The square had become a hub of activity, with soldiers and officers moving to secure the area for the potential parley. Though the revolutionaries were disciplined, the undercurrent of anticipation was palpable.

  He dismounted and quickly began issuing orders. “Clear a zone three hundred feet from the gatehouse,” he instructed a group of soldiers. “We’ll establish the meeting site there—no barricades, no weapons within the perimeter. A table and two chairs, nothing more.” We can’t risk spooking the fish if we want it to bite.

  The soldiers got to it, and within minutes, a small team was carrying a sturdy table and chairs to the designated area. Gareth ensured that the positioning allowed clear sightlines for his archers and mages stationed further back. He didn’t trust Pollus not to turn this into an ambush, blood wards or not, and he felt that the old Count would be even less likely to come to speak if he couldn’t see any hint of preparation for his arrival.

  He might even take it as an insult. He’s someone used to dealing with the barbarian tribes of the Wastes.

  As the soldiers worked, Gareth paced the perimeter, inspecting the arrangements. “Everyone else, hold back at least one hundred more feet,” he barked. “If anything seems off, I want to know immediately. No one makes a move unless ordered.”

  His men complied, not daring to step out of line with the stakes this high. It would only take a foolish soldier who thought they could kill the Count a second to mess up the whole operation.

  It wasn’t long before the table was in place, and the area around it was cleared of debris. The simplicity of the setup seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of the battered city and the ominous glow of the blood wards.

  Leonard arrived a few minutes before the agreed-upon time, immediately commanding the attention of everyone nearby.

  “We have not seen any movement from within the citadel, but I’m sure they received the message. I still think they will come.” Gareth reported.

  Leonard nodded in approval, inscrutable, and gazed toward the citadel gates in the distance.

  “They’ll come,” he agreed.

  “The orcs are in position too. They should be able to commune with the trapped spirits, but the longer we can get them, the better it is.”

  Leonard’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I will try to keep the Count talking, but if I drag it out, he’ll understand.”

  Of course, Pollus already knew it was a trap of some kind. Even Leonard’s stellar reputation as a paladin couldn’t make him believe they were asking for a parlay out of the goodness of their heart. But as long as he didn’t know what the trap was, they were good.

  They stood in silence as the tension grew with each passing minute. Leonard’s calm exterior concealed the storm brewing within, but Gareth had known him long enough to recognize the subtle signs: the measured breathing, the slight clench of his jaw. Even a powerhouse like him could still feel tense. It was reassuring, in a way. His friend was still human if he could be affected by such high stakes.

  Sometimes, he seems too perfect.

  The two-hour mark came and went, and the gates of the citadel remained resolutely closed. Whispers began to ripple through the ranks behind them as soldiers speculated on whether the Loyalists had decided to ignore the offer. Leonard didn’t move, patiently waiting. Gareth appreciated the show of confidence in his plan.

  And then, at last, the gates creaked open.

  The sound echoed across the open space, drawing the attention of every soldier in the vicinity. All movement ceased as two figures emerged from the citadel. At the forefront stood Count Pollus himself, radiating a cold, unyielding power. His hard gray eyes scanned the area with a predator’s precision, and his sallow skin only enhanced his grim, dangerous presence. This was someone who had not hesitated to send thousands of his men to their deaths, and he would do so again and again if he felt the need.

  Beside him stood a younger man whom Gareth recognized: Jeremiah D’ansan, the adjutant whose cunning was praised even among revolutionaries. He was the one who had defeated the newly knighted Sir Oliver using only his wits.

  The two walked with confidence in a calculated display. The blood wards before them flared to life as they approached, flooding the world with a crimson glow. The light pulsed like a heartbeat, and an oppressive energy weighed upon the revolutionaries’ senses. A crack formed within the wards, opening just wide enough for the two men to pass through before sealing shut again.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I’d try to strike them down if I were a more foolish man. But Pollus hasn’t reached his current position without being a monster in his own right, and Leonard was clear that we need to establish a new nation with rules and honor. Killing an enemy during a parley would make a mockery of that.

  Gareth turned to Leonard, who had yet to move. “Pollus has brought another man,” he murmured. “Do you want me to join you?”

  Leonard glanced at him, assessing the situation in a heartbeat. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll approach together.” For a brief moment, he seemed to stare in the distance, but with a sigh, he shook whatever it was off.

  As they stepped forward, Gareth could feel the eyes of both armies on them—and the innumerable amount of guns and spells ready to fly should anything at all go wrong.

  The Count and his adjutant stopped on the opposite side of the table as the crack in the wards sealed behind them. For a moment, the four men simply stood there. Then, the two leaders sat.

  Gareth took his position beside Leonard with his spear slung across his back. Opposite him, Jeremiah mirrored his stance, though his posture was more relaxed, almost casual. However, Gareth didn’t miss the sharpness in the adjutant’s dark eyes—a coiled readiness that reminded him of a predator waiting to strike.

  Leonard broke the silence, being the commander of the besieging army. Sometimes, it was useful to have such rigidly coded rules of war. A power play here to see who would break first would have been counterproductive. “Count Pollus. It is good to finally see you again.”

  The dig at his absence on the field wasn’t particularly subtle, but then again, it didn’t need to be.

  Pollus inclined his head, betraying neither warmth nor hostility. “Weiss. I see you’re as rude as ever.”

  Gareth knew that this would be more than an exchange of barbs—it was a clash of wills, a test of strength veiled in diplomacy.

  After the first probe, the two generals regarded each other in silence. Neither rushed to speak again, as if each was measuring the other. Even as a Master, Gareth couldn’t perceive all the subtle flickers of power they exchanged, but he was aware enough to know they were communicating in that strange manner Champions and above did.

  Finally, Pollus followed decorum. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to resort to diplomacy, considering your… recent successes.”

  Ah, so he’s not completely removed from reality. Some men thought he must have gone to seed to continue fighting until now, but this makes it obvious he’s fully aware of his position.

  Leonard smiled faintly. “I’d say the same about you. But even seasoned warriors understand that words can accomplish what swords cannot.”

  Gareth watched as Pollus’s thin lips curled into a semblance of a smile, though his eyes remained icy. “A pragmatic sentiment,” Pollus commented. “However, I suspect our definitions of success differ."

  Leonard leaned back slightly, relaxed yet radiating authority. “I’ve come with an offer,” he said, his voice measured. “I’ll allow you, your nobles, and soldiers to leave the city for Nassay. It’s close enough that you’d be safe within hours. However, you can only take what you can carry in your hands. The rest must remain behind.”

  Gareth noticed that Pollus’s expression barely changed, except for the slightest tightening around his eyes. The Count leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands. “A generous offer, at least on the surface,” he said. “But surely you know it’s not that simple. You stand on the brink of victory if you can get into the citadel, yes, but you must understand what comes next.”

  Leonard’s gaze didn’t waver. “What follows is the liberation of this city and its people.”

  Pollus let out a quiet chuckle, though it lacked real humor. “Liberation? Is that what you tell your men? Perhaps you’re more idealistic than I thought. But let me speak plainly, Weiss. You may win here, but it will cost you. The kind of bloody victory you’ll endure will leave you vulnerable. The Kingdom’s armies won’t stand this rebellion for long, and when they arrive, weakened as you will be, you won’t be able to hold Hetnia for a month, let alone a year.”

  Leonard’s voice remained unchanged. It wasn’t an issue they didn’t understand or were not actively trying to resolve. “And yet, I see no reason to believe you can stop me from taking this city.”

  Pollus inclined his head slightly as if conceding the point. “Perhaps not. But I can offer you something more valuable than this city—stability. Allow my men and the nobles to leave with their full possessions, and I’ll ensure no further resistance from this region. The Kingdom has enough problems without seeking vengeance for a rebellion that costs them nothing more than a poor region.”

  That’s surprising. I thought the old man would be more stubborn. But maybe he’s only saying it because he knows it’s not something we can accept. Refusing would certainly make it look like we are determined to stamp them out in front of his men, but Leonard won’t allow the slaves to go.

  The faint smile on Leonard’s lips vanished. “You mean to include the slaves in those ‘possessions.’”

  Pollus didn’t deny it. “They are the cornerstone of our economy. Without them, the nobles have no reason to honor any agreement we make here. This is the reality of our world, Weiss. You may not like it, but ignoring it will be your undoing.”

  Gareth felt a sharp spike of tension in the air, the kind that set his hand twitching toward his weapon. He glanced at Leonard, whose face had hardened like granite. He was furious.

  Leonard leaned forward, staring down the Master of the Death Pass. “That’s not something I will ever compromise on. The people you call property will no longer suffer under chains while I have the power to stop it.”

  Pollus’s gaze turned sharp, and a faint sneer curled his lips. “Then you’ve already lost. You’ll take this city in time, yes, but at what cost? Your army will bleed for it, your resources will dwindle, and when the Kingdom’s forces arrive, they will crush what remains of your so-called revolution. And those you claim to have liberated? They will pay the price for your failure.”

  The silence that followed was deafening. Gareth resisted the urge to speak, to shout at this frigid old man who saw lives as little more than pieces on a board. This wasn’t his moment.

  Leonard rose slowly from his chair. “You’re wrong, Pollus,” he said, his voice cold as steel. “The cost of victory is always high, but I’ve accepted that. I’ll take this city, blood wards and all. And when I do, it will be with the certainty that I fought for something worth dying for, unlike you.”

  Pollus stood as well, his expression unreadable. “Then I suppose we’ve reached an impasse.”

  “So it seems,” Leonard replied dismissively. “We’re done here.”

  Gareth nodded, stepping back as Leonard walked past him. He cast a final glance at Jeremiah, who watched him with a weirdly blank expression. The tension lingered as the two enemies turned and walked back toward the citadel, the blood wards parting once more to let them through.

  The crimson glow faded as the gates closed, leaving the plaza in muted silence.

  I hope the orcs got what they needed because we’re not getting them out again.