“I really don't like these types of tricks, you know?”

Dedrick's eyes flew past the nasty bog all around them. Although most of the land around Huetalan was arid, this small area a few hours north-west of the city sat in a basin near the largest river in the county. As a result, it collected the groundwater and turned the surroundings into a mess of muddy earth. Since the Chutwa in this area grew a lot of rice, it was a perfect environment for farming, so the whole basin had been turned into rice paddy fields, with elaborate canal systems for the water all throughout.

However, ever since the combined troops of Hueatlan and Saniya had arrived here, they had begun to construct their defenses. After Corco had reformed his army into a professional troop of commoners, he made all soldiers carry a small, extendable shovel with them. Equipped like that, they had no trouble adapting the surroundings to create an advantage for themselves.

As a result of their efforts over the past few days, the orderly rice paddy fields had been flooded and turned into an impassible swamp. Only a thin strip of elevated land between the former fields remained dry. Outside of this single east-west facing road, there was no other way for an army to reach their position, or the village behind them. However, that wasn't enough of a defense for their commander yet. Even now, their soldiers were still busy moving the earth from the fields onto the path close to their camp, where they had created a rampart of dirt, surrounded by a moat on three sides. Only the path north, into the camp and the village behind it, still remained untouched. It looked like a death trap, and Dedrick wasn't a fan.

“General, while I respect your opinion, we're only doing what we need to win,” Paec answered.

“I get that I have more of an overseer function here, and you were put in charge of the actual operations, but I can still speak my mind if I don't like something. And there isn't a thing you can do about it,” Dedrick complained. Even though he understood that Corco would need more than just one capable general in the future; even though he understood this was a good chance to get Paec some experience, he really didn't enjoy his role as guardian, especially since his ward had some nasty ideas about warfare.

“I see what you're trying to do here,” he continued. “Your enemies are gonna struggle through the moat and up the rampart to make it to our troops. They won't be able to take advantage of their larger numbers, and as they either rush through up the defenses or through the bog and past them, they will get drained of their strength and get stuck. Many will die, as retreat won't be an option. They won't only die, they'll die humiliated and impotent, with their faces in the dirt.”

“Whatever it takes to defeat the enemy,” Paec replied in an unimpressed tone.

“You know, where I come from, we have rules for war. We're not just mindlessly killing each other. I don't mind fighting an army in the way you've set up here, cause soldiers know what they're getting into. But the guys we're about to fight aren't soldiers. They're cultivators, martial artists. And any proper cultivator lives by a code. I've fought battles in a lot of countries, the experts in every culture have proven honorable and principled. Just feels wrong to kill good knights like this. Feels cheap too. Any proper man of the battlefield, whether they call themselves warriors or knights or martial artists, deserves to be treated with honor and respect.”

“In that case, you should complain to King Corco, General Dedrick,” Paec answered as he looked around impatiently. “After all, the setup for the battlefield has been inspired by King Corco's own strategies during the last war with the north.”

“Well, that does sound like Corco alright.” Dedrick sighed. “I was never been the biggest fan of Corco's strategies, you know? Even back in Arcavia, our great king always relied on one-off tricks rather than solid strategy to win our battles. Sure, these tricks might work once or twice, but eventually his enemies will wizen up to his antics. As soon as that happened, he's screwed, and all of us with him. It's better to fight in a more honorable way, with proper strategy. That way, you can win even if your enemy knows your plans. It's also better on your conscience. We're no animals after all.”

“So long as victory can be guaranteed, I think everything would be fine,” Paec replied. “Honor is for the warriors anyways, and not something a commoner like me should worry about. And as King Corco says, there is no limit to human ingenuity. Even if we rely on one-off tricks, they would last for an entire lifetime so long as we have enough of them.”

“Right, just do what you have to then.” Dedrick decided to not insist on his opinion. In the end, Paec was right. How could a commoner understand the values of a knight like himself?

“Rather than our defenses, I'm worried that the sects won't move like we expect,” Paec said, himself eager to change topics. “What do we do if they fail to take the bait we have laid out? How likely is it we are wrong?”

As they talked, they began to scale the rampart towards their camp. With Paec's heavy breathing in his ears, a casual Dedrick explained.

“Well, that depends on the accuracy of the local lady's information. If what Lady Yasimi says is true and the other side's running out of food and money, they'll have to force a fight yesterday, if they can. We've set up an advanced camp in the village after all, and we've made sure the information spreads so the sects learn about it. Once they know, there's not really an option to sit still. The consequences are too severe. If they let us establish our outpost, we can use it to strike at their own homes. Then we can attack and plunder all the undefended sects and clans in the region however much we want. What if half their alliance runs back home in response? That'd be a real blow to their unity, something their leaders can't ever allow. On the other hand, our outpost is set up long-term, so they'd know it holds a lot of food and other supplies for our campaign. That's plenty of pretty plunder for them to take. If they really lack food, and if they really want a quick battle, they have every reason to show up here.”

“And what if... they do not?” Paec repeated with an uneven, breathy voice. After they had climbed the rampart, they took a short break for the mortal to regain his composure.

“Well, worst case, we can always just retreat and make a new plan.” Dedrick shrugged. “Our scouting is much better than theirs, so I doubt they can hide the advancement of their giant army from us. That means no surprises. Also, we don't really have any reason to force a fight if things look bad. We can hold out a long time in Hueatlan. And if we run out of supplies, we can just get more from Saniya.”

“Let's hope you are right, General. However good our plans are, there are always things our enemies consider that we could never think of. Everyone knows something you do not. Those are the words of King Corco.”

“Of course they are.” Dedrick rolled his eyes. “Don't worry, I've been doing this for a while. Don't think I can't deal with some loose cultivators, no matter how honorable they are.”

Like an enticement for their enemies, the two left their footsteps in the muddy soil, up the rampart and into their camp, inviting the enemy to follow along.

After nightfall, four shadows snuck up the path towards the rampart, always following the footsteps in the mud. The ground below their feet distorted under their weight, but the moist earth somehow remained silent, as did the clothes and even the breath of the shadowy figures.

Up above the earthen elevation, the four found the army camp built inside the village, right behind the rampart. The improvised defenses of wooden poles and earth in between individual houses could be considered a decent protection against most enemies, but they proved worthless against the hidden masters.

With all the scouts Hueatlan had employed, an army could never get close to this camp, but they were no army men. Even more, were not just mere martial artists. They were masters of death, those who had dedicated their lives to the art of murder.

Once they reached the edge of the camp, they lay down into the shadows, and watched the torches of the guards march up and down the palisades. After only a few seconds, the guards had gone past their positions. However, they would remain patient. They were no amateurs. Even when they saw a chance to sneak inside, they chose to stay crouched low to the ground, their dark clothes blended into the night. They spent hours in their positions, without a single movement, and observed the guards come and go in cycles. Only when the moon was long on its way down from its zenith did they take their chance. By now they had studied the guard rotations, and knew that they had no less than ten breaths before anyone would come back. Just at that moment, the moon disappeared behind a layer of clouds. The entire world was swallowed up by darkness, and the four shadows were gone.

Before any eyes could find them again, they had already vaulted the palisade and reached the inside of the camp, silent like ghosts. In between the buildings of the village was a large number of tents, erected to house their foe's army. Although there were a few lit campfires here or there, most soldiers were fast asleep. These government forces knew that the sect alliance was about to attack them the following day, so they would try to get as much sleep as they could. At the same time, they trusted their preparations far too much, as all overconfident men did. Everything was lined up for the shadows to fulfill their mission.

Slowly, they sneaked through the camp until they reached its center. No one ever saw them even once. How could they, these simple mortals who hid behind the power of the palace? A simple official's army would never be a match for masters like them. This low-level Chatra's troops would only have a few low-quality cultivators to call upon. No matter how many weapons they bought from the Immortal Capital, they were helpless against true martial artists. Maybe they could stand up to the sect alliance in a direct war, but they would never be able to fight them one-on-one.

Soon, the four shadows had reached the center of the clumsy defensive formation. Tucked away inside were the largest and fanciest tents of the entire camp. There they would find the officers of the enemy army. No matter what sort of weapons they brought out tomorrow, the Chatra's army would stand no chance without their leaders. This was the way of the sects. Why would they ever fight with the same rules as the government officials, when they could instead win before the battle began?

After a short, silent conversation with hand signals, the shadows split up, each one off to aim for a different tent. They would need to be fast if they wanted to deal with every single officer before the guard was alerted.

While the leader shadow didn't trust his newest companions - all of them amateurs in the art of killing compared to him- he would have to trust them to increase their chances. For now, he wouldn't think too much about his new allies. He was far too busy with his own work.

The shadow took out his knife, a blade made of obsidian and covered in soot, with no shine in the dark night. Around the back of the tent, he cut an opening through the cloth, the sharp edge going through it like the moonlight breaching the clouds. Not long after, he had made his way inside, into an even darker space. Although the darkness would prohibit normal men from precise action, it wasn't the case for him, not for a master. A sudden noise from his right alerted him, and he once again stood still enough to combine with the shadows.

Neighboring tent. What are these fools doing?

From the tent next to his, he could hear first the dim sound of a struggle, and then a body drop onto the floor. Of course he knew that the others sent by the sect alliance weren't masters of death like himself, but there still was no reason to be this sloppy, was there? If the alliance had shown any sense, they would have allowed only him and his fellow sect brothers to go into this operation. Yet now he was stuck with these dilettantes. He waited a few more seconds, to make sure no one had been alerted, before he moved to the bed across the tent, where his victim was hidden away beneath a blanket.

Yet he had only taken a single step when another sudden sound made his head spin around. In the entrance, framed by the dim light of night, stood a giant figure, its arm readied in a throwing motion.

The master was surprised, but that was all. Guided by his instincts, he rolled to the side, before he heard an object bury itself into the ground behind him. Back on his feet, he sprinted over to the bed. Although he had been discovered, he could still fulfill his mission. One short stab of his poison dagger and his victim would meet his end, the shadow gone the way he had come. Some official's guard would never match the speed of a master like himself, so he remained confident.

Yet both shadows moved at the same time, and closed the distance with the bed between them.

“*%&” the giant intruder shouted in a strange, awkward tongue, and rushed ahead with a speed that should have been impossible for its size. Caught off guard, the master of death tried to speed up more, and brought the dagger down onto the resting body on the bunk. A mere finger's distance from his target, his wrist was caught by a giant hand, and squeezed with the power of a bear.

His body was yanked back by a force no lesser than the greatest martial artists. With his training focused on speed and agility, the shadow had no chance to fight back. He landed on his back, and threw the hidden sleeping sand with his left, his trump card in many fights. However, the giant only left out another string of guttural noises and dropped his body onto the master.

When the beast's knee landed between the ghost's legs, the world turned to noise, and everything began to turn. Above him, he saw a face as pale as the moon itself, sprinkled with the blood of his fellow shadows. All around him, there were sounds of alarm, as the world outside the tent was illuminated by fires.

“&%§'” the pale beast cursed. As he brought down his heavy sword, his face appeared more annoyed than angry. It was the shadow's last moment. The master of death had failed.