The first light of dawn crept over the forest canopy, painting the smoke-stained horizon in shades of amber and red. The villages that once belonged to Ashenvale now stood like wounded beasts, scarred and trembling under Veynar's grip.
The Butcher's stronghold still smoldered in the distance — a grim monument to our first victory. But there was no time to rest. Two more villages remained, and with them, two of Veynar's lieutenants — both Steel-Advanced, both deadly.
I stood atop a grassy hill overlooking the eastern village, cold wind tugging at my cloak. My Steel-Low aura flickered faintly, like a candle struggling against the dawn.
"Rowan!" I called, raising my arm toward the settlement below. "Keep your line tight! Use the villagers to block the exits. No one escapes. Push them toward the center — crush their morale before they can regroup!"
Rowan turned, his Bronze aura burning brighter than the morning light. "Understood, my lord!" he roared, gripping his shield and drawing his sword.
I looked westward, where my cousin James waited with his own men. "Same tactics," I told him. "Choke their exits, use terrain and panic to our advantage — but don't lose control of the villagers."
James nodded sharply, jaw set. "They'll bend before us or burn, cousin."
---
The battle began with a roar. Rowan's half of the levy stormed the eastern village, meeting a hail of stones and spears. Smoke choked the air as huts burned, and desperate villagers fought side by side with bandits, driven by fear rather than loyalty.
At the heart of the chaos, the lieutenant emerged — a hulking man wielding a hammer the size of a man's torso. His Steel aura flared, shaking the ground with every strike.
Rowan met him head-on. The clash was thunder itself — hammer against shield, Bronze against Steel. Sparks scattered in every direction.
"Hold the line!" Rowan bellowed. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The levy braced, pushing forward inch by inch as villagers joined the fray. Some swung axes or pitchforks, others hurled stones, driven by rage and desperation.
I shouted from behind the front, voice hoarse. "Form the line! Protect the flanks — drive them inward!"
My words barely carried over the clash of steel, but the sight of my faintly glowing aura gave them courage. They obeyed — slowly, stubbornly, but they obeyed.
Rowan ducked beneath a hammer swing that would've shattered bone, pivoted low, and thrust upward. His blade punched through the lieutenant's chest. The man staggered, howling, before Rowan's second strike cut clean through from collar to hip.
The giant fell, lifeless.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield froze. Then panic spread through the enemy ranks. One by one, the bandits dropped their weapons, surrendering before the roaring levy.
---
To the west, James led his assault with calculated fury. The lieutenant there had turned wagons and fences into crude fortifications, forcing our men to fight through narrow alleys choked with smoke.
James fought at the front, his High Steel aura blazing like a forge. His sword moved with precision and weight, parrying twin axes that flashed in the lieutenant's hands. The clash echoed through the village — Steel against Steel, each strike leaving sparks dancing in the air.
Villagers rallied behind him, wielding hoes and crude blades. They struck from alleys and doorways, turning the chaos against their oppressors. Every cry of pain was answered with a shout of defiance.
James pressed on relentlessly, cutting through the lieutenant's guard. A final, brutal arc of his blade severed one axe, then the arm holding it. The next swing ended it — clean, decisive, final.
---
From my ridge between both battlefields, I directed movements through flags and shouts, trying to hold the fragile coordination together. It wasn't perfect — too many dead, too much chaos — but it worked.
By mid-morning, both enemy lieutenants lay slain. Smoke curled from burning huts as Rowan and James regrouped their men. The surviving villagers, trembling but alive, were gathered and escorted back to Ashenvale under Jarek's command.
We looted what we could — thirteen gold marks, six hundred silver, and a trove of weapons and armor enough to arm another company.
When the last wagon rolled toward the castle, the men raised their weapons and cheered, their voices hoarse but proud. Rowan leaned against his shield, bloodied but unbroken. James' sword was nicked and blackened, but his eyes shone with fierce satisfaction.
I stood on the ridge, watching smoke rise like black banners into the morning sky. For the first time, I allowed myself a moment of quiet.
The levy had bled for this victory. Over twenty of our men lay dead, and more wounded. But we had reclaimed two villages — and crushed two of Veynar's Steel-Advanced lieutenants.
Hope — fragile, flickering — burned in the hearts of Ashenvale's people once more.
"It begins," I murmured to myself, gripping the hilt of my sword. "Veynar has lost his lieutenants. Now, he'll come himself."