The walk through Oakhaven Fortress felt unreal to Lysander. The air here was less sharp with smoke and fear, replaced by the quiet hum of a command center. Wounded soldiers, their faces pale but determined, limped past him. Messengers, their tunics dirty with dust and urgency, darted like startled birds. Yet, through it all, the weight of what he had done at the West Gate pressed on him. He hadn't just survived; he had spectacularly, violently, and undeniably changed things.
Sir Reginald, his scowl now a fixed sign of grim disbelief, led the way directly to the main keep. Lysander walked beside him, his battered body aching, but his mind sharply focused. This wasn't about fighting anymore; this was about talking, about controlling the story. This was where Lysander, the plotter shaping his own fate, truly began to lay out his strategic layers. He had bought himself time and a chance, but now he had to explain his risky move to the very people who held his new life in their hands.
They were led into a grand room with oak walls, lit by a flickering fire and many oil lamps. Maps lay spread across a huge central table, covered in troop movements and plans. Around it stood several serious-faced officers, looking tired and intensely focused. But all eyes, as Lysander and Reginald entered, snapped to the powerful figure at the head of the table.
This was High Commander Valerius. A man in his late fifties, with short silver hair, and a face etched with old scars, clear signs of a life filled with hard battles and unyielding resolve. His uniform was clean, despite the siege, and his sharp, analyzing eyes missed nothing. Lysander knew from the novel that Valerius was a legendary leader, completely ruthless, and deeply loyal to the kingdom. He also knew Valerius hated anyone who disobeyed orders. This was not a man to mess with.
Valerius's gaze, cold and sharp, swept over Lysander, pausing on his battered, dust-covered appearance... then moving to Sir Reginald. The silence in the room was heavy, almost suffocating.
"Sir Reginald," Valerius's voice was a low, rough rumble, showing no emotion. "Your report said the West Gate was breached. Yet, the enemy's attack there has stopped. Explain."
Reginald saluted, his gaze nervously flickered to Lysander. "High Commander, the West Gate was indeed breached. The Brute Trolls had broken through the first barricades. But… Private Thorne, here, took action. Unusual action, Commander."
All eyes, now fully hostile, turned to Lysander. The air crackled with suspicion. Lysander felt the weight of their scrutiny, the unspoken accusation of cowardice or madness that lingered around his inherited name. This was the moment. This is where Alex Chen takes control.
Lysander stepped forward, standing tall despite the throbbing pain in his ribs. He spoke with calm professionalism, carefully matching Valerius's own steady manner. "High Commander, the situation at the West Gate was terrible. Our main defenses were failing. Casualties were rising, and the Brute Trolls were moments from breaking through completely, which would have meant the swift collapse of our entire western side." He spoke clearly, directly, cutting straight to the critical facts.
He continued, his voice steady. "Seeing the immediate and overwhelming danger, and remembering old plans of the fortress's ancient defenses, I noticed that the main gate's counterweights, though unused for a long time, held immense destructive power. Releasing them, while risky, was the only way to stop the overwhelming force we faced." He left out the part about him lying to Reginald about Joric already going for the lever. He chose his words carefully, weaving a story of foresight and a calculated risk.
Valerius's eyes narrowed slightly. "Old plans? And you, Private Thorne, a noble known for… ease, remember such details in the heat of battle?" There was a cynical edge to his voice, a clear disbelief.
Lysander didn't flinch. "High Commander, in my… past studies, I developed a particular interest in ancient forts. While others might have overlooked such details as just old notes, I saw them as hidden power. In that moment, with the gate collapsing around us, that knowledge became our only weapon." He allowed a hint of desperate conviction to color his tone, painting himself not as a genius, but as a man who desperately used every bit of his strange knowledge to save his life and, by extension, the fortress. It was a cleverly made-up truth – he did have the knowledge, but the "interest" was a handy cover story.
"And your decision to bring down the arch on our own men?" Valerius pressed, his voice sharp as stone. "Some men were lost."
Lysander took a slow breath, steeling himself. "A grim necessity, High Commander. The gate was already lost. The enemy was already pouring in. Had the arch remained, we would have been completely wiped out at that point, and the horde would have swept through unopposed. By sacrificing a few, we destroyed the main attack force and created a barrier no one could pass. We turned a guaranteed defeat into a bloody, but clear, victory for the West Gate."
He watched Valerius's face, searching for any flicker of reaction. The High Commander remained calm, but his gaze now held a calculating focus. He didn't seem convinced of Lysander's character, perhaps, but he was undoubtedly impressed by the outcome. The reports from the battlefield would confirm the heavy losses at the West Gate.
"Remarkable," Valerius finally said, his voice still low, but with a new, dangerous edge. "A highly… unusual tactic. And effective, it seems. You saved the West Gate, Private Thorne. Though the cost was… extreme." He paused, his sharp eyes drilling into Lysander. "You are either a madman, or a strategist with terrifying clarity. I must admit, I had heard… different things about your family's nature."
Lysander allowed a faint, almost invisible smile to touch his lips. "Situations, High Commander, can reveal hidden depths in any man." He threw in a subtle jab at his old reputation, acknowledging it, but quietly dismissing it. He was laying the groundwork for a new Lysander Thorne, one that could be useful.
Valerius watched him for another long moment, then turned to a map, his finger tracing a line near the collapsed gate. "The enemy's main attack has indeed faltered since the West Gate's collapse. It bought us time, time we desperately needed." He looked back at Lysander. "You've proven your… resourcefulness, Private. For now, you are relieved of duty at the West Gate. Report to my personal aide at dawn. I have a new task for you. One that requires… unusual thinking."
Lysander felt a surge of triumph so profound it almost buckled his knees. He had done it. He had been noticed. He had gone from cannon fodder to being personally summoned by the High Commander for a "new task." This was the very essence of Lysander the plotter, shaping his own fate – not through brute force (yet), but by skillfully moving through the dangerous world of power and perception. The first step of his true rise had been taken. He had inserted himself into the very core of the story, not as a victim, but as a player.
As he was dismissed, Lysander glanced at Kaelen, who had stayed silent during the entire talk, watching with an intense, unreadable look. Kaelen's brow was still furrowed, his eyes following Lysander as he left the room. The hero was clearly confused. Lysander Thorne was supposed to be dead, or at least a weeping mess. This unexpected Lysander, the one who survived and spoke with such chilling logic, was an an oddity Kaelen couldn't understand. And that, Lysander thought with cold satisfaction, was exactly how he wanted it. The future was now unwritten, and he, Lysander, would be its author.