CHAPTER 59: LEGION

Morning came, and usually this would have been announced to Aric by the chirping of birds in the sky, but there was no such thing. Here, it was far too cold for birds to fly, and even the sunlight came in a pale, gloomy glow. There was barely any warmth in its rays.

Aric had donned his armor once more and went to the water reservoir placed within the tent. He dipped both hands into it before splashing his face with the freezing cold water. Only then did he notice the stains of blood on his hands—none of it his.

It belonged to the men he had felled the previous night.

He soaked his hands in the water, scrubbing to wash away the blood, as though he might cleanse himself of their murders along with the crimson stains, but he knew better—such a sin was one that would follow him all his life.

He stood, staring at his reflection in the water for a while, until a call came from outside the tent.

"General!" one of the soldiers exclaimed. "The Northrenders’ legionaries have arrived."

"Understood," Aric replied, his eyes still fixed upon his reflection in the water.

He reached toward the table not far from him and grasped his mask, watching his reflection as he slowly covered his face with it.

"Quite fitting, no?" the prince muttered to himself.

Letting out a short sigh, he turned. He walked to the side of his bed where his sword lay, picked it up, and fastened it across his back before promptly leaving the tent.

"General!" both soldiers standing guard outside saluted.

"With me," Aric commanded calmly as he strode past them, both soldiers swiftly falling in behind at his order.

He noticed the fires of the previous night had burned out, leaving behind only ash from the homes that had once sprawled across the settlement.

"The settlers—have they departed?" the prince asked.

"Yes, a few hours ago," one of the soldiers answered.

"Good," Aric said with relief. It would have been troublesome if the Northrenders had found them still here.

As Aric strode through the camp, snow crunched beneath his boots, and the cold air bit at the edges of his exposed skin. His mask, firmly in place, hid the expression of contemplation that had marked his face moments before.

He felt the weight of the sword across his back and the echo of last night’s memories pressing upon his mind, but his thoughts shifted as he spotted figures approaching through the distance—the Northrenders.

A swift count told him they were about fifty strong, their silhouettes emerging through the pale mist that lingered in the air.

These were no ordinary soldiers. Born and bred in blood and winter, they carried themselves with an aura of lethal calm. Their armor was dark and formidable, a mixture of hide and steel, lined with thick furs against the biting cold.

Their helmets, adorned with beast bones, cast long shadows across their faces, giving them an almost otherworldly presence. Heavy gauntlets wrapped their arms, and their reinforced boots crushed the snow beneath them as if it were nothing.

They did not ride horses like the soldiers of Byzeth. Instead, they commanded far more fearsome mounts—massive beasts, twice the size of any warhorse, with thick, shaggy fur and gleaming red eyes.

These creatures bore curved horns, sharp enough to impale, and clawed feet that left deep impressions in the snow. Their breaths poured out in great clouds of steam, their snarls barely contained under the dominance of their riders.

At the head of the column rode a woman unlike any Aric had ever seen.

She was tall and striking, her presence alone commanding attention. Her skin was pale as snow, yet her aura radiated terrifying strength. The sheer amount of Ki flowing from her was nearly suffocating. Her long, flowing purple hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting against the black furs and steel she wore.

Her eyes, the same vivid violet as her hair, glowed faintly with power, their intensity so sharp it was difficult to hold her gaze.

Her armor was sleek yet sturdy, forged of blackened steel that clung to her curvaceous frame, trimmed with fur along the collar and wrists. Her chest plate, though form-fitting, bore scars of countless battles—a testament to her hardened life.

A massive two-handed axe hung across her back, its blade etched with runes—a weapon seemingly far too large for her slender build. Yet Aric knew better than to underestimate her. She exuded untenable power, and the very cold seemed to bend at her presence.

As the Northrenders drew near, the soldiers of Byzeth stiffened, their eyes wide at the sight of the terrifying warriors. The Ki flowing from the legionaries was suffocating, like a crushing weight pressing down on the battlefield. These were more predators than soldiers.

The woman at the front reined her beast to a halt a few feet before Aric. Her piercing violet eyes met his, and for a long moment, neither moved. She studied him, as though appraising his worth, her gaze narrowing behind the mist of her breath.

"You must be the one they call ’General,’" she said, her voice low and edged with seductive arrogance.

Aric nodded, his voice steady behind the mask. "And you must be the commander of this legion."

A smirk touched her lips, and she swung down from her beast with a fluid grace that defied her size. When her boots struck the snow, the ground seemed to tremble faintly beneath her.

"I am Yrsa," she declared, her hand resting on the haft of her axe. "Commander of the Winterborn. We’ve come as agreed."

Aric inclined his head, studying both her and the legion gathered behind. "Your timing is impeccable, Commander Yrsa."

She chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It always is. Now tell me, ’General,’ what is it you plan for this settlement? Surely the fires were not merely for warmth?"

Aric’s gaze flicked toward the ashen remains. "They were, in a sense," he said coolly. "But this is only the beginning. Your legion will be crucial for what comes next."

Yrsa’s smirk widened, and the air between them seemed to crackle with tension. "Good. The men of winter are eager for blood."

Aric turned his eyes to the legionaries behind her, their gazes gleaming with hunger. There was no fear in them—only the readiness to unleash carnage.

"Then they shall have it," Aric said, his voice dark and commanding. "We march to battle again soon. Yrsa—you and your Winterborn will take the front line."

"Exactly where we belong," she replied, her violet eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Aric gave a curt nod. As he turned away, leading them deeper into camp to prepare for the next phase of conquest, he could still feel her gaze heavy upon him. He welcomed it.

Blood would soon flow in excess.