Chapter 40: Before The Flames Begin
The entire stronghold was drenched in crimson walls, banners, even the stone seemed stained. Firelight from braziers and torches cast a hellish glow across the structure.
Turrets lined the walls not sleek, mana-driven cannons like Valery’s, but brutal mechanical engines shaped like jaws. Their slow, deliberate rotation was meant to terrorize as much as kill.
Rows of soldiers marched below not in standard armor.
Silas leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Are those... knight suits?"
He tapped something on his wrist, snapping rapid images through his watch. His screen lit up as notes and logs auto-transcribed beside the pictures.
"What the hell..." he muttered. "That’s not even a uniform. That’s ceremonial-grade plate. Who the hell marches in that?"
As they watched the stronghold, something changed in the air.
Footsteps. Close.
Red Line patrol.
Without a word, Silas and Cendric dropped into the underbrush. They held their breath, eyes alert, letting the shadows hide them.
A group of Red Line soldiers stepped through the trees — five of them, armored in red. One stood out: taller, heavier armor, a long spear dragging behind him.
He stopped.