Lucas did not waste ti once the eting ended. He gathered his squad with quiet efficiency, his movents steady despite the lingering weakness in his body, and within the hour they were riding again with Rus as their destination. The land grew harsher the farther they went, the air thinner and colder, and the silence between them heavier than before. Everyone felt it. This march carried more weight than any they had taken before, and no one needed to say it out loud.
Two days passed like that, filled with cautious scouting, brief halts, and restless nights. Lucas spent most of the ti thinking, replaying the king's words in his mind, weighing every possibility, every face he trusted, every shadow that might be hiding sothing sharper beneath it. He did not voice these thoughts. A commander did not spread doubt unless it was already too late.
It was near dusk on the second day when Patrick appeared.
Lucas noticed him before anyone else did. A familiar presence at the edge of his perception, moving with panic rather than calm. That alone made Lucas uneasy. He raised a hand slightly, signaling the squad to slow, and turned his horse toward the young man as Patrick stepped fully into view.
Patrick stopped a few paces away, breathing hard but not from exertion alone. His face looked drawn, his eyes restless, and there was a tightness in his jaw that Lucas recognized imdiately. This was not the expression of a man bringing routine information.
Lucas studied him in silence for a mont, then spoke evenly. "You are early."
Patrick swallowed, nodded once, and forced himself to et Lucas's eyes. "I was told not to scout again, not only , they got more scouts now."
That single sentence set sothing cold twisting in Lucas's chest.
He dismounted slowly, feeling the ground beneath his boots, grounding himself before continuing. "Who told you that."
Patrick hesitated, his hands clenching at his sides. "The general did not speak to directly," he said, his voice lower now. "It ca from higher than him. Orders passed down with no room for questions."
Lucas felt the weight of the squad's attention behind him, though none of them interrupted. Even the ice belle had gone still, her gaze fixed sharply on Patrick.
Lucas stepped closer, keeping his tone calm. "Tell everything you heard, not what you think it ans. Start from the mont you were summoned."
Patrick took a shaky breath. "They are moving," he said. "Not just preparing. They are already repositioning forces, and they are doing it with certainty. They are not guessing anymore."
Lucas felt his pulse quicken, though his face remained composed. "Certainty about what."
Patrick's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "About Rus. About you. About this march."
Lucas's fingers curled slowly into a fist at his side as the implications snapped into place faster than he liked. He searched Patrick's face for exaggeration, for fear turning shadows into monsters, but what he saw instead was dread mixed with resignation.
Patrick shook his head, his eyes glistening. "This is not friendly news," he said quietly, almost apologetically, as if he wished the words could be taken back the mont they left his mouth.
Lucas closed his eyes for a brief second, then opened them again, already bracing himself for what would co next.
Lucas did not speak imdiately. He simply stood there, staring past Patrick as if the road ahead might confess sothing if he looked hard enough. The pieces slid into place one by one, and the weight of the conclusion pressed down on his chest until breathing felt deliberate rather than natural.
It was impossible. That was the first thought that surfaced clearly. Rus could not move that fast. Even with prepared roads, even with disciplined legions, even with cultivators assisting logistics, an army did not reposition itself across regions in a matter of days unless it had been waiting for the signal long before the march ever began.
Lucas exhaled slowly. "They already knew," he said at last, his voice low and steady, though sothing inside him cracked quietly. "They knew where we would go before we even left."
Patrick nodded, his shoulders sagging. "That was the feeling in the camp. No confusion. No scrambling. Orders were clean and confident, like they had rehearsed them."
Lucas looked down at the ground, then briefly at his own hands, scarred and still faintly darkened where the inferno's corruption had not fully faded. His mind moved faster than his words now, retracing every eting, every glance exchanged, every silence that had once seed harmless.
Henrietta's calm certainty.The Queen's composed approval.The Empress's quiet smile.
He hated himself for even thinking it.
The ice belle drifted closer, her presence cool and sharp against the tension thickening the air. "You are angry," she said softly, not accusing, just stating what she felt.
Lucas let out a bitter breath. "I am angry because this should not be possible," he replied. "And yet it is."
Jennifer shifted uneasily behind him. "You an there is a spy," she said carefully, as if hoping the word would soften if spoken gently.
Lucas shook his head. "Not a spy," he answered. "Not in the usual sense."
Bartho frowned. "Then what."
Lucas lifted his gaze, and for the first ti since Patrick arrived, his eyes carried sothing raw and unguarded. "A traitor at the highest level," he said. "Soone who had access to decisions before they were ever announced. Soone whose word would never be questioned."
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.
Patrick's voice trembled. "The general ntioned sothing else," he said hesitantly. "He said if Valerion truly marched to Rus, then the net would finally close."
Lucas felt the words strike deeper than any blade. He straightened slowly, resolve hardening around the pain rather than pushing it away.
"So this is what they want," he murmured. His jaw tightened. The realization hurt more than he expected, not because of the danger ahead, but because betrayal at that level ant trust had already died sowhere far closer than the battlefield.
He looked at Patrick again, his tone gentler now. "You did well," he said. "You ca when you were told not to wait. That choice may have saved thousands."
Patrick bowed his head slightly, tears threatening again. "Does that an my mother and brother."
Lucas t his gaze firmly. "It ans I will not forget them," he said. "And neither will Valerion."
He turned back to the squad, his posture settling into sothing colder, sharper. Whatever grief stirred inside him would have to wait. There was no room for it now.
"One of three people," he thought grimly. "And all of them stand close enough to cut the king's throat without drawing a blade."
Lucas mounted his horse again, the motion smooth despite the storm raging in his chest.
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