Chapter 8 - 7
By dawn, preparations for battle were underway. After a full night’s rest, Lumberling had recovered his stamina and was ready.
He knew this might be the end.
Uncle Drake had told him that the Centurion planned to use the same tactic again. It was unlikely to work a second time, but they had no better options.
’Maybe he thinks... if we’re all going to die anyway, we should at least take down as many as we can.’
The 150 soldiers were split into three groups: Decurion Lance would lead an attack squad of 50, another 50 would lay an ambush led by Decurion Rex and Uncle Drake—Lumberling’s group—and the remaining would serve as bait, led by the Centurion himself.
There were no grand speeches, no hopeful rallies. Just quiet goodbyes.
As they moved out, Lumberling began practicing Concealment. He recalled the fragmented memories from the assassin whose essence he’d devoured, mimicking how they moved.
Blend into the surroundings... erase your presence... silence your steps... He repeated the steps, adjusting with every mistake, each attempt smoothing the flow of movement and breath.
Their unit waited in a dense forested area, hidden and idle. As time passed, the faint sound of metal clinking and footsteps began to echo.
The enemy was here.
Lumberling gripped his bow and readied an arrow.