Elias Vaeron's small hand tightened around the empty musket, its useless barrel pointed at the chaos unfolding in the burning courtyard of House Vaeron's manor. The flare's harsh light had faded, but the flames from the stable cast a flickering glow over the clashing forces. House Kaelar's riders, their blue-and-silver banners snapping in the wind, had turned on the crimson-cloaked commander's cavalry, their swords and lances carving through the enemy ranks. The interface in Elias's vision pulsed with cold precision: Enemy Forces: 30 infantry, 10 cavalry. Morale: Collapsing. House Kaelar: 12 riders, engaged.
But the shadow in the tunnel behind him demanded his attention. Elias spun, his steel-gray eyes narrowing as the figure stepped into the firelight. It was a man, gaunt and weathered, his leather tunic stained with dirt and blood. A short sword hung at his hip, and his eyes—sharp, almost feral—locked onto Elias. The interface tagged him: Garrick, House Vaeron Retainer. Loyalty: Questionable.
"Who are you?" Elias demanded, his voice steady despite the frail body trembling from exertion. Mira, bleeding from the graze on her arm, raised her knife, stepping between Elias and the newcomer.
Garrick raised his hands, palms open, but his gaze never left Elias. "Easy, lad. I'm no enemy. Name's Garrick, sworn to your father's house." His voice was rough, like gravel under boots, but there was a tremor in it—fear, or something else. "Heard your call. Saw the fire. Thought you were dead."
"Not yet," Elias said, his tone clipped. He didn't trust this man, not with the interface's warning flashing in his mind. Loyalty: Questionable. In his old life, he'd seen men turn for less than a sack of coins. But he needed every blade he could get. "You're with us, then?"
Garrick's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "For now. What's a boy like you doing with… whatever that was?" He nodded at the musket, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
Elias ignored the question. "Can you fight?"
"Better than most," Garrick said, patting his sword. "But we're outnumbered, and that bastard in the cloak ain't done yet."
Elias's gaze flicked back to the courtyard. The commander had rallied his remaining cavalry, pulling them back to form a defensive line near the manor's main gate. House Kaelar's riders pressed hard, but their numbers were thinning. The interface updated: House Kaelar Losses: 4 riders. Enemy Morale: Stabilizing. The commander was no fool—he was buying time, waiting for his infantry to regroup.
"We need to hit them now," Elias said, his mind racing. The tunnel had brought him to the eastern wall, a crumbling barrier barely holding against the battle's chaos. The interface highlighted a new option: Tactics (Level 1): Suggest coordinated strike with House Kaelar to break enemy formation.
Elias turned to Mira. "Your arm—can you move?"
She nodded, her face pale but resolute. "I'm fine, my lord."
"Don't call me that," Elias said, the title jarring against his soldier's instincts. "Find Toren in the watchtower. Tell him to signal House Kaelar—wave a torch, anything. We're joining their push."
Mira hesitated, her eyes flicking to Garrick. Elias caught the look. She didn't trust him either. "Go," he said, his voice firm. "Now."
She darted back into the tunnel, her small form disappearing into the dark. Elias faced Garrick, the musket still raised. "You're with me. We move to the gate, flank the commander's line. Can you keep up?"
Garrick's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Lead on, boy."
Elias didn't like the man's tone, but he had no time for doubts. He sprinted toward the main gate, keeping low, the interface mapping the safest path through the debris-strewn courtyard. The musket bounced against his back, its bayonet blueprint still locked in his mind. If he could reach the forge again, he might attach a blade, but the battle wouldn't wait.
The clash of steel grew louder as they neared the gate. House Kaelar's riders were locked in a brutal melee with the commander's cavalry, horses screaming as blades bit into flesh. The woman in silver armor—House Kaelar's leader—fought at the forefront, her spear a blur as she unhorsed a crimson-cloaked rider. Elias's interface tagged her: Lady Seline Kaelar. Status: Ally (Tentative).
Elias crouched behind a shattered cart, Garrick at his side. The commander's infantry was regrouping, forming a spear wall to protect their faltering cavalry. Elias's mind churned, calculating angles, numbers, weaknesses. The interface pinged: Logistics (Level 1): Suggest disrupting enemy supply line to force retreat. He scanned the courtyard, spotting a cluster of barrels near that gate—likely the enemy's supplies, food, or water. If he could destroy them, the commander's men might break.
"Garrick," Elias said, his voice low. "Those barrels—can you get to them?"
Garrick squinted through the smoke. "Maybe. What's in it for me?"
Elias's eyes flashed with anger, but he kept his voice steady. "You want House Vaeron to survive? You want to live? Then move."
Garrick grunted, his hand tightening on his sword. "Fair enough." He slipped into the shadows, moving with a thief's grace toward the barrels. Elias watched, his instincts screaming. Loyalty: Questionable. He'd deal with that later.
A torch flared in the watchtower—Toren's signal. House Kaelar's riders shifted, their formation tightening as they prepared for another charge. Elias's flare had worked; they'd seen his call. Now he had to deliver.
He sprinted toward the gate, his small body ducking under swinging blades and rearing horses. The interface guided him, highlighting weak points in the enemy line. He reached a pile of debris—broken beams, shattered stone—and scrambled atop it, gaining a clear view of the commander. The man was barking orders, his crimson cloak stained with blood but his posture unyielding.
Elias raised the musket, its empty barrel a bluff. "Seline Kaelar!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Strike now!"
The silver-armored woman glanced his way, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, Elias thought she'd ignore him—a child, a nobody. But then she raised her spear, her voice booming. "Kaelar! Charge!"
Her riders surged forward, smashing into the commander's spear wall. The line buckled, men screaming as lances pierced armor. Elias's heart pounded, but his mind was calm, calculating. The interface updated: Enemy Losses: 8 infantry. Morale: Critical.
A muffled explosion sounded from the barrels—Garrick's work. Flames erupted, consuming the supplies in a roaring blaze. The commander's infantry wavered, their shouts turning to panic. Elias's lips curved into a grim smile. Chaos was his weapon, and he wielded it well.
But the commander wasn't done. He wheeled his horse, his eyes locking onto Elias atop the debris. "You," he snarled, spurring his mount forward. The interface flashed: Enemy Commander: Direct Threat. Evasive Action Recommended.
Elias leapt from the debris, his small body rolling across the ground as the commander's sword slashed through the air where he'd stood. He scrambled to his feet, the musket slipping from his grasp. He had no weapon, no powder, only his wits.
Garrick reappeared, his sword drawn, but he didn't strike. He stood between Elias and the commander, his stance ambiguous. "Enough games, boy," he said, his voice low. "This ends now."
Elias's blood ran cold. The interface's warning screamed in his mind: Loyalty: Questionable. Garrick's eyes flicked to the commander, then back to Elias. A traitor? Or something else?
Before Elias could react, Lady Seline's spear flashed, striking the commander's horse. The beast screamed, collapsing, pinning the commander beneath it. Seline dismounted, her armor clinking as she approached, her spear leveled at the commander's throat. "Yield," she said, her voice cold as steel.
The commander spat blood, his eyes burning with defiance. "You'll regret this, Kaelar. And you, Vaeron whelp—you're marked."
Elias didn't flinch. He stepped forward, his small frame dwarfed by the chaos. "Your men are broken. Your supplies are gone. Yield, or you die."
The commander laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "You think this is over? You've only delayed the inevitable."
Seline's spear pressed closer, drawing blood. "Name your master," she demanded. "Who sent you?"
The commander's eyes flicked to Garrick, a smirk twisting his lips. "Ask him."
Elias's heart stopped. He turned to Garrick, the interface flashing: Warning: Betrayal Risk High. Garrick's sword was still drawn, his stance unreadable. The courtyard fell silent, the fighting paused as all eyes turned to the retainer.
"Garrick," Elias said, his voice low, dangerous. "Choose. Now."
Garrick's eyes darted between Elias, Seline, and the commander. His hand tightened on his sword, and for a moment, the world held its breath.
Then a horn blared from beyond the manor walls—a deep, resonant call that shook the night. The interface surged with new data: Unknown Forces: 30 infantry, 10 cavalry. Approaching from the west. Affiliation: Unknown.
Elias's mind raced. Reinforcements? Enemies? Allies? The commander's smirk widened, as if he knew something Elias didn't. Garrick stepped back, his sword lowering but not sheathed. Seline's spear wavered, her eyes flicking to the horizon.
The flames roared higher, the manor crumbling around them. Elias stood alone, a boy in a world of blades, with enemies on all sides and a traitor at his back.