Licerio approached the man in light armor; the man did not raise his head, and Knight López grabbed him by the hair and yanked it back, forcing him to look up.
"Are you afraid of children? What a pathetic captain. No wonder you and that useless theurge made such a good pair."
The man spat at Licerio and cursed him.
"What do you know about war? All of this was that fool's fault—look at him, always thinking he was untouchable, thinking he was a god."
"That's exactly why you're so pathetic," Licerio mocked. "You trusted your victory to a man who didn't listen to you and did whatever he pleased. You didn't protect him either, knowing how important he was. Actually—if you believed he was untouchable, that he was all-powerful, that's precisely why you didn't protect him. That's why you charged our company with no plan at all, knowing your force was far inferior to ours, but trusting in the theurge's strength."
The captain seemed to try to deny it, but a blow to his face stopped him short, leaving him dazed and bleeding from the nose, spitting blood and a few broken teeth.
"How dare you show such an attitude before our young master?!" shouted Knight Marlleo, pulling his fist back from the captain's face.
The captain recovered from his daze and sputtered at Marlleo in fury, though most of his words came out as a wet, unrecognizable hiss.
Licerio was caught off guard by Marlleo's reaction as well; he had always seen him so composed at his father's side that the sudden outburst left him without words.
Though he wanted to speak with the enemy captain a little more, seeing how his mouth was bleeding and his words barely comprehensible, Licerio stepped away, somewhat unsatisfied, and went to a tent near the command tent.
He entered a separate tent, where a man lay on a makeshift bed, hands and feet bound.
The man muttered something frustrated at Licerio, though his words were nearly inaudible, muffled by the gag they had put on him.
"Take the cloth out of his mouth. Let's hear what he has to say." One of the soldiers standing guard in the tent moved quickly to the theurge and pulled the rag free.
"Idiots! Fools! What do you think you're doing? I am a member of the Conclave of the Primaries! I will have your families buried alive!"
The theurge kept cursing and shouting until Licerio, fed up, asked López to silence him so they could speak in peace.
When the theurge saw López approaching, he raised his voice and struggled harder. López ignored his resistance and stuffed a good piece of cloth back into his mouth.
"Thank you, López. I have to say, his talent for screaming until he gives people a headache is remarkable."
Everyone in the tent laughed, and both knights added their remarks.
"I wouldn't say that's his best one," said López, still laughing. "That would have to be his ability to run when I was chasing him. Reminded me of the rats in the stables."
"You're right," Marlleo added. "They even make similar noises when you catch them."
The theurge writhed harder on the bed at the mockery, which only made Licerio and his knights laugh more.
When the laughter had settled, they brought their full attention back to the theurge. López pulled the rag from his mouth, but before he could make a sound, he covered it with his hand and told him:
"We can't kill you. But a broken leg or arm—those can happen in the middle of a battle. I don't think the Marquis would hold that against us. He only needs your powers; the rest doesn't matter to him."
Their eyes met and held for a few seconds until the theurge looked away, afraid, and nodded.
Licerio moved to the bed, and a soldier placed a chair for him so he could sit and speak comfortably.
"I want your name, the reason for your involvement in this war, your three abilities, and your organization."
"My name is Casea Nelao, and I want you to untie me first if you want me to talk."
"No," Licerio cut in before Casea had even finished. "Only you and that captain would be foolish enough to untie someone with abilities like yours."
Casea shut his mouth and refused to say anything more, turning his head away from Licerio.
Licerio glanced at López. He understood immediately and gripped one of Casea's shoulders firmly. With a muffled crack, Casea's shoulder was dislocated.
The man screamed wildly on the bed, thrashing with everything he had; his face flushed red, his cheeks swelled as his breathing came in short bursts, and he cried without any control.
The screaming began to wear on Licerio, who with a gesture of his hand ordered López to silence him, sparing everyone in the tent.
It took some effort to get the gag in with Casea still jerking around; tired of it, López grabbed his jaw and pushed the cloth in.
They waited for him to calm down before removing it again.
"Damn you all! I'll kill you, I swear it! How dare you do this to me?!"
"I won't repeat myself. Tell me why the marquis's second son intervened in this war, about your three abilities, and about your organization." Licerio said, and then let a broad smile spread across his face. "And if you're still not sure whether to talk, López can help you make up your mind."
Casea's body shook, and he spoke quickly.
"Wait, wait—I'll talk, I'll talk," he breathed. "My abilities are wind blade, minor windstorm, and vocal breeze. I also don't know why the second young master joined the war; all I know is that he spoke privately with Baron Grojo for a few minutes, and when he came out, he ordered that I be summoned to join."
"Good. Explain the vocal breeze ability before we go on. I didn't see you use that one."
"That one?" Casea murmured, half puzzled. "If you insist. That ability lets the user carry their voice on the air, reaching only the people they had previously marked."
"So that's why those soldiers reacted so fast," said López, nodding repeatedly, many things falling into place. "That speed nearly got me killed."
"How do you mark soldiers? How many can you mark, and how long does it last?"
"I leave a trace of my form on the person. I can mark up to ten of them, and it lasts around five hours."
"See? That wasn't so hard. You're already better company. There's just one last thing—what organization is the Conclave of the Primaries?"
"Impossible. I can't."
López raised an eyebrow slightly and moved, placing his hands on Casea's other shoulder.
"Wait, López," said Licerio, then turned his attention back to Casea.
"Why? You can't? Something is stopping you from saying it, isn't there?"
Casea's eyes went wide, staring at Licerio in open surprise. He took a moment before speaking, clearly unable to understand how Licerio knew that.
"How do you know that? You're not a theurge—you shouldn't know anything like that, with your father being some border baron."
A faint smile spread across Licerio's face as he enjoyed Casea's reaction. He knew it; secret oaths and pacts always came up in stories like these, he thought.
"Since you can't say anything on that, we're done with the matter," he said, turning to look at his knights. "Step outside. I have something to discuss with him in private."
The knights showed some resistance to the request, worried for his safety, but Licerio brushed their concerns aside and sent them out all the same.
"How important are you within your organization?"
"A student. If you're asking my rank—I only recently joined, so it's low."
"Is there any ability that allows someone to travel great distances instantly, or something like it?"
"I don't know. I don't think I've heard of anything like that in my circles."
Licerio's face fell, and he sighed, saying in a tired voice, "Thank you." With that, he stood and left the tent.
He ordered that two soldiers remain on watch over the theurge at all times, and he and his knights went to rest, bringing this exhausting day to its end at last.
Two days passed, and Licerio had returned to his manor, bringing with him the theurge, the captain, and the enemy knight—the three most important prisoners. The rest of the baron's soldiers had been released, as they were only commoners pressed into service through the levy.
A messenger had already been sent to Baron Grojo's territory demanding his surrender; he was expected to arrive within the next two days.
Licerio went straight to see his father when he returned, finding him in far better condition than when he had been carried in by the knights of his domain.
The hardest thing was seeing his father rendered unable—he had lost his left leg, and his organs did not appear to be in good health.
Now Licerio had to face a long list of problems, from repairing villages that had been raided to providing for the families who had lost fathers or brothers in the war.
Two days later, Licerio managed to come to an arrangement with Casea, getting him to cooperate and stop trying to escape in exchange for being allowed to move freely around the grounds and receiving a decent meal.
The following day, in his father's office, Licerio and his mother worked without pause through all the pending affairs that had appeared or piled up during the war. The desks were buried in papers, with more spilling onto parts of the floor, making it difficult to move around the room.
The steward knocked and entered, holding a letter in his hand.
"Young master, my lady—a letter from Baron Grojo," he said, delivering it to Licerio with a respectful bow.
Licerio opened it without his letter knife and began reading. It was not very long, though the baron had managed to fill more than three-quarters of it with flattery and honeyed words. At the end, Baron Grojo surrendered and stated he would arrive in their territory that same afternoon.
Given the timing of the letter and the baron's arrival, he must have sent it just before setting out; it seemed he wanted to negotiate peace as quickly as possible.
That afternoon, in one of the manor's main rooms, the space had been arranged for the peace talks.
Licerio sat with two knights at his side—Marlleo and López. Baron Grojo sat across from them alone, but beside him was a young man of nineteen, accompanied by two soldiers of his own; it was the Marquis of Chrysalis's second son.
His presence had come as a surprise, since Licerio had assumed he had already left for his territory, never imagining he had been waiting at the baron's house until the war was over.
In the room, laughter and easy conversation could be heard—the last thing one would expect at a meeting of this kind. The Marquis's second son, Poret Trumero, and Licerio were talking comfortably, trading jokes and cutting through the tension; Baron Grojo, by contrast, sat pale and wordless, staring at the floor and occasionally dabbing the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
"I think it's time to address the matter at hand," said Licerio, shifting his attention to Baron Grojo and turning to face him. "You attacked our territory with a claim over all of it, insisting that our land had been sold to you by the Marquis. This is the first we've heard of it," he said with a note of mockery.
"There are many things few people know," Poret cut in. "These lands once belonged to a count who was a vassal of our marquisate, but when he died, his lands were lost—a shame that the documents for these lands were destroyed in a fire and now only the originals remain in the royal capital."
Licerio did not believe a word of it and let the moment pass with a dry remark. He then steered the conversation back toward the baron, since he could not go after the marquis's son directly.
"Baron Grojo, we have your knight, your company captain, and the theurge you obtained. You have no army left. You have no claim to anything—and since you tried to take all of our land, we won't hold back either. Hand over your lands and properties and disappear."
The baron lifted his head, alarmed. Reading Licerio's expression, he saw he was not joking and turned to the Marquis's son, his eyes pleading for intervention.
"It seems Baron Bareo raised a tiger—I have to give him credit for that. But asking for all his land and property is too much," said Poret, his smile fading as he looked at Licerio with a level gaze.
"It's only fair, young Master Poret. I think the royal or ducal family may be very interested in this land—and once everyone knows, they will want to trade with us rather than attack us. Something that moved young Master Poret and one of the Marquis's theurges must be very significant. I imagine how pleased they'll be when they hear about it."
Poret and Licerio held each other's gaze without another word passing between them. A moment later, Poret stood and smiled at Licerio.
"Congratulations, little baron, on expanding your territory. We'll take our leave—and I'll speak with Father about trading with you in the future." Just as he was about to leave the room, he turned his head slightly and looked back at Licerio. "I almost forgot—I'll be taking Casea with me."
"Very well. I hope we meet again, second young master. As you can understand, I won't be able to see you out."
After Poret and his men left, the baron threw himself from his chair and dropped to his knees on the floor.
"Please! Don't take everything from me!"
The baron sobbed, reaching for whatever sympathy Licerio might have.
"I can be generous and leave you part of your property—if you tell me what it was you wanted from our lands."
The baron's eyes lit up and his sobbing stopped, a look of relief coming over him. He moved to stand, but Knight Marlleo placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and kept him down.