"Your Excellency," an officer called out as the column pressed forward in a frantic pace. "Scouts report no enemy activity within Sunset Pass itself, but we've found traces of Wolf Riders roughly twenty miles to the north. The enemy appears to be retreating toward the Mt. Gelmir region."
Hectov reined in his horse, shielding his eyes to peer at the jagged natural silhouette of the pass ahead. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "We're late. If we had pinned those bastards south of the pass, not a single one would have escaped my blade."
He raised a gauntleted hand, signaling the commanders. "Pass the order: Cavalry to the front, light infantry behind, supply wagons to the rear. The entire army is to double the pace. We give chase!"
"Yes, sir!"
Within fifteen minutes, the Caelid City Guard shifted formation. The cavalry and light infantry surged forward, quickly outstripping the heavy shield-bearers and the lumbering mule-drawn ballistae. The force stretched into a thin, serpentine line, charging headlong into the funnel of Sunset Pass.
In Hectov's experience, a head-on confrontation with demi-humans or Misbegotten was never a challenge. Even if they brought out a few Mountain Demons, they were little more than slow-moving targets for his disciplined shield-walls and crossbow volleys. The only thing that had ever truly stopped him was the terrain.
Usually, the rebels would crumble at the first clash and scatter into the wilderness like fish through a net, eventually hiding in the volcanic heat of the north where his heavy armor beca a death trap. This ti, however, the "fish" was massive. Intelligence suggested a gathered host of thousands, grown bold enough to strike Caelid itself. Hectov had played the long ga, starving them out from behind his walls. Now that they were retreating, he was certain he could butcher their main force before dusk.
The light cavalry thundered into the pass, the Regent leading the charge. The knights swayed in their saddles, moving like a silver arrow aid at the enemy's back. Hectov surveyed his troops with a swell of pride. He looked around, seeking an audience for his triumph, and spotted a figure riding just a few paces away.
"Hey, Clavell!" He spurred his horse to close the gap. "What are your thoughts on this slaughter?"
Clavell looked back, his gaze indifferent and detached. "I do not understand the aning of your question, sir."
Hectov's forced smile stiffened, a glint of malice flickering in his eyes. "Nothing much. I just thought you'd be happy to see these rebellious animals put down." A mocking smirk played on his lips. "After all, this could be considered revenge for your 'daughter,' couldn't it?"
The words had barely left his mouth when Clavell yanked his reins. His warhorse reared with a frantic neigh, hooves pawing the air as he ca to a dead stop.
Hectov, carried by his montum, galloped another ten ters before reining in. He turned back, surprised by the sudden defiance from a man who had always been submissive.
He knew his words were vile. He was perfectly aware of how Clavell felt about the demi-human girl he had adopted. That was why he said it—to tear the wound open. Back in the capital, Hectov had always despised the Perfurs, viewing them as status-less healers with no sense of hierarchy.
To Hectov, a "Golden Person" born under the Erdtree and blessed by the Elden Ring associating with "filthy" demi-humans was a desecration of the Golden Order itself. Every ti he had seen that child in the streets of Caelid, he had felt the urge to put her to the sword and toss the carcass to the dogs.
But Clavell was a popular figure. His skill had saved half the city from plague, and his prestige often rivaled Hectov's own. The Regent had practiced "unprecedented patience" for two years—until a raid on a farm provided the perfect excuse. Hectov's guards had returned with the child's head, claiming it was a "misunderstanding" during the chaos of a demi-human skirmish.
"What is the aning of this?" Hectov demanded. Clavell sat motionless on his horse, a chilling aura radiating from him that made the Regent's skin crawl.
"On April 28th of last year, you ordered your guards to murder my daughter," Clavell said, his voice flat.
"I've said it before, it was a mistake."
"The rancher told the truth, Hectov. His mother held Monica in her arms and scread to your captain that she was the daughter of a city official. That cruel bastard snatched her from the old woman's arms anyway and took her Vigor."
"Clavell, watch your tongue!" Hectov barked, his hand moving toward his sword. "Are you questioning your superior based on the ramblings of a commoner?"
"Shut up, you bastard," Clavell said curtly. He looked exhausted, like an actor finally removing a heavy mask after a grueling performance.
Around them, the soldiers were slowing, their ranks bottlenecking as the pass narrowed. The din of iron and horse-cries echoed off the cliffs, making the air feel thick and claustrophobic.
"I've had enough of you," Clavell continued, shaking his head. "Your narrow laws, your rotted noble blood—no wonder Leyndell produces such filth. Your fifty guards, your three hundred new recruits... they are all here. And the knights left in the city? I have already made arrangents for them."
He looked Hectov in the eye, his voice as calm as a tomb. "You should all die."
As the final word fell, a deafening roar of collapsing stone erupted from the valley entrance. The cliffs, pre-set with black powder, disintegrated. A waterfall of earth and rock swallowed the rear cavalry instantly.
Hectov looked up in horror. Lining the ridges of the pass were countless demi-humans and Misbegotten, their bone-tipped arrows aid down at the panicked City Guard.
In the next heartbeat, the sky went dark with rain.
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