The group began making their way back toward camp, their steps silent and measured beneath the pale moonlight. The mission was complete — the vials emptied, the currents already carrying the toxin toward Volt's supply lines. The faint smell of iron and moss clung to the air as the forest whispered around them.
Then—
Snap.
A faint crack of a twig made everyone freeze.
Fenrir's ears twitched, his fur bristling. The soldiers raised their bows, eyes scanning the treeline. A shadow shifted behind a cluster of rocks.
Before anyone could speak, one of the soldiers loosed an arrow.
Thwip! — Thunk!
A sharp cry of pain followed.
Ederra cursed under his breath, rushing forward. "Damn it, I told you not to fire unless ordered!"
They parted the brush — and there, half-kneeling with an arrow buried in his shoulder, was a man clad in dulled red armor. His hair, a deep crimson that caught the moonlight, was matted with sweat and dirt. Blue eyes glared up at them with defiance, even as blood seeped through the gaps in his armor.
Ederra recognized him instantly. "A Volt knight…" He narrowed his gaze. "You're far from the frontlines."
The knight spat to the side, gritting his teeth. "No please stop, I didn't come to attack".
Aiden looked at him as he spoke. "Then Explain".
The man long man looked at him as he spoke. "Are you truly, agent's this empire".
"Yes" Ederra said, ready to remove his head.
The Young man looked at him as he spoke. "I wanna join".
The forest held its breath. Even the night insects seemed to hush as Ederra's blade hovered over the crimson-armored man's throat.
The knight coughed, tasting copper, and forced out a laugh that was more a broken sound than humor. "Listen—if you cut my head off now, you'll never know if I was telling the truth."
Ederra's jaw tightened. "Then tell me one reason no man in Volt's service would ever say aloud."
The man's blue eyes flashed. "Because they'd die on the spot. Because we believe him. Because they tell us the gods chose Volt to punish the weak. Because—" He swallowed. "Because I saw what they do to a village that begged for mercy. They burned the barns, they took the women, and they sold the children. I couldn't… be part of it."
A silence fell. The soldier who'd fired the arrow clenched his hands, shame and anger tangled on his face.
Aiden watched quietly, the flicker of lamplight in his new golden hair. He didn't speak—he didn't need to. He let the man's words settle.
The knight pushed himself upright on an elbow, teeth bared against pain. "Name's Rowan," he rasped. "I… I was on patrol out of Ken. I saw a wagon take children. I followed — I couldn't let them— I tried to stop it. They called me traitor. I ran. I've been on the road three days bleeding and sleeping in ditches. I want to join you. I can tell you where Volt moves, where they stash coin, who answers to whom. I can give you routes, patrol rotations, even a list of men who will betray Volt if someone promises them food and shelter."
Ederra didn't answer at once. He looked at the arrow in Rowan's shoulder, at the dirt in his hair, at the way the man's hands shook when he spoke of children. Then he looked at his own men, at the small maps spread earlier, at the weight of what a single traitor's word could mean in a knife-sliced campaign.
"Why should I believe you?" Ederra asked finally.
Rowan met his gaze with something like shameful hope. "Because I have nothing left to lose if you're liars. Because the only thing that's kept me alive this long is hating what we do—and hating won't stop it. Let me help. If I lie, kill me. If I'm true, let me pay for my sins."
Aiden stepped forward, voice low. "We can't swallow every deserter, Ederra. But we can test him."
Radomira's laugh was low and amused. "And if he's lying, I shall have him sing to the worms."
Ederra gave the yellow-eyed succubus a look. "Noted."
Aiden touched his forehead, closing his eyes for the barest second.
["Scan: subject—Rowan. Physiological stress markers present. Wounds consistent with described flight. Psychological profile: guilt-driven defection. Probability of sincerity: medium-high. Recommend custodial interrogation and limited access until proven."]
Ederra inclined his head, the decision settling like iron. "He stays. Fenrir, bind him—but not tight. We move him to camp. Emilia will decide his fate, and her judgment will be absolute."
Rowan exhaled as if a weight had shifted. The soldier who'd fired the stray arrow stepped forward, shame carved on his face. He dropped to one knee before the wounded knight. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Rowan's mouth twitched. "Don't kill me. Save your apologies for those who can still use them."
They moved as a hush-struck column back through the trees. Fenrir led, shadow and fur slipping over root and stone. Behind them, the forest swallowed their tracks.
Ederra glanced at Aiden. "If he's lying, I'll take his head myself."
Aiden's reply was a small, sharp smile. "If he is, he'll regret it. If he isn't—then he might save lives. That's the kind of risk I prefer."
The camp lights blinked ahead like a promise — or a trap. Rowan's breath came ragged but steady. Somewhere on the road, Volt commanders still argued under a bridge, and the poisoned water crept toward their supplies like a quiet, patient thing.
They reached the tents. Emilia stood at the flap, watching them approach. Her eyes went to Rowan, then to Ederra, and hard as flint she said, "Bring him inside. Lock the tent. Anna, Grace—prepare an interrogation circle and a truth tonic. No mercy if he lies. No cruelty if he's truthful."
Rowan's shoulders sagged the smallest fraction, and for the first time since he'd been wounded, he allowed himself to hope.
after a while, they arrived to the main camp
Aiden glanced up at Rowan, the camp's torchlight throwing soft shadows across the wounded knight's face. He kept his tone flat, precise — the kind of question that cuts straight to a man's spine.
"I have one question before we bring you to Emilia," he said. "If you were given the order to burn a noble house that supported Volt… would you do it?"
Rowan stared at the words for a long beat. The arrow in his shoulder made the movement slow, honest. He swallowed, blood dark at the corner of his mouth, then answered without theatrics.
"If it was only paper and coin I was burning — yes. If it was full of men who proved traitors, yes." He hesitated, and his voice cracked a little. "But if there were innocents — women, children — I'd refuse. I left because I couldn't watch that happen and call it duty."
Ederra watched him with the hard, measured calm of a man who'd given and taken far worse. Emilia's face, invisible inside the tent's shadow, went unreadable for the span of a breath. Radomira's lips curved into something unreadable.
Aiden let the silence hang long enough to be useful. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"Good," he said. "We don't burn villages for politics. We break the chains of tyrants and keep the people alive. That's the difference between us and them."
He turned his head a fraction.
"Great Sage — scan again."
["Scan: Subject—Rowan. Integrity markers hold. Prior combat record matches Volt roster—Ken sector. Psychological state: shame-driven defection, ideological conflict present. Recommending custodial clearance for intel extraction. No evidence of perfidy in immediate physiology."]
Aiden relaxed fractionally. "Alright. We'll test you properly." He looked at the nearby med table. "Anna, Grace — truth tonic, microdose, then an oral interrogation. Clean, no torture. If his story checks out, we get the routes and names. If not—" he let the threat hang unsaid.
Anna moved into action with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd trained for this exact hour: a steaming vial on a cloth, sigils burned into the rim to stabilize the tonic's effect and prevent magical masking. Grace readied parchments to record every detail, and Ederra gestured two guards to stand watch outside the tent.
Rowan's jaw tightened but he didn't resist. "If I lie—kill me," he said, voice flat. "Better that than letting me run like a rat and tell tales that get people killed."
Emilia stepped out of the tent next, her face drawn but merciful in a way few saw. She looked at Rowan once, weighing his words. "You'll speak under oath," she said. "You lie, and we kill you fast and clean. You tell the truth, you earn your atonement through work. That's the bargain."
Rowan nodded, the barest flicker of relief passing over him. The soldiers closing the flap left a small circle of light where Anna and Grace prepared the tonic. Fenrir padded outside and lay down with his head on his paws, ears alert to every sound.
Aiden watched Rowan settle, then stepped close enough that his shadow fell across the knight's knees. "Remember," he said softly, "we're not here to play judge. We're here to end Volt."
Rowan exhaled, steadying himself. "I know. Ask what you must."
Anna offered the tonic. Rowan drank. Within minutes his pupils shifted, his breathing slowed, and a clarity — the brittle, painful sort that follows truth — settled over him. Grace began the chronicle: dates, patrol rotations, wagon timetables. Rowan answered steadily, each detail another lever the rebellion could use. He named two lieutenants who pocketed rations, a mid-ranking captain who took bribes to leave roads unpatrolled, and the location of a hidden magazine under the eastern mill.
When he finished, his shoulders sagged as if he'd put down a physical burden. Emilia looked at the notes and then at Aiden. "This changes everything," she said. "We can cut more supply lines. We can hit command nodes."
Ederra's expression was hard but a little softer than before. He turned to Rowan. "If this is true, you'll be given work that pays with sweat and danger. You'll have a chance to earn it back."
Rowan's reply was small, raw. "I'll take it."
Outside the tent the camp moved in the quiet, efficient way of people who had a plan: scouts to the east, poison teams to the ford, and a courier ready to send the forged flag toward the village gates at dawn. Aiden watched the little frenzy of action and felt the gears click into place. Rowan's truth had bought them leverage — not redemption, not yet, but a tool.
"And tools". Aiden thought. "Built kingdoms".
Emilia looked at Aiden as she spoke. "Well, you're burning Noble House; it was a great lie you told".
Aiden looked at her as he spoke. "Who said I was lying?".
Emilia's sapphire eyes went hard. "If you're seriously telling me you'll burn noble houses—" she started, voice low and controlled, "—that's barbaric. That's inhumane."
Aiden let that hang for half a second, then shrugged in the most slime way possible. "First of all, I'm a slime. Second, you've seen what we're fighting." His tone was flat, almost bored. "They didn't just take power. They turned entire people into livestock. They made cruelty the law. This isn't about vengeance for its own sake. It's about breaking the mechanism that made those crimes possible."
Emilia pinched the bridge of her nose, the famous commander struggling with the same old calculus: how many horrors are you willing to commit to stop a greater one? "There's a difference between striking Volt and becoming them."
Aiden's golden eyes softened a fraction. "I know that. That's why we don't burn villages. We don't kill innocents. We don't indulge cruelty. But nobles who funded slavers, who turned farms into markets for suffering? Those houses are engines. Destroy the engines, and the machine stops. We use precision, not pyres."
Radomira stepped forward, voice silk and steel. "We make them pay the way they made others pay. Not a festival of blood—surgical justice. Give victims their agency. Turn their tools against them." She looked at Emilia. "You keep the line. If they retaliate against civilians, you have every right to burn their holdfasts down to the bedrock."
Ederra's voice cut in, blunt and practical. "We will ensure any action is targeted at known collaborators: ledgers, charters, receipts, guards who name the houses that profited. No guesswork. No 'burn because it feels good.' We remove the infrastructure of Volt's corruption — not feed chaos."
Emilia exhaled slowly. The commander in her took over, weighing risk against reward. "Fine. Surgical. Verified strikes only. Evidence documented. Civilians evacuated beforehand. And no theatrical executions meant to sate a god's appetite." She met Aiden's eyes. "If any of you go rogue, I'll cut you out myself."
Aiden grinned, small and dangerous. "Fair. I don't do pyrotechnics for show either. Efficiency and outcomes. We hit their pockets, their supply nodes, and their patrons. Make them ungovernable."
Anna and Grace, overhearing, exchanged a look. Grace murmured, practical and cold-eyed, "We'll prepare dossiers. Signatures, ledgers, contractor lists. If you want houses removed from the map, you're going to give us names."
"Names," Ederra agreed. "And windows of opportunity. We strike when they're moving supplies or celebrating a feast. When the household is a business, not a fortress of children."
Emilia nodded once — reluctant, resolute. "Do it by the book. Keep the people safe first. And Aiden… if this becomes anything like Volt, I will personally bury you."
Aiden laughed, soft and genuine. "Then don't give me that chance."
Radomira reached up, brushed Aiden's new golden hair, and added with a lazy smile, "And if anyone deserves hell, we'll make it an efficient one."
Emilia swallowed and handed back the folded black flag. "All right. We plan, we verify, and we act. Tonight we secure more intelligence; tomorrow we choose our first target." She pointed at the map. "We cut one house at a time. Surgical blows."
The camp moved into motion, grim but disciplined. Paperwork, rosters, forged receipts, and routes slid into place. The line had been drawn: they would not be monsters. They would be engineers of ruin — precise, deliberate, and unrepentant.
Aiden watched them go, satisfied. "Good. Let's make Volt starve, and then let the vultures eat their patrons."
Radomira's grin was wolfish. "I like the menu."
To be continued
Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy