The Blackstone army surged out of their fortress, a tidal wave of steel racing toward the Ironthorn border. The thunder of hooves kicked up plumes of dust that choked the air. As night fell, their pace did not slacken; instead, torches were lit, creating a winding dragon of fire that cut through the darkness.
When the Blackstone forces appeared at the border outposts like vengeful gods descending from the heavens, the Ironthorn guards were utterly paralyzed. Cold armor glinted in the torchlight, and rows of pikes gleamed with a murderous frost. The raw killing intent emanating from the approaching horde sent a chill straight from the guards' boots to their skulls, leaving their legs feeling like lead.
"E-Enemy attack! It's the Blackstone army!" one sentry shrieked, his voice cracking.
"Quick—go report to the Baron!" a squad leader shouted, his face ashen and lips trembling. He didn't dare steal a second glance at the dark cloud of soldiers for fear of being crushed instantly.
A few of the more courageous soldiers scrambled onto horses and fled toward Ironthorn Castle, riding as if their lives depended on it. The rest huddled trembling behind their meager barricades, praying the Blackstone army would simply overlook them like insignificant insects.
Leylo, however, ignored them entirely. His target was Ironthorn Castle and Baron Monde.
"All troops, cross the border! Objective: Ironthorn Castle! Kill anyone who stands in our way!"
"Cross the border!" "Onward to Ironthorn!"
The command echoed, and the floodgates opened. The Blackstone army poured into Ironthorn territory without a moment's hesitation. Small villages along the route slammed their doors shut, the inhabitants too terrified to even peek outside.
When scouts returned to report that an Ironthorn force had emerged from the castle three miles ahead, Leylo knew the main event had arrived.
The Border Confrontation
At the edge of the horizon, a force of about a hundred men appeared. They had clearly been assembled in a frantic hurry; compared to the soaring morale of Blackstone's veterans, they lacked sharpness and resolve.
At the front of the line, a middle-aged noble in ornate armor sat atop a white warhorse, his face grim as he watched the rapid approach of the Blackstone host. This was Baron Monde. He was surrounded by a cluster of nervous knights and officers.
Monde had expected to march to Red Leaf Territory to scavenge for spoils, not to find his own front porch on height of a blaze. The two armies met on an open plain about a mile from the castle walls, locking in a tense standoff. The air was thick with the metaphorical scent of gunpowder.
Baron Monde suppressed his panic and spurred his horse forward. "Baron Leylo! You dare lead an army into my territory? Do you wish to ignite a war between vassals?!"
Leylo urged his Storm Griffin down until he hovered three meters above the ground, overlooking Monde from a distance of dozens of paces. "Baron Monde, you know exactly why I am here."
"I know nothing of the sort!" Monde roared. "I only know you have violated my sovereignty without cause—the most serious provocation against the laws of the Duchy!"
A mocking smile played on Leylo's lips. "Provoking the laws? Baron Monde, your territory has been harboring the remnants of the Blood Wolf Bandits, secretly funding outlaws to harass neighboring lands and slaughtering the people of this Duchy. What is the penalty for that?"
Monde's face paled. He hadn't expected Leylo to be so direct. He had indeed acted as the middleman when the First Prince bought off the Blood Wolves to attack Blackstone. "You—you speak baseless slander!" he countered, his voice growing shrill. "The Blood Wolves were wiped out! There are no remnants!"
Leylo's eyes turned as sharp as daggers. "It seems you won't repent until you see your own coffin. I will give you one last chance: hand over the Blood Wolf remnants immediately and pay full reparations for Blackstone's losses. Otherwise—" Leylo slowly raised his sword, pointing it directly at Monde. "Today, I shall level Ironthorn Castle to the ground!"
"Arrogance!" Monde shouted, though he felt a pang of guilt beneath his fury. He was an established Baron; he would not be humiliated by a newcomer. Yet, as he looked at the murderous Blackstone troops and then at his own lackluster soldiers, his heart began to drum with dread.
He knew Leylo was technically right—he had taken in some stragglers. But what lord hadn't absorbed broken bandits or refugees? Even Leylo's army currently contained former Blood Wolf captives!
"Baron Leylo," Monde said, taking a deep breath to try a final plea. "Everything can be negotiated. Why resort to arms? This 'Blood Wolf' business... perhaps it is a misunderstanding."
Leylo let out a cold laugh. "A misunderstanding? My scouts saw one of the Blood Wolf leaders, 'Scarface' Jon, entering and leaving your castle freely. Do you still wish to quibble?"
"'Scarface' Jon?" Monde's expression soured further. There was no one in the Blood Wolves named "Scarface" Jon.
At that moment, he realized Leylo wasn't there for justice; he was there for a fight. Before he could speak, Leylo pointed his sword at the man standing right next to Monde—the commander of the Iron Skull Mercenaries.
"Baron Monde, is that man beside you not 'Scarface' Jon himself? How bold of you! The Blood Wolves invaded Blackstone repeatedly, and you, a noble of the Duchy, conspired with them to pillage another's fief. I will not tolerate this!"
Monde nearly exploded with rage. "You are talking through your ass!"
Leylo had just pointed at the Iron Skull Commander and slapped a false identity on him. The nickname "Scarface" was clearly something Leylo had made up on the spot just because the mercenary commander happened to have a scar on his cheek.