no longer just ideals; they were habits.
Alaric surveyed the target for the day: a small fortified village on the eastern ridge, controlled by a rogue lord named Cai Feng. Intelligence from scouts indicated he had roughly fifty men, moderately armed and highly confident after surviving previous raids. Their arrogance, Alaric knew, was their greatest weakness.
"Today, we do not merely fight," Alaric said to his assembled lieutenants. His voice carried authority and focus. "We demonstrate what it means to operate as one. Our victory must be complete, but precise. Every man must know his role. Hesitation will not be tolerated."
The plan was simple in concept but complex in execution. Alaric divided his forces into three groups: the frontal pressure team, the flank ambush team, and the reserve strike force, which included Alaric himself. His lieutenants understood the choreography perfectly, a reflection of weeks of rigorous training.
By midday, the rogue lord's patrols were within range. Alaric moved first, disappearing in a ripple of spatial steps, positioning himself high above the village in a ruined watchtower. His aura flowed subtly into the surrounding terrain, manipulating perception, ensuring the enemy could not sense his true position.
The frontal team advanced, triggering minor skirmishes that forced Cai Feng's men to concentrate their forces in the village center. Just as Alaric predicted, the enemy overextended their defense lines. The flank teams moved silently, cutting off escape routes and isolating key combatants.
Alaric's strike came like a shadow. With a flick of his wrist, wind and ice blades lanced through the defenses, creating chaos and fear. One of Cai Feng's lieutenants was frozen mid-step, immobilized by precision strikes to his qi paths. The villagers and guards alike fell into panic as Alaric's men pressed the attack with deadly efficiency.
Cai Feng himself tried to mount a counter attack, rallying his troops with sword and magic. But Alaric had anticipated him. Using a spatial distortion, he teleported behind the rogue lord and neutralized him with a single, clean strike. His blade didn't merely kill; it sliced through armor, shield, and qi, sending a shockwave of fear through the surviving men.
Within the hour, the village was under control. Alaric had not allowed indiscriminate slaughter — discipline among his ranks prevented unnecessary deaths — but the message was clear: defiance was meaningless.
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By dusk, Alaric addressed the combined force of mercenaries and newly integrated allies. "Every victory is built on preparation and coordination," he said. "Cai Feng's arrogance made him predictable. Learn from it. Observe, adapt, and execute. This is how battles will be won in the future. Every small village, every minor lord… they are all pieces in a larger game."
That night, Alaric's presence was felt not only by his men but also by other settlements across the plains. Whispers spread: the black-cloaked commander who moved like a shadow was turning the scattered and disorganized into a cohesive force.
Meanwhile, Alaric stood atop the ridge overlooking the village. His eyes traced the distant horizon, the mountains beyond which Ashenfall waited. Each village he brought under his influence, each bandit group subdued, was a step toward the city, but more importantly, it was a test — not only of his strength but of his ability to shape people into an army.
> The city does not yet know my name, he murmured, voice carried by the wind. But it will. And when it does, there will be no mercy, no hesitation, and no escape.
The men around him rested, but Alaric's mind was already calculating the next move — the next minor lord to approach, the next group to integrate, the next challenge to sharpen both himself and his army. The century-long campaign had begun in earnest, and he would let nothing, and no one, slow him.