The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the forest as Linus set out, his heart pounding with anticipation. The twilight shadows stretched long and dark, the perfect cover for the task he had yet to complete. He moved through the woods with practiced stealth, slipping silently between the trees until he reached the hidden spot where he had concealed Louis’s body.
Linus knelt by Louis’s body, the cool night air pressing against his skin as he reached for the thick cloth. The stillness of the corpse was unnerving—not the stillness of sleep, but the absolute silence of death. His fingers brushed against stiffened limbs as he pulled the fabric over Louis’s face, covering the glassy eyes that no longer saw. The cloth rasped against his calloused palms as he wrapped each limb carefully, tightening the fabric so no wayward movement would reveal what he carried.
With a subtle gesture, he called upon his shadow magic, lifting the bundle and placing it onto his horse. The path ahead was carefully chosen—a series of hidden trails that would lead him closer to the border without drawing any unwanted attention.
As he approached the edge of the border standoff, the sky deepened into shades of indigo and violet. The tension in the air was palpable. Linus dismounted and knelt by Louis’s body once more. He removed the noble’s ring, a symbol of his allegiance to Sorenputhra, and slipped it into his pocket. He knew the significance it held and how it might be used to turn the tide of the coming conflict.
His eyes fell upon Louis’s unique weapon, the Devour Claw. The blade shimmered in the fading light, its edge pulsing faintly with a dark, elemental energy. Linus enveloped the weapon securely within the cloth, burying it beneath the earth where he stood. After discreetly marking the spot, he made a mental note to return for it when the time was right.
Linus tightened the last strap, making sure that Louis’s covered body wouldn’t fall off the horse. The horse shifted under the unusual load, its ears flicking back as if it could sense something was off. Linus gently stroked its neck to calm it down and then gave it a firm pat to signal it to move.
The horse paused for a moment, sniffing the air and looking unsure. But soon, its instincts kicked in. Its hooves began to hit the ground, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Linus watched as the shadowy figure, draped poorly over the saddle, faded into the mist beyond the trees. The outline became smaller and was soon lost in the darkness. He stood there, not moving, until the sound of the hooves disappeared completely, leaving an empty silence behind.
Turning his attention to his next task, Linus moved, approaching the edge of the border where a tense standoff was already brewing. The battlefield stretched before him, a taut line of opposing forces standing rigid beneath the twilight sky. His gaze flicked over the field—banners swaying, armor glinting in the dying light, hands tightening on the hilts of swords. They were waiting. All of them. Waiting for the moment steel would meet flesh.
From his vantage point, Linus remained hidden in the shadows, preparing to play his hand and set the final pieces of his plan into motion.
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The tension in the air was palpable as Linus approached the standoff between the two armies. Soldiers from both sides formed rigid lines, their faces grim and resolute. The ground between them was a barren stretch of no man's land, with a makeshift tent erected at its center—designated for negotiations, though it felt more like a tinderbox waiting for a spark.
Linus moved closer, scanning the area. In the dim light of dusk, he spotted a horse tethered at the designated location Marcus had arranged. If the horse was here, it meant his plan was unfolding as intended, and his covert network—the Ratrians—had already begun their work. Mounting the horse swiftly, Linus rode towards the heart of the encampment.
He could see the banners of Sorenputhra fluttering in the breeze, their dark insignias stark against the twilight sky. Opposite them, the royal standards of Curtis and Mara’s forces stood tall, the golden emblem of the Aldric family glinting in the last rays of sunlight. The tent in the middle was intended as neutral ground for parley, but Linus knew better.
At the same moment, a lone horse, its saddle burdened with the shrouded body, galloped directly towards the ranks of the Sorenputhra forces. The horse’s hooves thundered across the barren ground, drawing startled shouts from the soldiers as they parted, unsure of what to make of the eerie sight. The cloth-wrapped form, slumped lifelessly across the saddle, was unmistakably that of a fallen warrior.
Linus pocketed a small, carefully wrapped item from the horse's saddle, his movements swift and discreet. He walked with purpose toward the makeshift tent, his mind sharp and focused, already anticipating the confrontation that awaited him. As he drew nearer, he cast a fleeting glance to his left, where his men from the Ratrians were strategically positioned. With a subtle hand signal, he conveyed his instructions—silent and precise, honed through years of covert operations.
At the entrance to the tent, two Sorenputhran soldiers stepped forward, blocking his path. Their faces were impassive, betraying no emotion. Linus didn’t flinch, his posture calm, exuding an air of quiet authority. One of Mara’s guards, recognizing him, quickly moved past the Sorenputhran soldiers and slipped inside the tent to announce his arrival.
A moment later, the guard returned, nodding curtly as he stepped aside, allowing Linus entry. Linus pushed through the heavy tent flaps, stepping into a space thick with unspoken tension. The air buzzed with wary anticipation, and the tent's occupants were on edge, as if sensing the volatile mix of power and conflict simmering just beneath the surface.
Inside the tent, Curtis Underwood stood at one end, his broad frame casting a shadow over the gathered leaders. His cold and calculating eyes flicked to Linus with a flicker of recognition, a subtle shift that spoke volumes. Opposite him, a group of Sorenputhran officers, their uniforms sharp and pristine, observed the room with thinly veiled suspicion, their expressions tense and unreadable. Near Curtis, Mara stood with a poised, almost regal bearing, her eyes locking onto Linus’s as he entered.
Linus met Mara's gaze, offering a slight nod—a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken alliance and shared history. He then turned his attention to the room, assessing the players and the palpable tension that hung in the stifling air. It felt like the calm before a storm, the quiet moments before swords were drawn.
Curtis broke the silence, his voice a deep rumble filled with the confidence of a seasoned military leader. "What brings you here, Linus?" he asked, authoritatively.
Linus stepped forward, unperturbed, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. The game was about to begin.
