The march began before sunrise.
No horns. No banners flapping in dramatic wind. Just boots—146 pairs—striking the frosted stone roads of Northreach in brutal, synchronized rhythm.
From above, on the ramparts of the Bastion, a lone scout murmured:
"They move like one body."
"They move like war," replied another.
Renard Valtierre led from the front—not beside the flagbearer, not flanked by officers.
Alone.
Cloak swept behind him like a trailing shadow, the black wolf-fang crest almost invisible in the dim haze.
Behind him:
Alpha held center—shields up, eyes forward, breathing in sync.
Omega spread wide, skirting the edges like hungry fire.
C-Team wove silent sigils across arms, blades, and the path ahead.
Phantom Squad walked invisibly, yet every soldier felt them.
The Black Sigil Knights moved like statues with purpose—cold, silent blades of the Crown.
A storm without thunder.
Renard's voice did not rise.
Instead, he gave quiet signals—fingers twitching, steps tilting, the barest shifts in posture.
[S-Class Commander Skill – Combat March Sync: 92% Efficiency][Morale Bonus: +15% | Environmental Advantage: +10% | Fog Cover: Partial – Active]
They reached the foothills of Starlight Ridge by midday.
The air smelled wrong.
Burnt resin. Iron. A battlefield waiting to be named.
Kael appeared at Renard's flank like a phantom. "Scouts report Caerenhold vanguard stationed ahead. Forward trenches. About a hundred visible."
Renard tilted his head. "And the invisible?"
"Another hundred, minimum. Standard Caerenhold misdirection. They want us to see the wrong battle."
Renard nodded once.
"Let them."
The battlefield was an open stretch of broken pine forest leading to a cliff-sheltered pass. Easy to funnel through, easier to die inside.
As the units spread and took position, a cold wind pushed through the tree line.
From the north came the Caerenhold banner—a crimson serpent swallowing its tail, rimmed in black fire.
And beneath it stood a formation of silver-armored elites, lined two deep.
Spearmen. Front-line.
Mages behind. Six of them. Stormcasters and kinetic warpers. The kind that could shift a fight in seconds.
And at the front—a woman with half her face covered in charred silver plating. A commander.
Kael swore low under his breath. "That's Highblade Cassara. Border flame doctrine. Last seen at the fall of Feldren."
Renard's eye twitched.
She pointed her blade forward.
The Caerenhold vanguard surged.
Renard didn't flinch.
He lifted his left hand, three fingers raised.
Alpha formed wall.
Omega scattered wide.
C-Team began low chants—glyphs sinking into the soil.
The fog rolled down from the ridge like breath from a sleeping god.
And then…
War began.
Alpha took the first hit—shields clashing with spearheads, the sound like temple bells shattered under boots. Branley grunted as a spear glanced off his helm. Sorell barked adjustments mid-motion. Alpha's line didn't break—it folded, absorbed, redirected.
Omega responded in kind—Kael leading a wild arc through the right flank, dragging enemy skirmishers behind him into the kill-box. Silva's flames coiled in and out of trees like vipers.
"Snap cut left!" Kael yelled. "Break their mages!"
Thorn's warhound barreled into a kinetic mage mid-cast—sending her body hurtling like a ragdoll.
C-Team cast veil illusions—phantoms of soldiers that turned the battlefield into a hall of mirrors.
Cassara frowned.
She began to realize this wasn't a standard militia.
Renard walked into the chaos without drawing his blade.
Just… walked.
His system pulsed calmly.
[Commander Instinct – Strategic Mapping: Active][Prediction Window: 8 seconds forward][Formation Integrity: 84%][Phantom Sync: Operational][Black Sigil Awaiting Orders…]
He lifted two fingers toward the hillcrest.
Veyran and the Black Sigil knights moved.
Silently. Deadly.
They intercepted Caerenhold reinforcements before they even reached the basin.
No one saw how they got there.
Half an hour in, and already fifty Caerenhold dead.
The field was holding. Barely.
But then—Cassara raised her sword and shouted in a foreign tongue.
Flames ignited in the sky.
A signal.
The ground behind her ruptured.
The second wave.
Two hundred more.
Maera, watching from the ridge with Nyra, whispered: "It's a feint. The vanguard was bait."
Renard's system flared.
[Enemy Total Strength: 290][Current Operational Force (Northreach): 146 + 25 (Black Sigil)][Win Probability in Direct Clash: 12%]
He turned to Kael, now bloodied and breathing hard.
"Get to Phantom. Collapse the left ridge."
Kael blinked. "You mean trap ourselves?"
"No," Renard said calmly. "I mean funnel them."
To Alpha: "Fall back ten paces. Break cohesion."
To Omega: "Scatter. Make them greedy."
To C-Team: "Initiate mirror veil three."
To the Black Sigil: "Hold the center. Do not move until I say."
The world became blur and motion.
And Renard moved like a whisper through it all.
Cassara's forces surged into the illusioned pass—where Alpha had "retreated" and Omega "broken."
Only to find no real soldiers.
Only to feel the fog thickening.
Only to hear the whistle of a commander's voice…
…right before the trap snapped shut.
Phantom Squad struck first. Silent blades. Precision kills. No sound.
Then the Black Sigil descended—obsidian death, without herald or scream.
And then—
Renard.
He emerged from the fog, walking forward, blade still sheathed.
Cassara stared.
"You—" she began.
She never finished.
He unsheathed the sword halfway.
It caught light once, then vanished into her ribs.
One clean draw.
[Commander Kill Registered: Cassara – Rank: A-Class]
By nightfall, the battlefield was a graveyard.
Caerenhold's second wave shattered and retreating.
Northreach stood.
Bloodied.
Exhausted.
Unbroken.
Renard stood alone in the center, his soldiers forming ranks behind him.
Veyran knelt beside Cassara's corpse, shaking his head.
"That was their probe," he murmured.
"They were testing us," Maera said.
Sorell looked at Renard.
"What now?"
Renard looked toward the mountain pass ahead.
Toward where the real army would come from.
His voice was flat.
"Now… we sharpen the knives."