Metal sword ripped through human flesh.

Sophia pulled her blade out and wiped the stain on it on a piece of cloth before returning the weapon to her belt.

A bloody corpse was in front of her. It was covered with slashes and cuts from top to bottom. It was once a Sullivan prisoner. Not anymore.

Sophia’s face was pale, and she gently raised her hand to cover her mouth, as if she was going to throw up, but she didn't throw up. In fact, instead of turning away as her nature suggested, she forced herself to stare directly at the gory wounds on the corpse. Her nature resisted it, but she forced herself to enjoy it.

Jerry wasn’t the only one in fear. Sophia was afraid as well. Patel had the support of most of the teens. He is the virtual leader of the alliance. Great. He would certainly do his best to protect her. But Sophia refused to rest her fate at the hands of someone else. Even if the alliance wasn’t a tiny lifeboat in the storming ocean, about to be tipped over anytime, she felt like she needed to do whatever she could do make herself more capable of defending herself.

The memories of being imprisoned and tortured by that Sullivan advisor lingered in her head. That experience was even worse than death. She would do everything possible to keep that from happening to her again. Everything...including forcing herself to turn from a schoolgirl to a maniac who enjoyed blood...just because it meant a greater chance of surviving.

But mutilating the body and getting used to bloodshed was just one of the steps. Sophia turned and walked out of the tent. She made her way to a large field, where Raymond was waiting.

The man smiled and took a step back. Two of his militias stepped forward. Instead of holding a spear, they were holding sticks.

Sophia nodded gently at Raymond in gratitude before picking up a stick as well. She weighed the stick in her hand before walking toward the two militias. She attacked, and the two militias retaliated.

Although they were using sticks, the militias, under Sophia’s specific requests, weren’t going easy on her. They struck heavily and their sticks left mark after mark on Sophia’s body, but Sophia kept on going. Finally, when the sound of sticks hitting other sticks and human body died down, when Sophia finally collapsed, exhausted, the two militias backed off.

“You’re growing stronger. Impressive.” Raymond congratulated as he clapped slowly. “You know, I can never do something like this. I don’t like pain, but still, color me impressed.”

“I don’t like pain either, but if we’re really going to fight in a battle without an overwhelming advantage, we’re going to need much more than a blast of courage. We will need skills and endurance.” Sophia replied as she laid back on the ground. Her entire body hurt like hell. “I talked to some of the guys that fought in the front. Almost all of them would have been killed if their militias didn't save them in time. That won’t happen again if it’s our forces that are outnumbered.”

Raymond suddenly paused. “But do we really have to fight those Sullivans?”

“What?”

Raymond knelt down beside Sophia. “Look, I just got another thirty militias. If we can get into the mountains...large groups of Sullivans won’t chase as. Small groups, we can deal with. We don’t have the make a stand here!”

“We could do that.” Sophia thought about it slowly. “But if we want to establish a foothold in this world, we can’t afford to run from trouble. If we get into the mountains, we may never be able to come out again. Plus, what about food and other supply?”

“Sure beats dying.”

“I’m not going to run!” Sophia suddenly sat up and snapped at Raymond. “If those Sullivans want to come, let them come. How many men do we have? Nearly 900? We will kill the invaders and we will defend the mines.”

Fear leads to anger. When someone like Sophia was put under too much fear for her to handle, these fear were channeled out through anger. It was a natural defense mechanism.

Raymond nodded and backed off, but the frown on his face suggested he had other thoughts in mind.

Jerry walked into Patel’s tent.

“You wanted me here?”

“Yes.” Patel replied. He was looking down on the map, and he didn't look up when Jerry entered. “Wait a moment, please. I have another guest.”

“Who...oh.” Jerry heard footsteps closing in. He turned and found Chris entering the tent.

“What are you doing here?” Chris’s attitude toward Jerry was far from polite. Jerry was allowed to stay after he executed that prisoner, but Chris still saw him as a spineless coward.

“I have called both of you here to discuss the Sullivan movement, or rather the lack thereof.” The leader of the alliance interrupted and turned to Jerry. “It has been three days since we took the camp. Even if the messenger that got out was on foot, he should’ve gotten out by now. But none of our scouts have reported anything.”

After coming up with the battle plan three days ago, Patel deployed a ring of scouts, chosen from the other slaves in the camp who had previous experience with horses. These horse mounted scouts were positioned across every major intersection that allowed large armies to pass. This should give the teens enough time to set up an ambush. Obviously, the teens couldn’t hide on the cliffs with their forces the entire time until the enemies come.

Strangely, there wasn’t any sighting of enemy forces for all three days. Not a single Sullivan soldier approached, much less an army.

“I never said for sure a messenger got out. I just said a messenger might’ve gotten out. Either way, the Sullivans in Maynard City must’ve known about what happened here. The mineral transports are delivered to Maynard City every two days.” Jerry replied thoughtfully. “We should send someone to Maynard City and find out what is happening over there. If the forces there are going to march here, they will make quite the mess. Send one of those riders.”

“I’ll go along. Make sure the message can still get back if the rider’s cover is blown.” Despite all this, all Chris saw was a chance for combat. He tapped his sword and was about to leave before Jerry stopped him.

“No.”

“What?” Chris couldn’t believe his ears.

“No.” Jerry looked up at Chris. “If he” He pointed at Patel. “is the brain of all of us, then you’re the backbone. Your presence inspires people. You can’t be put at risk, at least not for a task as dangerous as this one.”

Although Jerry didn't want to admit it, Chris was like the anti-hero among the teens. He was dark, badass, and decisive. Those like Isabella and Kirsten admired him and followed his every command. Chris was the type of person that could lead an army and charge into battle. His followers had control over at least one third of the entire army of the alliance. Putting him on a risky mission like this one, where he was alone and his bravery couldn’t save him if things went wrong, was an inefficient use of resources.

Chris rose his eyebrows. “If I’m the backbone and he’s the brain, then what are you?” He provoked. He wasn’t planning on taking orders, especially not from Jerry.

“It doesn’t matter. The commander should never charge into battle unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Jerry glanced at Patel. “Same goes to you.” He was still salty over the fact that Patel decided to fight in the front when the teens took over the camp. Most saw that action as bravery. Jerry saw it as stupidity.

Patel wasn’t too happy about the comment, but he wasn’t as emotional as Chris. He asked Jerry to come to this meeting for a reason. Despite what people thought about Jerry, Patel knew he was smart. Smarter than most people in this camp, in fact.

“He’s right,” He looked at Chris. “you shouldn’t go.”

“Fine. I’ll send one of my people.” Chris finally agreed, but not before sending a death glare at Jerry.

Meanwhile, the Sullivans in Maynard City that Jerry and Sophia were so worried about didn't share the same concerns.

Commander Hartfield, Lord of Maynard City and Commander of the Maynard City Defense Corps, sat in his house, located at the center of the city.

A man knelt down in front of him. His armor was covered with blood.

“Commander Hartfield, the mines have fallen. When Vice Commander Liam sent me to get help, the enemies have already overwhelmed our men. You need to send reinforcement immediately!”

Hartfield was a large man in his forties. Coincidentally, it was he who ordered the teens he met on the road to be captured and sent to the mines. He forgot about that insignificant event just moments later. He had no idea those random teens were the cause of the death of hundreds of Sullivan soldiers.

“Who are the enemies?” The commander demanded slowly.

The messenger paused.

“You said the Mines have been taken over by a group of enemies, but you don’t even know who they are?” Commander Hartfield groaned and stood up. He was like a lion, towering over the defenseless lamb. “I can have you executed for desertion now!”

The messenger shook. He knew Commander Hartfield could easily do such a thing. The man was known for his brutality. Sometime, when he was in a bad mood, he would go into the city prison and simply beat the prisoners to death with his bare hands. If he thought he was facing a deserter, the messenger could only ask for a swift death.

“Please,” He paused again, running through all the hostile factions he could place the blames on. The Crescent Empire was too far away. Random bandits couldn’t defeat an army of three hundred Sullivans, much less wipe them out. Wait a moment...that’s it!

“It’s the Brotherhood!” He suddenly shouted, as if he found a lifeboat to hang on to in a deadly storm. “It’s the Brotherhood! I saw their banners when I fought them! I’m not a deserter!”

“The Brotherhood.” Hartfield nodded before standing up and walking to the messenger. The messenger shook violently in fear, but he didn't dare to move. If he tried to flee, he doubted he could make it past the first three steps before getting taken down. He could only lower his head and pray.

“Very well.” Hartfield finally nodded.

The messenger couldn’t help but smile. His prayers were answered.

And then Commander Hartfield grabbed onto the messenger’s head and turned it by ninety degrees.

Never mind.

As the body hit the ground, the commander’s lieutenant took a step forward. The younger officer tried his best to ignore the corpse.

“Commander, should I assemble the troops?”

Hartfield smirked. “Why should I do that? Whoever went across the fences and wiped out that fool Liam probably has a thousand soldiers, at least. I am not trading my own men for them. The Maynard City Defense Corps will stay in the city.” He turned to the lieutenant. “Tell the 20th battalion to take back the mines.”

The Sullivan military structure had three levels. On the first level, an army of 300,000 served the Sullivan Emperor and the Emperor alone. They were the fist of the empire. Some of them remained at the capital while the rest were at the empire’s borders, defending against and attacking into other empires.

On the second level, each city had its own defense corps. These defense corps were usually a couple of thousand men, depending on the size of the cities. Their main job was to keep the cities safe, both from internal threats and external ones. They answered directly to the city commander.

On the third level, there were hundreds of military bases across the empire. Each of these bases held fifteen hundred infantry, commanded by a single commander. Their quality tended to be less than the central army but equal to the defense corps. These forces were usually used to deal with bandits and rebels like the Brotherhood that resided in the rural area outside the jurisdiction of the city defense corps. These bases also served as a source for the central army to recruit from.

If Hartfield wanted to send men to the mines, he could. After all, he had 3,000 men in the city. Taking away half of them wouldn’t plunge the city into chaos. But he didn't find a reason to. His 3,000 men belonged to him and him alone. Without them, he would be nobody. Much less killing anyone he wanted, without his forces, he might just be cornered in an ally and stabbed to death by some thieves and thugs. His soldiers were his life. He would rather let the nearest military base deal with the trouble in the mines.

The lieutenant frowned. The safest thing to do would be to take 1,500 men from the Maynard City Defense Corps and take the entirety of the 1,500 men from the 20th battalion. 3,000 men could run over the mines easily. But he didn't say anything. Even if he did, Hartfield was too arrogant to listen. Plus, deep down, he didn't think the 20th battalion would have trouble either.

Arrogance is the mother of defeat.