Chapitre 10: Chapter 10: One year time skip
The camp was alive with the hum of conversation and the sharp clang of hammers against iron. Fires crackled in scattered circles where mercenaries shared drinks and stories, their voices cutting through the chill of the evening air. Hadrian now Thirteen walked among them, his strides steady, his face calm yet unreadable. Though only thirteen, he no longer carried the awkwardness of a boy. His movements were measured, deliberate, and his gaze carried a weight that made even the most seasoned fighters pause. Hadrian's arm was covered by a dark black rag to keep the secret of his regeneration going.
"Oi, Hadrian!" a voice called out. It was Gregor, a burly Scythian with a braided beard and arms like tree trunks. He grinned, raising a mug of mead. "You going to tell us how you pulled off that stunt at Valchik Hill?"
The others around the fire laughed and turned to look at Hadrian. Skyles was there too, leaning back on his elbows with a sly grin. "Oh, let him keep his secrets, Gregor. He likes being mysterious."
Hadrian stopped by the fire, glancing at them with a faint smirk. "What's there to tell? You saw what happened."
"Yeah, we saw you outthink those goblins like they were toddlers," another mercenary chimed in. "But how'd you know their leader would retreat if we circled from the east? No one else would've thought of that."
Hadrian shrugged, leaning on the haft of his spear. "It was obvious. The hill blocked their view of the ridge, so they didn't see us setting up. Once the eastern group moved, they panicked. That's all there was to it."
"All there was to it, he says," Gregor scoffed, shaking his head. "You saved our hides that day, kid. Don't downplay it."
Another mercenary, a wiry Anatolian named Darius, raised his cup in Hadrian's direction. "To the smallest commander with the biggest brain! If you keep this up, we'll have to start bowing when you walk by."
Laughter rippled through the group, though it was undercut by genuine respect. Hadrian didn't laugh, but the smirk lingered. He'd grown used to their teasing—teasing that masked admiration. They'd followed him into battle more times than he could count, and each time, he'd brought them out alive. That was enough.
Skyles tilted his head toward Hadrian, his grin sharpening. "What's that look on your face, eh? Don't tell me you're getting a big head now. That helmet of yours is already tight enough."
Hadrian shot him a glance, his tone dry. "Someone has to keep you in line, Skyles."
The group erupted into more laughter, the camaraderie tangible in the firelight. Despite his youth, Hadrian had earned his place among them. He was no longer just the boy they'd taken from the battlefield a year ago—he was one of them.
Hadrian continued making his way towards Kazimir's hut "get inside boy its freezing"
The smell of leather and ink filled the air as Hadrian stepped into Kazimir's tent. Maps were spread across a wide wooden table, weighed down by small iron figurines representing troops, fortifications, and siege engines. Kazimir stood over the table, his rugged face illuminated by the flickering glow of a nearby lantern. His scarred fingers traced the lines of a map, marking potential routes and ambush points with a practiced ease.
"You're late," Kazimir said without looking up.
Hadrian shrugged, stepping closer. "You say that every time."
"And you still haven't learned to be on time," Kazimir replied, finally glancing at him. Despite the sharpness of his words, there was a flicker of amusement in his pale eyes. "Sit."
Hadrian obeyed, taking the seat opposite Kazimir. The older man straightened, crossing his arms as he studied the boy. "You've come a long way, Hadrian. A year ago, you barely knew how to hold a sword. Now you're outthinking goblin warbands and leading cavalry charges."
"You don't sound impressed," Hadrian said, though his tone was calm.
Kazimir snorted. "I am. But don't let it go to your head. You've got a knack for tactics, sure, but strategy? That's a different beast entirely."
Kazimir leaned forward, pointing to the map between them. "Here's a scenario for you. Imagine this is your village." He tapped a figurine shaped like a small fort. "You've got a band of goblins here." He moved a cluster of crude, green-painted figures to the map's eastern edge. "And here." Another cluster was placed to the west. "They've cut off your supply lines, and they're waiting to starve you out. What do you do?"
Hadrian frowned, leaning closer to study the map. "How many men do I have?"
"Not enough," Kazimir said bluntly. "Let's say… fifty. A militia, not soldiers. No siege equipment, no cavalry. Just you and a bunch of farmers with spears."
Hadrian's fingers brushed his chin as he considered the pieces. "The eastern band is closer to the village," he said after a moment. "I'd bait them with a small force, just enough to make them think we're desperate. Once they're drawn out, I'd ambush them with the rest of the militia."
Kazimir tilted his head. "And the western band?"
"They'll hear the fighting and think we've committed all our forces. I'd send a few scouts to harass them—cut off their retreat, burn their supplies, make them panic."
Kazimir was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. Finally, he nodded. "Not bad. But you're assuming the eastern band will fall for your bait."
"They're goblins," Hadrian said simply. "They're not known for their restraint."
Kazimir chuckled, shaking his head. "You're not wrong. But remember, Hadrian—every plan falls apart eventually. You need to be ready for that. Always have a backup. And a backup for your backup."
Hadrian nodded, his expression thoughtful. He knew Kazimir was right. Tactics were about the moment, the immediate decisions that turned the tide of battle. Strategy was the long game, the threads woven before the fighting even began.
"Speaking of the long game," Kazimir said, his tone shifting. He picked up a small, plain figurine and set it on the map near the village fort. "I've got a job for you."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "What kind of job?"
"A village, about a day's ride from here," Kazimir said. "It's under Scythian protection, but barely. They've been dealing with goblin raids, poor harvests, and low morale. The place is falling apart."
"And you want me to fix it?" Hadrian asked, his tone cautious.
Kazimir smirked. "Not alone. Skyles will handle the administrative side of things—food, supplies, keeping the villagers from tearing each other apart. But the militia? The defenses? That's on you."
Hadrian leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing. A village. A base of operations. A chance to prove himself not just as a fighter, but as a leader. But more than that, it was an opportunity—a step closer to the power he craved.
"What's the catch?" he asked finally.
Kazimir's smirk widened. "The catch is, if you fail, the village burns, and we lose our foothold in the region. No pressure."
Hadrian's lips quirked into a faint smirk of his own. "I won't fail."
Kazimir studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Good. You leave at dawn. Get some rest—you're going to need it."
The morning was crisp and clear, the sun barely cresting the horizon as Hadrian adjusted the straps of his pack. The village gates loomed ahead, flanked by a small group of mercenaries Kazimir had assigned to escort him. Among them was Skyles, leaning against a horse with his usual easy grin, his fur-lined cloak draped carelessly over his shoulders.
"Look at you," Skyles said, his tone teasing. "All serious and brooding like some tragic hero. You'll scare the villagers before we even get there."
Hadrian rolled his eyes as he approached, pulling himself into the saddle of his horse with a practiced motion. "Someone has to take this seriously. Not that I expect you to understand."
Skyles feigned a wounded look, pressing a hand to his chest. "You wound me, Hadrian. You think I don't care about our poor, starving villagers?"
"I think you care more about your wine ration," Hadrian shot back, earning a snicker from one of the mercenaries nearby.
As the group began to move, Skyles pulled his horse alongside Hadrian's, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Seriously, though. You've got this. The militia listens to you, the mercs respect you, and Kazimir wouldn't have put you in charge if he didn't think you could handle it."
Hadrian glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "You mean Kazimir wouldn't have put me in charge if I wasn't expendable."
Skyles laughed, though there was a note of unease in his voice. "Well, you're not wrong. But that's Kazimir for you. Trust is a currency, and he doesn't give it away for free. You've earned more than most, though. Don't forget that."
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The journey to the village.
It was uneventful at first, the small party riding in companionable silence as the landscape shifted from rolling plains to dense, shadowed forests. Hadrian rode at the front, his posture straight, his eyes scanning the treeline for signs of danger. Behind him, Skyles and the other mercenaries exchanged jokes and idle chatter, their voices a welcome distraction from the tension of the road.
It wasn't until they neared the outskirts of the village that Skyles nudged his horse closer to Hadrian's, breaking the silence with a grin. "So, what's the plan, oh fearless leader? Going to charm the villagers with your winning smile?"
Hadrian snorted, shaking his head. "The plan is to assess the situation, fix what I can, and not waste time on things I can't control."
"Spoken like a true pragmatist," Skyles said, his grin widening. "But don't forget—you're dealing with people, not chess pieces. A little charm wouldn't hurt."
Hadrian shot him a sidelong glance, his tone dry. "If I need lessons in charm, I'll let you know."
The group fell into silence again as the village came into view. It was small, nestled in a clearing surrounded by thick forest, its wooden palisades weathered and in need of repair. Smoke rose lazily from a few scattered chimneys, but the place had an air of quiet desperation, its streets almost eerily empty.
Hadrian's jaw tightened as they approached the gates. This was his first real test, and he had no intention of failing.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone