The snow was no longer white.

  Garrick drove his blade into the torso of a creature and shoved it away from his reach. Vapor escaped his mouth in short breaths. He was not exhausted… but he had been fighting for too long for this to make sense.

  Efrén finished another to his left, turning with clean technique.

  “That’s the fifth wave.”

  “I can count,” Garrick replied without looking at him.

  Lysa cast a seal that detonated against a pine trunk, knocking two more down. Torren finished them from behind.

  The ground was covered in dark remains.

  And still—

  Branches cracked between the trees.

  More.

  They did not enter in coordination. They did not flank. They did not attempt to surround them.

  They came straight on.

  As if pressure alone were enough.

  Garrick blocked a strike and held it longer than necessary, studying the opponent’s strength.

  Irregular.

  They were not weak.

  But they were not organized either.

  Efrén stepped back half a pace.

  “They’re not trying to break the line.”

  Torren growled as he severed a limb.

  “They keep coming.”

  Garrick scanned the forest.

  No sign of a leader.

  No sign of retreat.

  No sign of objective.

  Only repetition.

  One creature ran past Lysa instead of exploiting a clear opening. It launched itself directly at Garrick, ignoring the obvious tactical advantage.

  That was when something shifted in his expression.

  “That was stupid,” Efrén muttered.

  Garrick did not answer immediately.

  He split the attacker in two and let the body fall.

  He breathed.

  Looked around again.

  Nothing to defend.

  Nothing to claim.

  Nothing to conquer.

  “What are we protecting out here?” he asked suddenly.

  No one answered.

  Because the answer was obvious.

  Nothing.

  Another group emerged from the trees.

  Same pattern.

  Advance.

  Pressure.

  Die.

  No adaptation.

  No variation.

  “They’re not trying to win,” Lysa said quietly.

  Garrick looked at her.

  There it was.

  The missing piece.

  “They’re fixing us in place.”

  Efrén frowned.

  “For what?”

  Garrick lowered his sword slightly.

  “So we’re not somewhere else.”

  A brief silence.

  Torren was the first to understand.

  “Valthera.”

  No one needed to add anything more.

  All the strongest teams were outside.

  Too far.

  Too scattered.

  Garrick made the decision without dramatics.

  “Break contact. Immediate withdrawal.”

  Efrén hesitated.

  “And if the road is trapped?”

  “Worse to stay here gaining nothing.”

  That settled it.

  They began retreating in tight formation.

  The creatures did not pursue aggressively.

  They simply advanced to the edge of the clearing.

  As if their radius ended there.

  Garrick did not need further confirmation.

  “We move. Now.”

  And the northern team left the forest behind.

  In the east, the situation was no different.

  Only quieter.

  Mara deflected an improvised spear and drove her blade through the attacker’s neck with surgical precision. Elias finished another to her right while Liora maintained an active seal that prevented encirclement.

  Korvax was breathing heavier than at the start.

  Not from fear.

  From attrition.

  “They should have changed tactics by now,” Elias said between strikes.

  Mara did not respond.

  She observed.

  Always observed.

  An enemy lunged at her without covering an open flank. She eliminated him in a short movement.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  This is becoming too easy.

  Another tried to attack Liora from behind… but without coordinating with the rest.

  Mara stepped back, breaking rhythm.

  “Hold.”

  The team obeyed instantly.

  The creatures advanced anyway.

  That was revealing.

  They did not react to the shift in stance.

  They did not exploit the pause.

  They simply continued.

  “Captain…” Korvax muttered.

  Mara lowered her sword slightly.

  “They’re not defending territory.”

  Elias understood quickly.

  Liora lowered her seal a fraction.

  “Then what…?”

  Mara looked toward the horizon where Valthera should be.

  “Time.”

  Silence.

  “They’re consuming our time.”

  A creature charged at her. She neutralized it without taking her eyes off the distance.

  “All primary teams are deployed.”

  Elias froze for half a second.

  “And the capital…”

  Mara nodded.

  She did not finish the sentence.

  She did not need to.

  Another group emerged from the forest.

  Same number.

  Same pattern.

  Same sacrifice without purpose.

  Mara decided immediately.

  “Strategic withdrawal. We return.”

  Korvax frowned.

  “And let them advance?”

  “They have no objective here.”

  That said everything.

  They reorganized and began moving.

  The creatures did not accelerate.

  They did not attempt to block the exit.

  They simply advanced to a certain point.

  And stopped.

  Mara confirmed what she already knew.

  “We were never the target.”

  And the eastern team left Eldenwood, heading toward Valthera.

  The capital was not silent.

  It was in a state of restrained war.

  Guards moving outside. Messengers running. Alarm signals echoing from the towers.

  Alaric stood before the central table, tightening the glove on his right hand when he felt the pressure in the air.

  Four presences.

  Not through the main door.

  Through the roof.

  He did not look up.

  “You came faster than I expected… but not fast enough.”

  The roof gave way in two places.

  Wood splintering.

  Two descended first. Two more entered through the side corridor almost simultaneously.

  True coordination.

  Better than the others.

  Alaric stepped back, drawing his blade in a movement that carried no weight of age.

  One struck directly at his torso.

  Steel clashed.

  Alaric did not meet force with force. He shifted the angle just enough and let the enemy blade slide outward. In the same turn, his sword traced a short line that opened the attacker’s forearm.

  The second tried to exploit the opening from the left.

  Alaric was already turning.

  Knee to the abdomen.

  A dry impact.

  The man staggered half a step, enough for Alaric to slam the pommel into his jaw and disorient him.

  The other two entered together.

  One tall. Long reach.

  The other shorter. Faster.

  They alternated rhythm.

  Not improvised.

  Alaric retreated two calculated steps, forcing them into narrower space between the table and wall.

  Their mistake.

  The fast one first.

  Low thrust.

  Alaric lowered his blade, trapped the wrist with his free hand, and turned his entire body instead of just the arm. The joint gave with a clear sound. Without stopping, he used the man’s body as a barrier against the long-reach attacker.

  The long blade struck the wrong flesh.

  Their synchronization broke.

  Alaric released the body and advanced for the first time.

  The fast one fell.

  The long-reach fighter tried to regain distance.

  Too late.

  Alaric stepped inside his range where the long blade lost advantage. Two short strikes. One to the thigh. One to the ribs.

  Not spectacle.

  Incapacitation.

  The first attacker, forearm bleeding, reentered with renewed fury.

  More strength.

  Less calculation.

  Alaric blocked high, rotated his wrist, slid his sword to hook the enemy guard and wrenched downward, disarming him.

  The attacker reached for a dagger.

  Alaric was faster.

  A transverse cut.

  Brief silence.

  One remained.

  The man with the broken jaw.

  Blood in his mouth.

  Trembling… not from fear.

  From resolve.

  He attacked with everything.

  A powerful sequence. Each blow forced Alaric back half a step.

  Steel echoed through the hall.

  This one was strong.

  Alaric blocked three times.

  On the fourth, he did not.

  He leaned slightly right, let the blade pass inches from his shoulder, and struck the extended elbow with the flat of his own sword.

  Joint compromised.

  The attacker tried to recover with his left.

  Alaric was already inside.

  Knee to the chest.

  Shove.

  Off balance.

  The tip of Alaric’s sword rested at his throat.

  They breathed.

  Alaric was not exhausted.

  Only focused.

  He looked beneath the hood.

  “I thought you would come yourself.”

  The man spat blood.

  “It wasn’t necessary.”

  Alaric did not lower the blade.

  “Sending capable men is courtesy. Sending replacements… is pathetic.”

  The man smiled faintly.

  “The important piece isn’t here.”

  That was all Alaric needed.

  He pushed the blade forward.

  The body fell.

  Silence.

  Not complete.

  In the distance, a subtle vibration.

  Something else was happening elsewhere in the city.

  Alaric cleaned his sword with a practical motion and walked to the shattered window.

  Smoke rose beyond the rooftops.

  He did not look surprised.

  He looked as if he were measuring.

  “So that was the real move.”

  There was no fear in his voice.

  But no underestimation either.

  They had not come to kill him.

  They had come to occupy him.

  Which meant someone else was being displaced at this very moment.

  He tightened his grip on the hilt.

  Old, yes.

  But the way he fought left no doubt.

  He had not survived this long by luck.

  He survived because he learned to fight while others were still learning how to hold a blade.

  The air was thick with smoke when Renar crossed the central avenue.

  The streets were not empty, but fragmented. Guards moving in different directions. Conflicting orders. Distant screams.

  Alaric.

  That was his destination.

  He quickened his pace.

  Something descended before him from a rooftop.

  Not abrupt.

  Calculated.

  A hooded figure landed softly in the middle of the street.

  Renar did not draw immediately.

  “Move.”

  The figure tilted his head slightly.

  “Always so direct.”

  The voice was male. Calm. Unstrained.

  Renar narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t have time.”

  “I know.”

  That was the first strange thing.

  Renar’s hand moved to his hilt.

  “Then step aside.”

  “So you can reach him?”

  Silence.

  He should not know that.

  Renar did not respond.

  The figure shifted subtly, blocking the path.

  “Interesting how you always run to the same place.”

  “If you came to provoke me, you’re not the first.”

  “No,” the hooded man said calmly. “But I may be the only one who understands why you do.”

  Renar advanced.

  Steel left its sheath cleanly.

  “Last warning.”

  The figure did not draw.

  “He never chose you first.”

  The blade stopped mid-motion.

  One second.

  Only one.

  Renar did not strike.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I?”

  The figure tilted his head.

  “You were always the strength. The arm. The shield. Never the decision.”

  Renar attacked then.

  Not in fury.

  In precision.

  Measured horizontal cut.

  The hooded man stepped back just enough. Finally drew, blocking with surprising ease.

  Steel rang in the empty street.

  “Good control,” the man commented. “I thought you’d strike sooner.”

  Renar pressed, rotated his wrist, aimed for the shoulder.

  Blocked.

  “Don’t project your expectations onto me.”

  “I’m not projecting,” the other replied as he stepped back. “I observe.”

  Three more exchanges.

  Renar was not losing.

  But he was not advancing.

  The hooded man moved with absolute control. No excessive counterattacks. No serious injury attempts.

  Just distance.

  That was the second strange thing.

  “If you wanted to kill me,” Renar said between clashes, “you would have tried already.”

  “Exactly.”

  Renar stopped for a fraction.

  The man lowered his blade slightly.

  “You’re not the target.”

  Heavy silence.

  Renar assessed stance. Breathing. Terrain.

  “Then you’re wasting time.”

  “On the contrary,” the hooded man replied softly. “I’m using yours.”

  Renar did not take the bait.

  He thought.

  That preserved his dignity.

  But did not remove him from the board.

  “If this is a distraction, it’s a poor one,” Renar said. “I’m not the only one who can return.”

  The hooded man smiled beneath shadow.

  “No. But you are the only one who would react like this.”

  Subtle.

  Personal.

  Renar attacked again, this time more aggressively.

  He did not lose intensity.

  But he did lose control.

  The hooded man blocked and allowed the impact to push him back… exactly where he wanted.

  The terrain shifted.

  Narrower.

  More isolated.

  Renar felt it.

  Too late.

  A seal activated beneath his feet.

  Not explosive.

  Not offensive.

  The ground collapsed inward in a circular drop.

  Renar leapt back instinctively.

  Two medium construct forms emerged from within. Not giants like those in the city, but large enough to demand full attention.

  The hooded man was already outside the radius.

  “You can’t ignore them,” he said calmly. “If you do, they’ll destroy what remains here.”

  Renar looked at the constructs.

  Then at the hooded man.

  He understood.

  Not a lethal trap.

  A moral one.

  He had to stay.

  “Coward.”

  “Practical.”

  The constructs advanced.

  Renar decided in that second.

  He would not pursue.

  He would clear the obstacle first.

  Correct tactically.

  Wrong strategically.

  The fight was heavy.

  Impacts that vibrated into his sternum.

  Renar destroyed one knee with a precise thrust. Leapt onto the second’s arm, used his weight to unbalance it and drove his blade into the rune core joint.

  Contained explosion.

  Stone fragmenting.

  Breathing harder.

  One remained.

  He faced it directly.

  No theatrics. No fury. Method.

  Three movements later, the second construct fell.

  Silence.

  Dust in the air.

  Renar lifted his gaze.

  The street was empty.

  No trace.

  No sound.

  No clear residual energy.

  Only distance.

  He stood still for several seconds.

  Breathing slow.

  Processing.

  He had not been overpowered.

  He had not been humiliated.

  He had been displaced.

  He looked toward where Alaric should be.

  Too far now.

  Too much time lost.

  And then he understood.

  They were not trying to kill him.

  They were making sure he was not where he needed to be.

  Renar clenched his jaw.

  “Who are you…?”

  But the question no longer had a recipient.

  Smoke covered the sky.

  And somewhere in the city…

  A piece had already been moved.

  End of Chapter 16