CHAPTER 73: THE VANGUARD’S MARCH

The march continued, the sound of boots in snow growing louder as they moved forward, each step carrying them closer to what awaited. The soldiers moved in silence, the only sound the crunch of the snow beneath their feet and the creak of leather armor. There was no need for words, no rallying cries. The weight of the coming battle was heavy enough without the need for further words.

Leon rode at the front, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. His horse moved with a steady rhythm, the path winding between jagged rocks and bare trees that looked like broken skeletons reaching for the sky. The land was barren, stripped of all life, just as they had been—stripped of everything they once were. But they were still moving forward. One foot in front of the other. One battle after the next.

Behind him, Elena followed in silence, her presence a quiet reassurance. He didn’t need to look back to know she was there. They had walked this path together before. They had fought side by side. He wasn’t alone in this. Not yet.

The sharp crack of a branch breaking underfoot caught his attention. He didn’t react—he had already heard it. Naeve had returned.

The scout came into view, her horse moving swiftly through the snow, her eyes sharp, but there was a flicker of something else in them. Urgency. Fear. Leon’s hand tightened on the reins, his jaw setting.

Naeve didn’t waste time. She was out of breath, but her words were clear. "The enemy’s pulling back from Vaelen. They’re setting up a new line further east. They’ll be ready in a few hours."

Leon’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts immediately falling into place. "Then we have a chance," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "We’ll hit them before they can regroup. Get the vanguard ready to move."

Naeve gave a sharp nod before slipping back into the formation. The tension in the air was palpable now, a pressure that could only be relieved by the clash of steel. The enemy had underestimated them once, and now they would pay for it.

Leon took a deep breath, his thoughts narrowing. They had no time to waste. There was no room for mistakes.

The landscape began to shift as they rode forward. The ground became more uneven, the path steeper, leading them closer to the site where the battle would begin. The eastern winds picked up, biting at their skin, but Leon didn’t flinch. He had long since learned to endure the discomfort.

He looked over to Elena, the calm still present in her gaze, even as the weight of what was to come settled between them. She didn’t speak, but her presence was enough. They had already made their choices. Now, there was no turning back.

As they neared the enemy’s position, the path began to open up, revealing a wide expanse of rocky terrain. The smoke from the enemy camp still lingered in the air, but it was thinner now, barely a wisp against the darkening sky.

The scouts were ahead, moving quietly between the rocks, and Leon didn’t need to look at them to know they were already preparing their positions. This was it. This was the moment.

He turned his attention back to the front, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. It was a reminder of what he had become. Of what he had to do.

"Elena," he said, his voice low, but steady. "Move in. Stay to the left flank. Don’t engage unless you have to."

She gave him a quick nod, her eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second before she moved off to the side. Her presence was like a shadow now, blending into the terrain, her movements swift and silent. She would be ready.

Leon focused on the battlefield ahead. The enemy had underestimated him before. But this time, they wouldn’t have the luxury of that mistake.

The vanguard moved in a coordinated, silent wave, each soldier taking their position with practiced precision. Leon remained at the front, his eyes scanning the terrain for any signs of movement. The tension in the air was thick, the quiet before the storm pressing down on them. But he didn’t move any faster. They would wait. They would strike when the time was right.

The sound of hooves approaching broke the silence. The enemy had sent a small group forward, unaware that they were already being watched. Leon’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his fingers twitching slightly, but he didn’t draw it yet. The moment wasn’t right.

"Hold," he whispered, his voice barely audible to those closest to him. His eyes never left the enemy group, their horses moving slowly as they scanned the terrain ahead.

They were getting closer. Leon could see the outlines of their figures now, their weapons at the ready, but they were still too far.

"Not yet," he said, his voice quieter now, but firm.

The tension in the air was almost unbearable. He could feel the soldiers around him shift slightly, the anticipation palpable, but none of them made a sound. They were all waiting for him.

And then, as if it were the breaking of a dam, the signal was given. A sharp whistle from one of the scouts, and then everything fell into place.

Leon moved forward, his horse surging into motion as he drew his sword. The vanguard followed, a quick, fluid movement that sent them crashing into the enemy lines before they even had a chance to react.

Steel clashed, horses reared, and the noise of the battle began to fill the air. But Leon didn’t shout, didn’t raise his voice above the chaos. He was a blade in the storm, cutting through the enemy with cold precision.

The first soldier he encountered didn’t stand a chance. Leon’s sword moved faster than thought, a clean slice through the man’s defenses, sending him crashing to the ground. But he didn’t pause. The next was already coming.

By the time the last of the enemy were retreating, the battlefield had fallen into an eerie quiet. The remnants of the fight were all around them, the bodies of those who had underestimated them lying in the snow. Leon stood in the midst of it all, his sword dripping with the blood of his enemies.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t cheer. He only surveyed the aftermath, his eyes sharp, his mind already moving to the next decision. The battle had been won. But the war was far from over.

Elena rejoined him, her cloak torn, but her expression steady.

"We’ve won this one," she said, her voice low.

Leon nodded, his eyes scanning the retreating enemy forces. "But they’ll come again. We need to be ready."

He turned away, the weight of his decisions already pressing down on him again. There would be no rest. Not yet. The wind had picked up again, sharper this time, tearing at the soldiers and stinging their exposed skin. The battle had ended quickly, but the chill of the moment lingered, as if the earth itself had yet to exhale. Leon stood in the center of it all, his posture stiff, his eyes fixed on the retreating enemy. They were regrouping, but they would be back. He knew it. They always came back.

He didn’t flinch at the sight of the bodies, scattered in the snow like forgotten pieces of a battle no one would remember. The enemy had underestimated them, but it wouldn’t happen again. Leon’s eyes swept across the battlefield, the dull metallic sheen of blood on the snow, the faint smell of iron in the air. The vanguard had done its job, but the enemy still had strength left to fight.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, its weight familiar, but not comforting. There was no relief in victory. Not yet.

Elena’s voice cut through the silence. "What now?"

Her presence was like a shadow at his side, always there when he needed her most. She wasn’t waiting for an answer. She already knew the next steps.

"We move forward," Leon said, his voice flat. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a fact.

Elena nodded, her eyes scanning the horizon, though the morning light offered little warmth. "There’s no time to rest. The rear guard will follow, but we need to fortify our position."

"Exactly," Leon replied, already turning away from the scene. "The moment we stop moving, they’ll close in. We can’t let them regroup. Not now."

He didn’t wait for a response as he turned to Kellen, who had been standing at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes trained on the movements of the enemy.

"Gather the vanguard," Leon said. "We move east, toward the high ground. We need to make sure they don’t slip past us."

Kellen’s nod was sharp, decisive. There was no hesitation in his movements. He understood the urgency. Leon could feel the subtle shift in the air—something more dangerous was coming. But there would be no time to prepare.

"Understood," Kellen said, his voice a low rumble. He turned quickly, barking orders to the soldiers to move out. The battlefield began to empty as the troops reformed and readied themselves for the next phase.

Leon felt a familiar unease gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. Not yet.

The vanguard moved quickly, the snow crunching beneath their boots as they traversed the rocky terrain. Leon’s horse cut through the snow with a steady pace, its hooves leaving deep impressions in the powder. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. His focus remained fixed ahead, on the line they had to hold, on the ground they had to claim before the enemy could strike again.

Elena rode at his side, her movements as quiet and calculated as ever. She wasn’t speaking, but he could feel the weight of her thoughts as they moved. She knew what came next. They all did.

"We’ve gained ground, but it’s not enough," Elena said finally, her voice steady, but there was a thread of something beneath it. Something he couldn’t quite place.

Leon glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. "No, it’s not. We’ll push harder."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with the unspoken understanding that neither of them wanted to voice. They had seen what happened when they hesitated, when they let their enemies recover. And they weren’t going to make the same mistake.

They rode on, moving deeper into the rocky pass that lay ahead. The wind howled through the cracks in the mountains, but the soldiers didn’t falter. Each one knew their place in the formation. They weren’t just moving toward the next fight—they were pushing forward with purpose.

Leon’s mind was still racing. The battlefield had been too easy, too clean. They hadn’t expected the enemy to withdraw so quickly. But something told him they were being led into a trap. The smoke from the retreating camp still lingered in the air, thin and fading, as though the enemy had set it intentionally.

A figure moved ahead of them, cutting through the storm with a grim expression. Naeve. The scout.

"Lord Thorne," she said, pulling her horse to a halt in front of him. Her eyes were sharp, her breath coming in quick bursts as she dismounted. "I’ve spotted something. They’re regrouping, but they’re not where we thought. The trail splits ahead. It’s a narrow pass."

"Do we have time?" Leon asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Not much," Naeve replied. "They’ve set up defenses, but they’ll move quickly once they realize we’re coming."

Leon’s gaze flickered to the high ground. "Then we move faster."

He turned to Kellen, who had been riding close behind. "Get the rest of the vanguard ready. We’re moving up the pass. Prepare the soldiers for immediate engagement."

Kellen didn’t hesitate. "Right away, Lord Thorne."

Leon urged his horse forward, his mind focused on the narrow trail ahead. Every part of him was on alert now, every muscle tense. They were walking into the jaws of the enemy, but there was no turning back. Not now.

The pass grew steeper, the rocky cliffs rising on either side, narrowing the path until there was no room for maneuvering. Leon’s hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his sword as they made their way up, the tension palpable in the air.

Elena fell into step beside him, her horse moving steadily, but her eyes were always on the horizon. She didn’t speak, but Leon could feel the weight of her thoughts, just as he knew she could feel his.

The sound of hooves grew louder, and Leon’s grip tightened on his sword. The enemy was close. He could feel it. They had been baited, drawn into this pass by an enemy they hadn’t yet fully seen.

Then, a shape appeared on the ridge ahead, a lone figure standing against the grey sky, watching them. Leon didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

The figure moved swiftly, disappearing into the shadows. Leon’s heart quickened, his mind already calculating the next steps. He knew the enemy was ahead, waiting for them to make a mistake. And they weren’t going to.

"Ready," he whispered.

The soldiers around him tensed, their weapons drawn, their resolve firm. The time to hesitate was gone.

The enemy would be waiting for them at the crest of the ridge. They wouldn’t give them another chance to retreat.

"Charge," Leon said, his voice carrying over the wind.

The battle was coming. The pass narrowed further, the rocky walls closing in on them as the group of soldiers pressed forward. Every step felt heavier, the weight of anticipation pressing down on their shoulders. The sound of hooves grew louder with each step, a steady rhythm that seemed to match the quickening beat of Leon’s heart. He could feel the tension rising in the air, the knowledge that the battle was near.

They had moved quickly, but Leon knew time was running out. The enemy had set up defenses ahead, and they would be ready soon. It was a matter of timing now—strike first, strike hard.

The sharp crack of a rock underfoot snapped Leon out of his thoughts. His grip tightened around the reins, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the path ahead. He had no illusions about the danger they were walking into. This was a trap, carefully laid out, and they were walking right into it. But it was too late to turn back now. They had no choice but to move forward.

The wind had picked up again, colder this time, biting at the exposed skin of the soldiers, but Leon didn’t flinch. He had learned long ago not to let discomfort slow him. The cold, the fatigue, the uncertainty—it was all a part of it. The only thing that mattered was the next step.

"Hold," Leon said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it carried through the ranks with an authority that didn’t need to be raised. The soldiers didn’t move, their weapons ready but held low, their stances steady. They were waiting for the signal.

The faint rustling of the wind was the only sound, until Naeve’s voice came through the silence, sharp and urgent.

"They’ve spotted us," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "The pass is blocked. The enemy’s in position. We’re too close."

Leon didn’t answer immediately. His mind moved quickly, calculating the options. There was no time to go around. The pass was their only way through. They had to fight their way forward.

"Elena," he said, turning to her without looking, knowing she would be there. "Take the right flank. We’re hitting them head-on."

She nodded once, her movements fluid and purposeful as she signaled to her group. Without a word, she moved off, her figure slipping into the shadows like smoke. Leon didn’t watch her; he didn’t need to. He trusted her to be exactly where she needed to be.

Leon focused on the soldiers around him. Their faces were grim but resolute. There was no fear in their eyes, just the hard edge of warriors who had long since accepted what the world demanded of them. They were his vanguard—his first line of defense, and their loyalty was unquestioned.

He lifted his hand, and the signal was given.

The attack came quickly, as planned. The vanguard surged forward, moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. The soldiers cut through the snow with ease, their swords drawn, their shields ready. The enemy’s position was well-fortified, but Leon’s men were prepared for this. They had trained for this exact moment.

Leon’s horse surged forward, the snow crunching beneath the hooves as he drew his sword. His movements were calm, deliberate, his mind focused. There was no hesitation in his actions. The first enemy soldier he encountered tried to raise his weapon, but Leon’s blade was already there, cutting through the man’s defense with a swift, clean strike.

He didn’t pause. He didn’t look back. The next soldier was already coming. Leon’s sword moved faster than the man could react, a quick slice that sent him sprawling to the ground. The enemy was retreating, but it didn’t matter. The vanguard was already on them, their momentum impossible to stop.

Leon’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened as he moved through the battlefield. Each strike was efficient, calculated. He didn’t shout, didn’t raise his voice above the noise of battle. His presence was enough. His blade spoke for him, each swing cutting through the enemy lines with cold precision.

The clash of steel was deafening now, the noise filling the air like the roar of a storm. Horses reared, men cried out, but Leon remained focused. His eyes never left the enemy. His hand never faltered. Every move he made was designed to break through, to push them back.

He didn’t linger. The moment his blade met resistance, he moved on. There was no time for anything else. His eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for the next target, the next gap in the enemy’s defense.

Elena was on the right flank, moving like a shadow, her strikes quick and silent, her presence barely a whisper in the chaos. Leon caught a glimpse of her as she cut down another soldier, her movements fluid and precise. She was a part of the storm, as much a weapon as he was.

The battle raged on, but Leon’s focus never wavered. He could feel the weight of each strike, the force of each clash, but his mind stayed sharp, his movements controlled. There was no room for error. Not now.

The battle began to wind down as the last of the enemy forces retreated, their lines breaking as the vanguard pushed forward. The ground was littered with the bodies of those who had underestimated them, scattered in the snow like forgotten remnants of a war that had already been decided.

Leon didn’t stop. His sword was still in his hand, still ready. The enemy may have been retreating, but the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Elena rejoined him, her cloak torn, her face set in that same expression of quiet determination.

"We’ve won this one," she said, her voice low, but there was no relief in her tone.

Leon nodded once, his eyes scanning the battlefield, taking in the retreating enemy forces. "But they’ll come again. We need to be ready."

He turned away from the battlefield, his thoughts already moving to the next phase of the plan. There was no time for victory celebrations. The battle had been won, but the war was far from over.

The cold wind bit at his skin, but Leon didn’t flinch. He had no room for weakness, no time for rest. The war would come again, and they had to be prepared.

"Elena," he said, his voice steady. "We move to the next position. There’s no time to waste."

She nodded, her eyes meeting his for just a moment before she fell into step beside him. Together, they rode forward, the vanguard moving behind them. The snow was thick, the wind biting, but they didn’t falter. There was no room for anything but the next step, the next fight.

They were not done. Not yet.

The path before them grew steeper as they moved toward the enemy’s next line of defense. Leon’s mind remained sharp, his thoughts calculating each moment, each movement as they approached. His hand tightened on the reins as his horse crested another rise, the ground below him growing rougher, more treacherous. The land seemed to mirror the weight of his thoughts, jagged and unyielding, just like the decisions that had led him here.

Behind him, the vanguard moved with practiced precision, every soldier in formation, ready for the next engagement. There was no hesitation, no fear. Only a quiet determination, the kind that comes from knowing the fight was far from over and that each step forward could be their last.

Leon glanced over at Elena. She was still at his side, as always. The quiet strength between them was unspoken but tangible, like an invisible thread that bound them together. Her presence was his constant, and it steadied him in ways nothing else could. Despite the storm of battle that loomed ahead, he knew he wasn’t walking this path alone.

The sound of hooves grew louder, a rhythmic pounding that shook the ground beneath them. Leon’s gaze shifted to Naeve, who had moved ahead, scouting the terrain. The scout was already preparing to report, her quick movements indicating urgency. Leon held his breath for a moment, waiting for the signal.

Naeve’s horse appeared around the bend, and she didn’t waste time. "Lord Thorne," she called, her voice steady but laced with tension. "They’re setting up a defensive line up ahead. The terrain’s in their favor, but we’re close. They’re digging in."

Leon’s mind moved instantly. He could already see the strategy unfold in his mind. The enemy was waiting for them, but they hadn’t expected the speed at which the vanguard was moving. They hadn’t accounted for the surprise.

"We move fast, Naeve," Leon said, his voice sharp. "We hit them hard before they have a chance to reinforce their position. No hesitation."

She gave him a sharp nod before turning her horse back to the front, slipping back into the ranks. The tension in the air was palpable, the soldiers feeling the shift in energy. The moment of preparation was over. They were about to strike.

Elena looked over at him as he urged his horse forward. "The higher ground. We take it."

Leon didn’t need to say a word. They both knew what had to be done. It was a gamble, but it was the only choice.

The wind picked up again, sweeping across the ridges, carrying with it the stench of the enemy’s encampment. The sound of metal on leather echoed as the soldiers braced for what was to come. Their horses, impatient and eager, pawed at the ground, sensing the battle ahead.

The terrain became more treacherous as they pushed onward. The rocks jutted out, forcing the horses to step carefully, but they moved with a fluidity born of urgency. The soldiers didn’t waver. Their formation held tight as they ascended the rocky incline.

"Hold," Leon muttered under his breath as they neared the crest. He could feel the eyes of the soldiers on him, each waiting for the signal. The attack was close. He could almost taste it in the air, the heat of it. But he didn’t flinch. His grip on the sword never wavered.

Then, from the shadows of the ridge, a movement caught his eye. A lone rider, moving swiftly across the pass, cutting through the fog of snow. His heart skipped a beat. It was too soon. They weren’t supposed to engage yet.

The rider came closer, and the form took shape—an enemy scout, racing toward them with alarm written across his face. Leon’s mind raced. They had to act, and they had to act fast.

He drew his sword, the blade cold but familiar in his grip. A quick glance at Elena told him she was already moving into position. Without a word, she was gone, slipping into the shadows as she had so many times before.

Leon spurred his horse forward, a steady rhythm pushing him into motion. The soldiers behind him followed, their steps synchronized as they entered the fray.

The enemy scout didn’t even have time to react as Leon’s blade met him with a swift, decisive strike. The man crumpled to the ground, his scream cut short. Leon’s sword never slowed. It was a clean strike, a necessary one. No words. No hesitation. Only action.

The vanguard surged forward, cutting through the enemy lines with brutal efficiency. Leon didn’t shout commands or rally his troops. They knew what to do. They had all trained for this moment, and they didn’t need encouragement.

The battle was already shaping up. The enemy had been caught off guard, their formations not yet fully in place. The clash of steel filled the air as the vanguard closed in, their momentum unstoppable.

Leon’s eyes scanned the battlefield. Every soldier was in their place, but there was something in the air—something dangerous, something that told him this fight was far from over. He could feel it. The enemy was retreating, but they weren’t finished yet.

He rode forward, his eyes fixed on the next wave of enemies that began to emerge from the cliffs ahead. They were closing in faster than expected.

"Reinforce the center," Leon ordered, his voice calm but commanding. "Don’t let them regroup."

Kellen nodded, already rallying the soldiers around him. Elena appeared at his side once more, her sword gleaming as she cut through the fray with quiet precision. The battle was shifting, but it wasn’t won yet. They couldn’t afford to slow down.

Leon’s focus remained sharp, his sword flashing as he pushed through the enemy. Every strike was calculated, deliberate. He was moving through the storm, his mind already anticipating the next step. The enemy would retreat, but they would return. That was always the way of it.

And Leon would be ready. He always was.