Capítulo 12: Chapter 12: The Master’s Dance
The dawn came with the whispers of war. The southern front, usually quiet except for the occasional patrol or sparring session, was alive with activity. Soldiers moved with purpose, their faces a mix of determination and anxiety. Banners snapped in the wind, and the clang of armor being fitted echoed through the fortress. The time had come to face the demon army, a force that had long threatened the kingdom's borders, and all eyes were on Froi Crownbane to lead them.
It was Froi's duty to command this battle, as it had been his father's before him, and he embraced that duty with the pride born of noble blood. But there was something different today—a subtle shift in the atmosphere that even a man as proud as Froi could not ignore. This time, he was not alone in crafting the battle plan. Julian Edelman, the so-called "Hero," had been whispering in his ear for days, offering suggestions that, on the surface, seemed like sound advice. Yet, there was something about Julian's words that lingered, something that made even a man like Froi pause and wonder.
The final strategy meeting before the battle had been nothing short of remarkable. Julian had presented his ideas with a nonchalance that belied their brilliance.
"Use the terrain to our advantage. Force the demons to march through the narrow pass. Their numbers will mean nothing if they can't bring them all to bear at once."
"And when they finally reach the open field?" Froi had asked, his tone skeptical but intrigued.
"We whittle them down. Hit them with ranged attacks, then draw them into traps laid in the ravine. By the time they reach the wall, they'll be too weakened to fight effectively. A few well-placed troops can mop up what's left."
Froi had nodded, impressed despite himself. The plan was solid, but it was the way Julian presented it—as if he were merely tossing out ideas rather than dictating the course of the battle—that made Froi agree to it. After all, it would look as if Froi had come up with the strategy himself, enhancing his already sterling reputation. Julian had made sure of that.
The meeting had ended with stunned silence. The soldiers, Asha Garland, and even Froi himself were left staring at Julian as if seeing him for the first time. The young hero had spoken with a depth of understanding that belied his age, weaving strategies that took into account not just the immediate threat but every conceivable shift in the battlefield. He was playing a game of chess where everyone else had been content with checkers.
"Is he really as young as he looks?" one of the soldiers had whispered as they left the room.
Asha had merely narrowed her eyes, her stoic expression betraying nothing, but even she had her doubts. There was something unsettling about how effortlessly Julian seemed to predict the course of events.
The fortress buzzed with anticipation that evening. Soldiers gathered in the mess hall for what could be their last meal, sharing stories, jokes, and the occasional nervous glance. The clatter of wooden bowls and the murmur of voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet dread of what awaited them beyond the walls. But amid the noise, Julian sat alone, perched on the edge of the fortress wall, staring out at the darkening horizon.
The wind tugged at his cloak, but he seemed unbothered by the chill. His eyes, normally so full of warmth and false cheer, were cold and calculating as they surveyed the landscape. He could see the distant flicker of the demon campfires, could almost feel the tension brewing among the enemy ranks. Tomorrow, this place would be a battlefield. Blood would soak the earth, and bodies would litter the ground. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"So, this is where you've been hiding."
Julian didn't turn at the voice. He didn't need to. Froi Crownbane's presence was unmistakable, his tone carrying that casual authority of a man who rarely had to explain himself. He walked over and leaned against the wall next to Julian, his gaze following Julian's to the enemy lines.
"Enjoying the view?"
Julian shrugged. "Just thinking about tomorrow. It's going to be quite the spectacle."
Froi chuckled, a low, amused sound. "You sound like you're looking forward to it."
Julian's smile was faint, almost imperceptible. "In a way, I am. There's something exhilarating about the anticipation before a battle, don't you think?"
Froi nodded, though his expression turned more serious. "I've seen a lot of battles, Julian. The anticipation is one thing, but the reality... that's something else."
"Is that wisdom talking?" Julian's tone was light, teasing even, but there was an edge to it.
"Experience," Froi corrected. "Wisdom comes later, after you've lived with the consequences."
Julian hummed in response, his eyes never leaving the horizon. Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the fortress preparing for war. It was Froi who eventually spoke again, his voice quieter, more thoughtful.
"I heard you and Amira grew close during your time in the capital."
Julian finally turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Are you asking if I'm sleeping with her, or if you should be jealous?"
Froi's laugh was genuine this time, deep and hearty. "Jealousy is reserved for real love, Julian. We both know our marriage is a political arrangement. But Amira... she's a good girl. I can't help but care for her."
Julian considered this for a moment before replying. "She's fine. Fragile in some ways, but strong in others."
Froi nodded, as if that was all he needed to hear. He pushed away from the wall, stretching his arms. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. You should get some sleep, Julian. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."
Julian didn't respond, simply watching as Froi walked away, his footsteps fading into the night. Left alone, Julian turned his gaze back to the empty battlefield, his mind already playing out the events to come. Froi Crownbane, the man so revered by his soldiers, was little more than a pawn in Julian's eyes. A capable pawn, certainly, but a pawn nonetheless.
"Simple human," Julian whispered to the night, his voice barely audible over the wind. "You've no idea what you're dealing with."
Tomorrow, the world would see the results of Julian's planning. The demons would march, the battle would be fought, and Froi would lead his troops as the hero everyone believed him to be. But it would be Julian's brilliance guiding the way, his deception shaping the outcome. Every victory, every casualty, every strategic decision would trace back to him, the mastermind pulling the strings behind the scenes.
He leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Let Froi take the credit. Let the soldiers sing his praises. In the end, it was all part of Julian's game—a game he intended to win, no matter the cost.
The night deepened, and the stars blinked down from the heavens, indifferent to the machinations of men. Tomorrow, they would bear witness to the dance of war—a dance orchestrated by the Deceiver himself.
And when it was over, Eteria would never be the same.
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