As the rest of the army marched eastward with Aszer at its helm, Aric stood silently watching their departure, the wind biting at his exposed skin beneath his mask.
The cold seemed to intensify as the king and the bulk of the forces disappeared into the horizon, leaving him with 150 soldiers in the desolate, snow-covered plains.
The settlement remained in the distance, it was faintly visible under the dusky sky.
His soldiers, now under his sole command, began preparations. Weapons were sharpened, armor adjusted, and whispered conversations moved through the camp.
Aric, quiet as always, observed them closely.
These men did not know his name, only calling him "General,". They did not understand he was their enemy, nor did they realise they marched not for the rise of Byzeth but it's fall.
It was always the same, even then he was just like them, sent to fight and die for a cause they barely understood.