Daemon didn't know how he survived that battle. All he remembered was waking up beneath a pile of corpses eight meters high. He had been saved by a young man with a slightly immature face and yellow-blond hair. When Daemon recounted the story to Young Lord Solon, he explained that this young man was named Karlon. They were the same age, though Karlon had joined the army a year later.
That was their first meeting. At the time, Karlon didn't even know Daemon was still alive. He was just a battlefield grunt under orders from an unnamed soldier to gather the corpses for cremation. Daemon had been dragged along as one of the supposedly dead.
Luckily, Daemon wasn't dead. He had merely passed out from blood loss. Just as he was teetering on the edge of death, Karlon shared half of a coarse barley cake with him, bringing him back. From then on, Daemon took Karlon under his wing. The two survived the bloodbath at Gondor Heights, a battle so infamous that most people dared not speak its name.
Later, Daemon finally remembered exactly how he survived that day. Their group of barely a dozen men had been charged by over a hundred enemy cavalry. The front line was skewered by long spears, and the rear line was trampled by warhorses. In a split-second decision, Daemon grabbed a fellow soldier frozen in fear and lifted him above his head as they ran toward the oncoming horses. The unlucky soldier took the brunt of the trampling, cushioning the impact. Daemon's ribs were broken, but he wasn't immediately killed. Still conscious, he dragged nearby corpses over himself and finally passed out from the pain.
Betraying a comrade is a capital offense, especially in the army. If discovered, the punishment was death by dismemberment, and one's family would be enslaved for generations. So Daemon kept the truth buried in his heart. He never told a soul. But it was that moment that marked his true transformation. He didn't feel guilty, everyone would've died anyway. So why not use another life to preserve your own?
That battle didn't just mature Daemon, it also earned him a loyal follower. Karlon was a beggar from a small town in Tyrek Province who had joined the army out of desperation during a drought. His original unit was decimated, and even if he rejoined his former corps, he would've just become cannon fodder. So he chose to stick with Daemon.
After the battle, Daemon reunited with Uncle Joshek's squad. Of the original ten, only Joshek, Karlon, and Daemon remained. Joshek was promoted to squad captain, Karlon became vice-captain, and Daemon was made a second-class squad leader. Seeing that Karlon was quick and nimble, Daemon made him the squad scout. Due to heavy losses, other units were merged into Daemon's, forming a tight trio: Daemon, Hugo, and Karlon.
The story ended. Whether it was Solon feeling sentimental or Daemon lost in thought, the tent fell silent for a while. As for Daemon's escape from the Wolf Legion, he simply said he had hidden among the dead. The details, he would take to the grave.
Clap clap clap...
After the silence, Young Lord Solon applauded. "Not bad. No wonder you've made a name for yourself in the camp. You've got strength and guts. The annihilation of the Wolf Legion at Gondor Heights shocked Storm, Northwild, and the surrounding countries. I didn't expect a 'nobody' like you to have taken part."
"I was only in one part of the battlefield where a regiment under the Wolf Legion clashed with our Lion Legion, my lord. You flatter me." Daemon had been around the block; he knew how to play the game, one humble response after another. In front of Solon, he projected the image of a capable but modest subordinate.
"Hm, you've done well. Now tell me, why are you really here?" Solon narrowed his eyes. This time, the question had weight.
Daemon bowed deeply and said firmly, "I wish to follow you into battle in future campaigns, my lord."
This was Cassie's analysis from the night before: since the new army was being built as Solon's core force, he was likely to be the commanding officer. At this moment, Daemon didn't need to ask for rank, just loyalty. Solon wouldn't mistreat someone so devoted.
"Alright. I understand. Since you've chosen to follow me, benefits will come your way." Solon pointed to a coral-like red plant on a shelf to his left. "This Red Sea Flower helps with Battleforce training. I don't need it anymore. Take a branch. Put it nearby to boost your training, or grind it into juice and drink it, though it tastes terrible. It'll last you three days."
Clearly pleased to have a powerful and clever follower, Solon was generous.
"Thank you, my lord." Though Solon didn't say it outright, gifting a rare cultivation aid said it all.
Daemon walked to the Red Sea Flower, picked up a small knife beside it, and carefully cut a finger-length branch. Even though Solon claimed it was useless to him, the many cut marks on the plant suggested frequent use. Daemon dared not take more than his share. He respectfully stepped aside.
"Good. I accept your wine. I'll rest now," Solon said, signaling the meeting's end. Daemon took the hint and left the tent, his mission complete.
In high spirits, Daemon headed toward his squad's tent. He planned to stay in camp tonight, he couldn't keep disappearing every night unless he became a squad captain. He'd already told Cassie not to wait for him. He'd visit her in a few days.
At midday, the camp echoed with the shouts of soldiers training. Departure was near. Squad leaders were drilling their troops, better late than never. Smart soldiers were especially active at times like this, like Daemon.
In the center of camp, inside a dark green command tent, the mood was somber. At the head of the long table sat a tall, mature man with chestnut hair and a short beard, Baron Kenning. He was forty years old, and years of high office and personal strength gave him a commanding presence. No one dared speak before he did.
There were ten people in the tent. Baron Kenning sat at the head. To his left was the massive, armored and fearsome cavalry commander Ser Willas. To his right sat the composed Young Lord Solon. Then came six squad captains, including Uncle Joshek. A butler in his fifties stood behind the Baron, an old servant whose long service earned him silent respect from all present.
"Five days from now, we attack the city of Faircastle. The military command has issued a death order: we must rendezvous at Evenfall City in two months. This battle must be swift. Kashir's side is already in position." The Baron laid out the order with a firm tone.
"Looks like headquarters is feeling the pressure. The Gale Legion is nearly at Ellis City, while we, Eagle Legion, haven't even glimpsed Evenfall yet," said Captain Mont, head of the First Squad. Unlike Joshek, who led through grit and experience, Mont was the Baron's strategist, only he dared speak so freely.
"True. There's always been tension between Gale and Eagle Legion. Now that Gale's taken the lead, no wonder HQ is panicking," added Sir Willas.
A few months ago, after breaking through the Felmer Gorge, the kingdom of Northwild was exposed like a naked lamb to Storm's cavalry. The three great Storm legions, Gale, Lion, and Eagle, advanced via upper, central, and lower routes.
Northwild had three provinces, shaped like a crooked triangle. The western Peters Territory had already fallen after years of war, including the bloodbath at Gondor Heights and the loss at Felmer Gorge. With its main forces destroyed, Northwild had no meaningful defense left.
So the Storm strategy was to strike all three fronts. Gale and Eagle Legion would capture the two remaining provincial capitals, Ellis and Evenfall, while the elite Lion Legion charged directly at the royal capital: Audis, located between the two. Since they'd face the heaviest resistance, Gale and Eagle were expected to reinforce the Lion Legion after their own victories.
"This attack on Faircastle is just a stepping stone. Our Second Legion has already secured the surrounding towns. The order is to quickly regroup at Bimore City," the Baron added.
"Bimore?" Murmurs filled the tent. Everyone knew the city. It was the center of a count's domain, and the last obstacle before joining up with the rest of the legion.
"Already? I thought we had two more months…" Mont was baffled. They were still far from Bimore and had at least three towns to pass through. As a regional capital, Bimore would likely have a strong defense. Mont wasn't eager for another hard battle, and neither, he suspected, was the Baron.
The Baron glanced at him, then swept his eyes over the others. He tapped the table gently. The murmurs stopped. Everyone focused. After a long pause, the Baron furrowed his brow and said quietly, "The homeland can't hold out much longer. We must end this war quickly."
Everyone froze, deep in thought.
The Baron had connections in the capital and knew the truth. Although the drought had ended a year ago, Storm's labor force was wrecked, young men gone, the population unbalanced with nearly three women for every man. Fields were tilled by the old and the weak. Barely enough to feed themselves, and certainly not the army. There were other issues too: population loss, military attrition, massive debt. Storm, a small kingdom, could no longer afford a prolonged war.
With that truth laid bare, Mont echoed, "Then we must take Faircastle as soon as possible."
"Faircastle is a baronial capital. Without full prep, it won't fall easily," someone pointed out. "And our regiment still lacks two squad leaders. Shouldn't we-"
That was the real reason for the meeting: to decide who would fill the vacant squad captain positions. It wasn't their call to make, that authority rested with the Baron.
"You're right. We still need two squad leaders. Any recommendations?" the Baron asked calmly.
Suggestions flew in. One captain nominated a young man named Naroma from his own unit. His team had suffered heavy losses, and he wanted someone familiar, ideally someone he could influence.
Another nominated Jersen, a five-year veteran from a different squad, strong and reliable. His own unit had taken devastating losses at Felmer Canyon, and he needed seasoned help. He was acting captain now and wanted the title made official.
Others suggested Vergyl, a talented upstart; Gibbs, a dependable veteran, and of course, Joshek recommended Daemon, praising his steadiness and drive.
"Quiet, all of you," the Baron sighed, rubbing his brow and tapping the table. Again, the same old argument. No consensus. "We'll vote."
As expected. Everyone exchanged knowing glances. When debates dragged on, and the Baron didn't decide outright, he'd call for a vote. He'd learned the method while studying abroad in the Orlesian Empire, parliamentary democracy.
To these soldiers, it wasn't about fairness, it just made the Baron feel more approachable, less like an untouchable noble. It was part of why they respected him.
Voting began with Sir Willas on the Baron's left. Six squad leaders had proposed six candidates. Two would be chosen. Naroma and Jersen were favorites, they'd been nominated by their own commanders. But Gibb and Daemon also had their supporters.
Ser Willas abstained, as usual. He avoided voting in power struggles, being a noble himself and a vassal of the Baron. His family had served the Baron's for generations, his ancestor was even a personal guard to the Baron's ancestor during the early days in Delt Province.
Storm law limited noble appointments to prevent concentrated power: a baron could only appoint one knight, a viscount one lord, and so on. No dukes existed in Storm, its first king had been a duke himself and banned the title forever.
After Sir Willas, Mont cast his vote, followed by others in turn, down to the vice captain of the Fourth Squad. Solon, sitting quietly beside the Baron, was as usual ignored, he rarely voted in these affairs.
As Daemon had been nominated by Joshek of the Second Squad, he became the third nominee in line, a middle-of-the-pack contender.