The retreat back to the Fortress of Discipline was less hurried than the attack, but far more tense. They were no longer running from the war; they were now active participants, and their cargo—the captured sergeant—was a dangerous liability.
They forced the sergeant, a scarred, middle-aged man named Harrick, to walk ahead of the wagon. He was trussed tightly and kept under the constant watch of Doran's pike and Tova's fierce, unwavering gaze.
Upon reaching the gorge, they followed their established protocol: Tova immediately saw to the mules, Mira checked Harrick's wounds and gave him a powerful sedative to prevent escape, and Doran stood sentry.
Aris and Lenn went straight for the information.
They led Sergeant Harrick deep into the hidden cave, securing him to a support beam. The cave was cold and dry, smelling faintly of wolf fur and dried herbs—a stark, unsettling environment.
"We are not bandits," Aris began, placing the Westvale short sword on a rock beside Harrick's head. "We are former Penal Legion. We seek information, not death. Cooperate, and you live. Lie, and we leave you for the wolves."
Harrick was a man of the North, bred on iron discipline. He glared at Aris, his face set in defiance. "I took an oath, boy. I tell you nothing."
"Your oath was to the King," Lenn spoke up, his small voice surprisingly sharp as he consulted the captured field compass and maps. "The King sent you and your company to die, Sergeant. That iron ore was high-priority. Yet your escort was minimal. Why? Because Northwatch is stretched thin, and your life, like ours, is cheap."
Lenn leaned closer. "But we know your route. We know your codes. We know your family lives near the Blackwater Farms settlement, which, according to this map, is directly in the path of the encroaching Westvale Third Legion."
Harrick's eyes flickered. Blackwater Farms was his life.
"We can use our knowledge of patrol movements to send a warning," Aris offered, watching Harrick's face keenly. "We can get a message through. Your loyalty is useless if your family is dead."
The Sergeant stared at the group of children—the cold leader, the sharp-eyed intellectual, the fierce protector, the silent healer, and the giant guard. This was not chaos; this was calculated power.
Harrick broke.
"What do you want?" he grunted.
"Everything," Aris replied.
Gained Intelligence
Over the next twelve hours, Aris, with Lenn guiding the questions, systematically extracted every piece of useful military intelligence from Harrick.
The key revelations shifted Aris's strategic thinking:
The Northern Weakness: Harrick confirmed that the heavy armor of the Westvale cavalry was suffering massive attrition in the muddy foothills. The Westvale advance was grinding to a halt, forcing them to rely on human wave assaults and supply pushes.
The Eastmarch Threat: The most immediate danger to Northwatch wasn't Westvale's main force, but Eastmarch's naval infiltration. King Reynard's marines were landing small, highly trained shock troops along the River Shard—the very region near their fortress—to sabotage Northwatch's meager river supply depots.
The Critical Choke Point: The central Northwatch garrison at Stonegate Keep was severely undermanned and running low on food. Northwatch Command was routing a high-value, poorly guarded food shipment (grain and cured meat) directly to Stonegate in two days, relying on its speed to get past Eastmarch skirmishers. This shipment was carrying enough food to last Stonegate a month.
"This changes everything," Aris murmured, looking at the scribbled coordinates Lenn had marked on a scavenged map.
"We need that food, Aris," Tova stated, her eyes fixed on the map. "Our grain stores are low, and the wolf meat won't last forever."
"More than food," Aris corrected. "If Stonegate falls, the entire northern defense collapses, and the war floods the whole region. But if we take that food, we not only feed ourselves, but we force Northwatch to expose another supply route."
They had a choice: target the smaller, safer Eastmarch landing troops, or take a massive risk for a massive reward.
"The Stonegate shipment is heavily guarded," Harrick warned, his voice weak. "They'll send at least twenty men, maybe thirty. Standard infantry."
Aris looked at his unit: five children, two mules, and one stolen wagon. Against thirty professional soldiers.
"We are five," Aris stated calmly. "But we have the element of surprise, better intelligence, and no chains."
He turned back to Harrick. "We will send your message to Blackwater Farms, Sergeant. But we will send it after our next mission is complete. You will remain here."
The next morning, the Iron Fang prepared for their most dangerous mission yet. They consolidated their iron ore (their new currency), reinforced the pike with the captured shortsword hilts, and packed only the bare essentials.
Aris stood at the mouth of the cave, addressing his unit.
"This is not a raid," Aris stated. "This is an acquisition. Lenn has the route. Mira will scout the terrain. Tova will manage the diversion. Doran, you will draw their fire. And I will take the prize."
He looked at Doran, his shield, his most vital asset. "We will fight their numbers with our focus. No hesitation. No mercy. We move."
The Iron Fang rode out, leaving behind a captive sergeant, a fortified cave, and the bodies of their early victims. They were chasing the biggest supply haul of the war, ready to challenge the might of Northwatch directly.