Chapter 19: The First Order
The system did not announce the quest with drama.
There was no flare of light, no triumphant tone, no sense of reward waiting at the end like bait. It surfaced the way everything else had since Aren gained authority—quietly, formally, and with weight.
[Quest Detected]
Aren stopped walking.
Snow crunched softly beneath his boots as the army continued to move around him, unaware of the shift that had just occurred. He did not look at the system immediately. He had learned better than that.
When he finally allowed his attention to settle, the information unfolded.
[Primary Quest: Cull the Riders]
[Threat Classification: Strategic Disruption Unit]
[Objective: Neutralize enemy rider forces operating on the Northern Plains]
[Completion Conditions:]
– Eliminate operational rider detachments
– Disrupt enemy cavalry mobility in the region
[Reward:]
– Aura Perception Unlocked
– Aura Sensory Awareness Enabled
Aren's breath slowed.
Not use.
Not control.
Perception.
That mattered.
[Warning:]
[Projected Casualties Without Intervention: High]
[Projected Morale Degradation: Severe]
The system waited.
It did not tell him how.
It never did.
Aren exhaled slowly and dismissed the interface.
The Northern Plains stretched endlessly ahead, white and indifferent. Soldiers marched in layered formations, their movement steady but tired. He could feel it now—not through any supernatural sense, but through observation.
Men were slowing.
Not physically.
Mentally.
The harassment was working.
Small-unit attacks. Sudden injuries. No decisive battles, only constant pressure. Soldiers slept lightly, hands never leaving weapons. Every ridge felt hostile. Every drift looked like an ambush waiting to happen.
They were bleeding without seeing the blade.
Aren turned back toward the command cluster.
---
The officers' meeting reconvened within the hour.
Maps were already spread when Aren entered, new markings added where scouts had reported rider movement—wide arcs, fast penetrations, sudden disappearances.
Seraphina Valecrest stood at the head, arms folded, expression sharp.
Aren did not wait to be invited.
He stepped forward.
"I have a proposal," he said.
Several officers turned toward him immediately. Some with interest. Some with thinly veiled irritation.
Seraphina inclined her head slightly. "Speak."
"The riders are the problem," Aren said. "Not the main force."
One officer frowned. "They're a supporting unit."
"No," Aren replied. "They're the blade. Everything else is pressure."
Murmurs spread.
Aren continued.
"They aren't trying to destroy us. They're exhausting us. Injuring soldiers, forcing caution, slowing supply movement. Every day they operate freely, our morale drops."
A logistics officer nodded grimly. "That matches projections."
Aren tapped the map.
"We can't outmarch them," he said. "And if we advance recklessly, they'll cut our supply lines and force us into a retreat."
"So what?" an officer snapped. "We chase ghosts?"
"No," Aren replied. "We let them come to us."
Silence followed.
Seraphina's gaze sharpened.
"Explain," she said.
Aren took a breath.
"We halt the march," he said.
Several officers reacted immediately.
"That's impossible."
"They'll fortify."
"We'll lose momentum."
Aren raised his hand once—not to command, but to finish his thought.
"Two days," he said. "No advance."
The tent went still.
"Two days of rest," Aren continued. "Rotations. Proper sleep. Weapon maintenance. Wound treatment. The army regains morale and cohesion."
"And in those two days?" Seraphina asked.
"I take fifty," Aren said.
"Fifty?" someone repeated.
"Elite," Aren clarified. "Mobile. Lightly burdened. We hunt the riders."
A sharp intake of breath came from one corner.
"That's suicide," an officer said flatly.
"Not if we're faster," Aren replied.
"And how do you plan to do that?" another demanded. "They know the terrain."
"Yes," Aren said. "Which is why we don't chase them."
He pointed at the map again, tracing a curved line.
"We position ourselves along their movement routes. Not directly. We pressure them from one side, forcing them to flee in predictable directions."
"Toward us?" someone asked.
"No," Aren replied. "Toward the enemy."
The tent went quiet.
Seraphina's lips curved faintly—not a smile, but interest.
"You want to turn them," she said.
"Yes," Aren replied. "We don't need to kill all of them. We need to break their freedom of movement."
He continued, voice steady.
"If we pressure them hard enough, they'll retreat toward their own lines. That forces the enemy to deal with their wounded, disorganized cavalry instead of using them offensively."
"And if they don't retreat?" an officer asked.
"Then we kill them," Aren said simply.
Silence.
Seraphina studied the map for a long moment.
"You're proposing to sacrifice initiative," she said, "to regain control."
"Yes."
"And you're asking me to halt an army," she continued, "based on your judgment."
"Yes."
Several officers looked ready to object.
Seraphina raised her hand.
"They're already breaking us," she said calmly. "He's offering to break them back."
She turned to Aren.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"Authority to select my fifty," Aren replied. "Freedom of movement. No interference."
"And if you fail?" she asked.
Aren met her gaze.
"Then we lose nothing we weren't already losing," he said.
That was honest.
Seraphina nodded once.
"Approved," she said.
The tent erupted.
Arguments flared. Objections followed. Risks were listed, counters proposed.
Seraphina silenced them all with a single look.
"Two days," she said. "No march. Prepare for defensive posture. Supply redistribution prioritized."
She looked at Aren.
"You leave at dawn."
---
The selection began immediately.
Aren did not choose based on rank.
He chose based on awareness.
Men who reacted before being told.
Men who noticed terrain changes.
Men who listened more than they spoke.
Rovan was first.
Then Corin.
Lethan insisted on going despite his injury.
"You'll slow us down," Aren said.
"I won't break," Lethan replied.
Aren studied him for a moment.
"Then keep up," he said.
By nightfall, fifty stood ready.
Not identical.
Not uniform.
But capable.
Aren divided them into smaller units—five groups of ten.
"Each unit operates independently," Aren said. "No heroics. No pursuit without signal."
He pointed to the Plains beyond the camp.
"We pressure. We deny rest. We force movement."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Our goal is not glory," Aren said. "It's exhaustion."
The men nodded.
They understood.
As dawn approached, the camp rested for the first time in days.
Soldiers slept deeply. Fires burned warmer. Weapons were repaired instead of clutched.
Morale lifted—not because danger was gone, but because someone had chosen to face it directly.
Aren mounted his horse as the sky lightened.
The elite fifty formed behind him, silent, focused.
The Plains waited.
Aren took one last look at the resting army.
Then he turned.
And rode out to meet the riders.