The banner appeared… the flag of Orvalis, and behind it riders charging, and at the front—Leon. His sword was raised, his face steady, then he shouted—"Fooooorward!!!" The horses surged, striking the ground that trembled… the spy remained in place, watching... the war… was no longer one-sided…
The spy suddenly stopped crying, as if someone had shut off a faucet whose source he didn't know. He slowly raised his head, and the features that had been broken moments ago began to calm, but not the calm of peace, rather the calm of a patient who knows he will not be cured.
He smiled faintly, his lips parting slightly and his eyes narrowing as if looking at a distant light, then whispered in a voice only he could hear "Is it... time to atone?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, relaxed his shoulders, as if he had dropped all his weight onto the ground beneath him, as if he surrendered, as if he told his body "Enough."
Leon's riders passed around him like a flood, their horses running, helmets gleaming, hooves making no distinction between stone and corpse. They passed on his right, on his left, in front of him, but no one touched him… He slowly opened his eyes... he watched the riders as they passed, saw them heading toward Savina's soldiers, saw them raise their swords and shout, then suddenly realized "They think I'm one of the city's people, they don't know me, they don't know I'm the spy who brought the fire in!!"
The spy suddenly stood, leapt toward the nearest rider, grabbed the horse's reins and shouted "I'm a spy! I came to kill you!" He drew his dagger. The rider was surprised, but faster, struck him with a single blow of his sword. He fell to the ground, his blood slowly flowing… He smiled as he whispered... "No.. I don't think that's enough."
His eyes began to close slowly, like someone drifting to sleep after a long journey. Then he found himself there. The village. His village.
He walked through its familiar alleys, saying to himself: "What is this calm? Why do I only see it now?" Children ran behind a ball made of old rags, shouting and laughing. He paused for a moment, smiled despite the wound in his side.
"I used to think noise bothered me, but today... I wish it would never stop. Especially the noise of my village."
He passed by the small café, where old men sat, their thin faces glowing with a vague contentment. They argued loudly, whispered about politics, about harvest, about a quarrel between neighbors. Their voices rose and fell like waves of the sea. The spy stood listening to them, and said to himself: "Even their disagreements were beautiful... I didn't know that."
He reached his home, pushed the wooden door gently. His twin brother sat on the floor with their father, waiting for food… his mother was preparing it on the right, blowing into the fire. The spy moved toward them slowly, reached out his hand to touch his father's shoulder.
Suddenly, the ceiling cracked… (KRRRRAAAK) a sound like distant thunder, yet too close. The spy raised his hand that he intended to place on his father's shoulder and stepped back. "What is this?" he said to himself in a trembling voice... the crack grew... widened... branched... branched like the roots of a strange tree.
Then blood began to drip from the cracks, drops falling until they became a light shower. Everyone looked around, the spy's hand trembling, his palm wiping blood from his face. "Stop... please stop..." he whispered. But he could do nothing.
The cracks spread to the walls, and suddenly... his eyes widened.
The walls were filled with red X marks, the same marks he had drawn on the guard buildings in Asou and elsewhere. The hand he had extended to touch the marks pulled back as if burned. He looked around again, saw all the walls turning into a canvas of red marks.
Then screams began everywhere… screams of women, screams of children, screams of men fleeing from fire and death. The cries of Asou filled the entire village, mixing with the smell of burning oil and roasted flesh.
He looked at his hands and found them stained with real blood. He couldn't rub them, couldn't wipe them, he only trembled.
He raised his head to see his brother and parents. They were looking at him with eyes of shock and wonder… eyes that knew everything, eyes that never wanted to know.
He smiled while crying, "Heh" a dry laugh... not from a happy heart, and whispered in a voice only he could hear:"I swear... I did all this for you."
Back to reality. The tear that had been trapped in his eye throughout the flashback, the one he refused to let fall as he watched his village turn into red-marked walls, now fell slowly, heavy as if carrying everything with it: guilt, longing, the dream that died, and the wish that would never come true. It slid down his dust-covered cheek, leaving a pale trail behind, before falling onto the ground without a sound. The breath that had been leaving his chest with effort, those breaths that resisted the wound, the fall, and the bleeding, stopped suddenly. No inhale, no exhale, no cry. Just silence that settled over everything.
The spy who drew the marks, who lit the fire, who brought death to a city that did not know him, who killed two children without intending to, who cried and laughed over their bodies, who leapt toward the rider to be killed, who dreamed of a small hut and sheep and…
Erik advanced on his black horse through the narrow streets of Asou, unafraid of an ambush, not slowing his pace, his horse walking with the confidence of one who knows the city now belongs to a new master. Around him, his soldiers flowed like a flood, filling one alley after another.
He shouted loudly so everyone behind him could hear: "Storm the buildings marked in red!" He pointed toward the walls where the spy had drawn the unmistakable X marks hours earlier, "These are the guard buildings, their weapon depots, their command posts—break them, burn them, and leave not a single stone standing."
He continued, explaining the objective to those near him: "Eliminate the garrison first, don't leave a single soldier behind us, search for them in houses, under beds, in wells, no safe place for them" then pointed toward the high towers and vantage points overlooking the city "Secure the high ground, every elevated surface, every tower still standing, every position overlooking the main streets needs one of our soldiers raising our banner."
Then he laughed a short, dry laugh, as if suddenly remembering something amusing, and added in a voice heard by the nearest twenty riders behind him "As for the rest… follow me after the civilians!" then laughed again and turned his face toward the depths of the city, his soldiers behind him shouting as they charged, no one stopped to ask what he meant, everyone already knew.
The forces spread quickly inside the city:Some rushed into buildings to search them.Some chased civilians through narrow alleys.Some took positions, trying to establish control points.
The chaos was still under control… seemingly.
Then—The sound of fighting from behind, swords, armor, and shouting… a sharp cry "From behind!!... from behind!!... behind us!!!!"
Everything stopped for a second… Erik turned... and his eyes widened... behind him—the banner of Orvalis advancing toward them from the rear…
Erik raised his sword high and shouted at the top of his voice "Turn around! Face the rear!" but the voice was lost in the chaos. One of his aides, a young rider named Daren, approached him and tried to explain the situation indirectly.
"Sir, the streets are too narrow! The horses can't turn in such tight space with dozens packed forward!" his voice was loud to overcome the shouting of soldiers and horses.
Erik looked at him angrily, but he saw with his own eyes what was happening, riders trying to turn their horses only to stop face to face, horses colliding, bodies falling beneath merciless hooves.
From another side, a soldier on his left tried to present the view from below, on foot after falling from his horse, shouted "Sir, half our men are scattered inside buildings! They don't hear your orders, and those who do can't reach us because of the congestion!"
Erik turned his head left and right, saw soldiers who had been chasing civilians now running back only to collide with those searching buildings, saw the chaos doubling every second, saw an army that was organized minutes ago turning into complete disorder.
Daren added, his voice abandoning all formality "Sir, sixty to seventy percent of our forward force has lost cohesion, we're no longer an army, we're crowds pushing into an alley too small for us."
Erik's anger ignited as he watched the ranks break apart.He shouted at those around him:"We won't stand idle!"
He didn't wait for full response.He turned immediately and dashed toward a side alley.A number of riders followed him one after another, withdrawing with him from the heart of chaos.
They moved through narrow passages, turning quickly between walls, avoiding scattered clashes.Fast movement… a tactical withdrawal.
Until they exited from the rear side.
Then—They surged again into the main street.
Amid the chaos…Erik did not stop.
He entered the fight directly.His strikes were fast, consecutive.Every move forward, no retreat.No shield raised.No waiting.Only penetration.
His sword descended, rose, drove forward at sharp angles "RRAAAAAAA"pushing one opponent, shoving another aside, advancing step by step.
The riders behind him began to merge into the path he carved.
And in the midst of the clash…Erik carved the way through by force…