?Chapter 10: The Baptism of Iron and the River of Shattered Pride

  ?The air on the Royal Road no longer carried the sweet scent of spring flowers from the thaw; it reeked of iron, burnt gunpowder, and the bitterest tactical failure of Ren Valerius’s life. The mercenaries' "theater" had been a masterclass in psychological manipulation. By orchestrating a simulated raid on the nearby village, Zhask hadn't just split the Marquess's forces; he had systematically isolated the very heart of House Valerius for the slaughter.

  ?The Shield Wall and the Ultimate Price

  ?The eight soldiers of Leon’s personal guard were far more than a simple escort; they were battle-hardened veterans who understood, with grim clarity, that their lives were the only currency left to buy the kingdom's future. When fifty mercenaries surged from the dense treeline like a tidal wave of steel, the road transformed into a corridor of absolute carnage.

  ?Leon, his face splattered with the warm blood of an enemy he had just cut down, fought with a feral, blind fury. Beside him, four of his guards locked their shields, their heavy metal frames groaning and sparking under the relentless rain of enemy blades. For a moment, they held—reaping eighteen bandits in a display of sheer discipline. But numerical superiority is a cold, mathematical monster: spears eventually found the gaps in the formation, and one by one, the iron-clad defenders were dragged down.

  ?On the other side of the fray, Ren watched his small detachment being systematically dismantled. His men fought like cornered lions, but their exhaustion was carved into every sluggish parry. Ren, instinctively slipping into the commanding persona his sergeant’s soul demanded, barked an order with an authority that seemed to vibrate the very air:

  ?"FALL BACK! Defensive formation around Leon! He is Priority Zero! Save the heir, now!"

  ?Leon tried to lung forward, reaching out for his younger brother, but a stone—propelled by a magic sling and imbued with kinetic mana—struck the back of his neck. The impact was sickeningly dry. The world vanished into blackness for Leon as the last surviving guards hoisted his limp body and began a desperate tactical retreat, leaving Ren behind in the swirling dust of defeat.

  ?The Cornered Sergeant

  ?Ren stood alone. He gripped his wooden training sword with the white-knuckled intensity of a soldier holding his last magazine in a dead-end alley. Despite his child's frame, he wounded six men, utilizing a low center of gravity to shred tendons and shatter kneecaps. But the biological reality of a six-year-old body had reached its breaking point.

  ?A heavy boot sent him reeling against a monumental slab of rock. Before he could recover, a brutal punch slammed into his face, snapping his head back and casting him into the dirt.

  ?“Malditos... if I had my old body... I’d turn this entire valley into a morgue!” Ren spat, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth as he tasted the grit of his own failure.

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  ?Zhask’s Greed and the Tactical Window

  ?Zhask stepped forward, his true face revealed through the shimmer of his magic ring. He looked down at Ren and delivered a heavy kick to the boy's solar plexus, stealing his breath and leaving him gasping in the mud.

  ?"Your lineage is worth a mountain of gold, little master. But first, let us see what treasures your father tucked away in this carriage."

  ?With the supreme arrogance of a man who believed the battle was won, Zhask turned his back on Ren. He strode toward the overturned carriage, his eyes fixed on the glint of the twenty gold coins and the luxury items scattered in the wreckage. He moved far enough away for his personal guard to relax their vigil. As he began to bark orders for his men to bind Ren and secure the horses, he didn't notice the "corpse" beside the boy beginning to stir.

  ?William’s Final Flight

  ?William, the thirty-two-year-old soldier everyone—including Zhask—had presumed dead from a black-fletched arrow to the chest, rose like a vengeful specter from the red-stained grass. He had been hoarding his final, agonizing breaths for this single moment of duty. With a primal roar that tore through the silence of the aftermath, he swung his blade in a wide arc, decapitating two distracted mercenaries and severing Ren’s bindings in one fluid, desperate motion.

  ?"RUN, MASTER REN! HONRE O MEU SACRIFíCIO!"

  ?Ren bolted. Behind him, he heard the sickening sound of William being swarmed. He heard Zhask’s screams of sudden rage and the sound of the hero’s blade severing one last enemy limb before three simultaneous swords pierced his chest. William died with a bloody smile on his lips, holding the honor of the Valerius name intact until the very last spark of his life flickered out.

  ?The River of Shattered Pride

  ?Ren tore through the underbrush, his lungs screaming for air. Ahead, he saw a steep, rocky descent leading down to a fast-moving stream. If he could reach the water, the current might hide his trail.

  ?Vrum.

  ?The sound of the air being sliced was the only warning. A wind projectile—shaped into a perfect, rotating ogive—slammed into his right leg. It was the exact aerodynamic principle he had taught the mercenary weeks ago. The bone snapped with a sickening crack. The momentum of the strike hurled Ren down the embankment, his body bouncing off rocks until he landed hard in the shallow creek bed.

  ?The icy water rushed over his face, mixing with the dirt and gore. The stream around his mangled leg turned a dark, blooming pink. Ren tried to crawl, his fingernails clawing uselessly at the silt and moss, but the pain was an all-consuming forest fire. He looked up, squinting through the blood in his eyes, and saw Zhask standing at the top of the ridge—a dark, jagged silhouette against the setting sun.

  ?In a fit of impotent rage and self-loathing, Ren slammed his fist into the water, splashing the cold stream against his own face.

  ?"DROGAAAAAAA!" The scream tore through the valley, raw and broken. "My choice... my ego... I gave the knife to my own executioner!"

  ?The pride of a veteran sergeant lay there, drowning in a shallow stream. Zhask descended the rocks with a predator’s calm, binding Ren once more like a common bundle of meat.

  ?The Promise of Vengeance

  ?Half an hour later, Leon drifted back to consciousness under the desperate care of the survivors. When Arthur and Iris arrived, the scene was one of total devastation. The Marquess fell to his knees before William’s cooling body, his head bowed in grief. Leon began to sob, the crushing weight of the "Heir's responsibility" finally breaking his spirit.

  ?But Iris did not shed a single tear. Her eyes ignited with a terrifying, electric blue light. Mana began to hemorrhage from her form in visible waves, cracking the parched soil beneath her boots and instantly frosting the grass in a ten-foot radius.

  ?"Arthur... mobilize the Crown," she whispered, her voice like grinding glaciers. "I don't want justice. I want the total extermination of every soul that laid a finger on my son."