Chapter 177: Dance of Fire and Falsehood
The night was never truly silent on this construction site. Even when the wind fell asleep, the base vibrated with a constant murmur: the creaking of cables, the clinking of tools, the weary groans of men who had been awake for far too long. Dylan, crouched between two stacks of crates, observed the ballet of workers and soldiers with a glacial calm that masked the tension in his neck.
He made himself into the shadow of someone utterly ordinary. His face was dirty, his hands reddened by fake labor he sometimes mimed to divert attention. In reality, he was listening. Waiting. And that night, he didn’t have to wait long.
A messenger arrived at a gallop, the horse lathered in foam, its flanks soaked with sweat. The man jumped from the saddle before the animal even stopped, nearly stumbling, his voice tearing through the relative calm of the construction site.
"Attack!" he rasped. "The southern base... they... they’ve reduced it to ashes!"
A shiver rippled through the camp like a shockwave. Dylan saw heads lift, shovels freeze midair, hammers suspended. A few seconds of silence, and then chaos erupted.
The captain, a colossus with a black braided beard, emerged from the command tent. His grim face radiated more rage than fear. He grabbed the messenger by the collar.
"Who?"
"Awakened ones... five or six... They... they took the banner. Nothing holds there anymore."
The captain released the man like a worn-out rag and turned to his officers.
"Double the teams! No sleep, no rest! I want these fortifications standing by dawn! If High-Terre thinks they’ll beat us to it, let them come! We’ll be waiting."
Behind his mask of weariness and dull obedience, Dylan smiled inwardly. This kind of chaos was gold for an infiltrator. Orders cracked like whips. Men ran everywhere. The construction site, already infernal, became a furious anthill.
He noticed a detail: some soldiers, nervous, checked their weapons more often than necessary. New arrows, bows drawn taut for no reason, daggers sharpened to a gleam. The air reeked of the scent of expected blood.