Night settled over the Wilds like a held breath.

  The fire burned low at the center of the camp, its light carefully screened by stone and shadow.

  Roric crouched near it, a thick finger tracing routes across a weathered map laid flat on the ground.

  Vex stood opposite him, arms folded, eyes sharp as he memorized every detail.

  “These caravans,” Roric said, tapping three marked lines, “are hit in rotation. Never the same order twice. Smart enough to avoid patterns.”

  Vex nodded. “But not smart enough to hide intent. They’re bleeding trade routes dry. That means supplies go somewhere.”

  “Hideout,” Roric grinned. “Big one.”

  They exchanged a look—hunters recognizing prey.

  “If we move clean,” Vex continued, “we ambush each strike point first. Bleed the outer rings. No survivors. No warnings.”

  Roric chuckled. “Then we hit the nest.”

  “How long?” Vex asked.

  Roric leaned back, cracking his neck. “Three months. Maybe less if our shadow here keeps growing the way he is.”

  Both glanced toward the largest tent at the edge of the camp.

  Inside, Kaelen sat cross-legged on a thin bedroll, a book floating open in front of him.

  The text wasn’t gentle.

  Individual Engagement Tactics, Volume IV: Adaptive Dominance

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  — The battlefield is not chaos. It is an equation. Learn the variables.

  Kaelen read silently, eyes moving fast. Too fast for a normal boy.

  Diagrams flickered—formations, kill-zones, flanking maneuvers.

  He absorbed them like hunger.

  Another book hovered beside it, already half-read.

  Applied Hand-to-Hand Doctrine: Fluid Systems & Counter-Philosophies

  He shifted slightly, muscles sore but responsive.

  Then—

  [SYSTEM NOTICE]

  Kaelen blinked.

  The books faded as a translucent screen unfolded before him.

  [SYSTEM: VOLKOV CONDUCTOR]

  [CLASS: WEAVING CURRENT]

  [LEVEL: 11]

  [NEW MASTERY UNLOCKED]

  Field General — Tier 1 of 5

  Mastery Progress: 10%

  Description:

  The ability to intuitively understand battlefield flow, unit positioning, morale vectors, and tactical opportunity.

  Experience gained through observation, planning, and execution of multi-combat engagements.

  Kaelen stared.

  Then smiled.

  “So that’s what it’s called.”

  It made sense.

  Every fight. Every movement. Every decision layered on top of the last.

  His mind didn’t just learn.

  It devoured.

  The system wasn’t guiding him.

  It was keeping up.

  Kaelen dismissed the screen and stood, rolling his shoulders. He pulled the spear free from where it leaned against the tent wall.

  The Spear of the Sanguine felt alive in his hands.

  He stepped outside.

  The night air was cold. Snow dusted the ground in patches.

  Kaelen moved beyond the firelight, finding a clear stretch of earth between twisted trees.

  He inhaled.

  Then moved.

  The spear shortened to two feet as he spun, then snapped to six, then twelve—each transition smooth, instinctive.

  Blood Ni pulsed faintly along his arms. Shadow clung to his steps. Lightning flickered briefly—contained, disciplined.

  He shifted weapons mid-motion.

  The spear vanished into the ring.

  Twin daggers appeared.

  Short. Fast. Deadly.

  He practiced close-range work—slashes, reversals, disarms.

  His feet never stopped moving.

  His breathing never broke rhythm.

  From the fire, Roric watched quietly.

  “Kid doesn’t train,” he muttered. “He evolves.”

  Vex nodded. “And he doesn’t even realize what he’s becoming yet.”

  Kaelen finished the sequence and stood still, breath steady.

  Somewhere in the dark, predators watched.

  Soon, they would learn what hunted them.

  Kaelen looked toward the distant Wilds—toward caravans, bandits, bloodshed yet to come.

  Three months of war.

  And he would learn from every second of it.