Date: August 2, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The fog in the "Dead Loop" gorge had become so thick it seemed tangible. It enveloped the knights' armor with sticky cold, dulling sounds and distorting distances. But more strongly than the frost, the internal tension that had arisen between Iskon and Kaedan pressed on the detachment.
The air between them literally vibrated. Kaedan's inner essence, dense and unshakeable as a granite stratum, clashed with Iskon's prickly, changeable power. It was like two thunderclouds converging in a narrow space: the knights walking nearby felt the hairs on their arms stand on end from the static voltage of their wills. Kaedan didn't avert his gaze from Iskon's back, and his Armor beneath his clothes responded to this proximity with a dull, warning rumble.
Elwin, walking a little behind, suddenly stopped. His Spirit of "Tenacious Memory" made his pupils dilate, absorbing information from the very atmosphere.
"Ahead," he exhaled. "Three hundred paces. Around the bend in the cliff. They're not hiding. I smell fires and Tork's heavy power."
The detachment halted as one man. Grak the Axe remained in the shadows, arms crossed over his chest. His Herald-level presence was quiet now; he seemed to have dissolved into the landscape, leaving the young warriors to decide for themselves how to proceed.
Iskon slowly turned. His face was pale, almost translucent in the fog light, and his eyes shone with a cold, unnatural gleam. The tension emanating from him became almost unbearable—it seemed the space around him was compressing and expanding in time with his shallow breathing.
"There will be no plan," Iskon said. His voice was dry and sharp, like a chip of ice. "Encircling is a waste of time. Stealth is a sign of uncertainty. Tork thinks he's a Pillar? Well, let's see how long this 'pillar' stands when I come crashing down on his head."
"You're insane," Kaedan stepped forward, and the density of his presence made the fog around him dissipate for a moment. "There are forty trained fighters in there. Charging head-on means exposing the entire detachment to the crossfire of their inner power. We need to use the terrain."
Iskon only held his gaze on Kaedan for a moment. In that look, there was so much icy arrogance that Kaedan physically felt his own Warrior Energy boil inside his Vessel, demanding release.
"Kaedan," Iskon tossed out. "Stay here and build your barricades. Those who want a real victory—follow me."
Without waiting for an answer, Iskon broke into a run. His movement was unnatural: one second he was standing there, the next—his figure was already ten meters away, as if he had shortened the very distance between points. This was the first, barely perceptible manifestation of his Spirit.
"Damn it!" Kaedan slammed his vambraced fist into his palm. "After him! We can't leave that idiot alone, even if he wants it!"
The Seventh Detachment, driven by instinct and duty, surged after him. They had no choice. Kaedan ran first among the pursuers, feeling his Armor—cuirass and pauldrons—materializing on the move, filling with the weight of basalt. He understood that Iskon had just torn apart all the rules of tactics, imposing his will on them.
They burst around the bend in the cliff and froze for a moment. The bandits' camp was located in a natural hollow of the gorge. Tork "Bloodbrand" sat on a piece of column in the center, lazily tossing a short sword in his hand. His men—hardened cutthroats, whose essence vibrated at the Initiate and Warrior level—instantly jumped to their feet.
Tork looked up. His Pillar-level presence crashed down on the attackers like a heavy press. "Order knights?" he grinned, and a crimson scar pulsed on his cheek—the very Brand. "Did you send children to entertain me before dinner?"
Iskon didn't stop. He ran straight at Tork, and the air around him began to tremble and distort. Kaedan saw the rest of the detachment's knights engaging the bandits, who were already beginning to close the circle.
"Elwin, Liana—to the flanks!" Kaedan roared, taking the first arrow fired from the darkness on his stone cuirass. The tip rebounded with a clang, not even scratching the stone. "Don't let them pin us down! Our job is to survive this meat grinder while those two figure out whose Spirit is stronger!"
The battle flared up instantly, turning the silence of the gorge into chaos of cries, steel clangs, and flashes of inner power. Kaedan stood in the very center of this storm, feeling his Unbreakable Armor take the first blows. Iskon's direct assault had begun, and now only steel and will could decide who would leave this gorge alive.