From atop the small hill at the camp’s center where the main tent was located, Hagen looked towards the distance. Rows of tents stretched over the displaced earth where there previously had been a forest, with most soldiers lazing around after the day’s march. Some of the uprooted trees were cut down to make firewood, but most of them were discarded outside the camp.

Surrounding the tents, tall earthen walls had been raised by the Geomancers, though they wouldn’t do much good without a field barrier to go along with it as they could easily be scaled by even a Crusader. As such, the walls' main purpose was to serve as a blind to those from outside. Further back, the top of some of the taller trees peeked over the walls.

Hagen directed his attention towards an opening at the walls from which a ragtag group of prisoners was dragged in chains. They were from one of Vasilis’ hidden outposts hit that afternoon, the latest in a series of attacks commanded by Lanard Olsandre.

It had been a fortnight since they arrived at the territory of Knight’s Crossing, and Lanard made good on his promise of leaving no stone unturned. Leading the Duke’s air force, he scoured the territory from above through a mix of flying Aeromancers and air riders. Not only that, the Geomancers worked every day in search of any earth vibrations that could indicate a large gathering of people.

Behind him, Lanard studied the large map atop a wooden table, a goblet of wine in hands. “It won’t be long now until we find the main hiding place.” He wore the same armor made of leather and fur that he had when he first arrived at Rochdale. Rather than staying at camp to coordinate the forces, Lanard took a more hands-on approach by flying along the rest of the scouts, though on a Dire Falcon, a much smaller beast than the large Gale Eagle.

Usually, this would be considered an unnecessary risk, given Lanard’s rank. But, given that Vasilis’ forces lacked any Warlock or air riders, the only two effective ways to fight against flying enemies, Lanard was completely safe. Sure, the enemy could shoot arrows from the ground, but those could be deflected by the Aeromancers’ Wind Shield while air riders flew too high for any arrow to reach.

“Let’s all hope so,” Hagen mused. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can disband the troops and return home.” He took one last glance at the newest group of prisoners before walking back inside the tent.

Other than Hagen and Lanard, Athalia was also there, same for Joran Skanler. Rass was the one supposed to be there, but the maniac took it upon himself to torture the prisoners, though he insisted it to be an interrogation. He had produced no useful information so far, but that didn’t stop him.

Joran scoffed, a hoarse, disgusting sound. “It surprises me that my lord already wants to go back home. Justly you who seemed so eager to fight against my cousin.”

“And I still am, you oversized pig,” Hagen shot back, not caring in the slightest for courtesy and formalities. Not with this family. It was one thing to hear about Rass’ atrocities and horrible rule from the safety of his own castle, another entirely to witness it in person.

And ever since he arrived at Knight’s Crossing, this is exactly what he’d been doing every day. Every. Single. Day.

Away from the cities, vast stretches of arable land were left unattended as most able-bodied people were either conscripted by the earl or defected towards Vasilis’ rebellion. As such, the whole region suffered from a famine that, with autumn quickly approaching, was certain to last a long time.

The inside of the cities was even worse, with guards and local lords abusing their authority. It was clear that Rass’ corruption was trickling down to those below him, turning the region into a living hell.

The last straw came when a girl, barely a decade old, propositioned one of Hagen’s soldiers for a loaf of bread. Joran’s response was that, “At least she is learning since young the value of food,” followed by a laugh, his large belly wiggling as he did so. Hagen pounced on him the next instant, and it took the combined efforts of Lanard, Athalia, and three other Paladins to disentangle the two.

Ever since then, Hagen gave up any sort of hope for the Skanlers, with Edder Skanler being the last spark of light before the complete darkness that now enveloped the family. If they all were to fall dead at night, then the world would wake up a better place to live.

Joran made to retort, but Lanard cut him off. “That’s enough. From both of you. Don’t forget what we’re here for,” he commanded, glaring at both of them.

Athalia gripped Hagen’s hand, helping him to calm down, while Joran simply scoffed but said nothing else.

“Now,” Lanard continued, “today we’ve just hit one of Vasilis’ outposts. What are the reports?”

Hagen and Athalia glanced at one another and he decided to go first. “We discovered the outpost a little after sunrise and hit it an hour later. Inside there were fifteen enemies and we managed to capture nine of them alive, while the rest died in combat. We had no casualties on our side.”

Lanard nodded. “And did we find anything useful? Something that might lead us to Vasilis’ whereabouts?”

Hagen shook his head. “The outpost commanders seem to be the only ones who know anything, and they all died either fighting or during Rass’...” He greeted his teeth. “...interrogation. Vasilis has trained them well. We also found a couple of letters, but they were all written in Old Gwynlandic, and no one is able to read it.”

“We already have more than twenty of these letters by now, and yet no one seems able to read it.” He glanced towards Joran. “Two days ago we managed to capture one of these commanders. Before dying, did she shed any light on the content of these letters?”

“Unfortunately no, my lord. Despite Rass’ best attempts, she took the secret to her grave.”

“Yes, that does seem to happen a lot,” Hagen remarked.

Joran stared back at Hagen. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that that madman cousin of yours has produced nothing but dead bodies this whole time.”

“Different from you, he’s trying his best to bring results.”

“The only result I see is the—”

“Enough!” Lanard bellowed out, banging his goblet against the table. Wine spilled out from the goblet, some of it landing on the map and seeping into the paper. “We’re here to plan our next course of action, and not argue like children.” He wiped the wine from his hand on the side of his pants. “Does anyone have anything useful to add? Something that might lead to Vasilis’ whereabouts?”

Silence reigned inside the tent, with nobody saying anything.

That’s when someone else spoke. “He must have already fled like the rat that he is.”