The greatest victories are often won before the first sword is drawn.
A true commander does not seek a glorious battle.
He seeks the enemy’s weakness.
Morning arrived beneath a sky of pale gray.
The storm that had raged throughout the night had finally passed, leaving behind a cold mist that clung to the ruined watchtower.
The valley below was no longer hidden.
For the first time, every refugee could clearly see the force that surrounded them.
Thousands of imperial tents stretched across the plains like an endless sea of black cloth.
War banners swayed in the morning wind.
Blacksmiths hammered glowing iron into shape.
Rows of cavalrymen exercised their horses while infantry drilled with disciplined precision.
Cooks stirred great cauldrons over open fires.
Messengers rode between command tents without pause.
The imperial army looked less like an army preparing for battle…
And more like a city that had already claimed victory.
Inside the watchtower, however, silence reigned.
No one laughed.
No one spoke.
Every passing hour meant another meal consumed…
And another step closer to starvation.
Most of the refugees watched the soldiers below.
Adrian watched everything else.
His gaze wandered across the camp with unsettling patience.
The western road carried a steady stream of supply wagons.
Water carts traveled to and from a nearby river every morning.
The grain stores sat well away from the command tents.
Horse stables bordered the edge of the forest.
Every few hours, the guards rotated in the exact same order.
As evening approached, discipline noticeably weakened.
The soldiers relaxed.
Conversations grew louder.
Some even removed parts of their armor.
Beside him, Sir Roland folded his arms.
“What are you looking at, Your Highness?”
Without shifting his eyes from the valley, Adrian answered quietly,
“Their habits.”
Roland frowned.
“Their habits?”
Adrian nodded.
“A disciplined army wins battles.”
He paused.
“A predictable army loses them.”
The old knight remained silent.
He had commanded soldiers for decades.
Yet he had never looked at an enemy camp the way this young prince did.
Adrian wasn’t counting soldiers.
He was searching for patterns.
And every pattern…
Could become a weakness.
Not long afterward, Adrian summoned everyone capable of fighting.
The meeting took place inside the tower’s ruined courtyard.
A rough map of the valley had been drawn into the dirt using a broken spear shaft.
Around it stood twelve surviving soldiers.
Sir Roland.
Several experienced hunters.
A village carpenter.
The blacksmith.
The village elder.
It was hardly a war council worthy of a kingdom.
Yet every face carried the same determination.
Adrian knelt beside the map.
“We cannot outnumber them.”
No one objected.
“We cannot outfight them.”
Again…
Silence.
“We cannot outlast them.”
Every man lowered his head.
They already knew.
Then Adrian looked up.
“So…”
“We won’t fight the army.”
Confused glances spread throughout the group.
One hunter scratched his beard.
“If not the army…”
“…then what?”
Adrian’s finger slowly moved across the map until it rested upon the western supply route.
“We fight what keeps the army alive.”
Sir Roland stared at the map.
His eyes slowly widened.
“The supplies…”
Adrian nodded.
“An army does not march on courage.”
“It marches on food.”
“If the grain disappears…”
“They’ll be forced to move.”
“And when armies move…”
“They make mistakes.”
The blacksmith let out a low whistle.
“You intend to force an empire to dance.”
For the first time that morning, Adrian allowed the faintest hint of a smile.
“I’m simply choosing the music.”
The men exchanged uncertain glances.
The plan sounded impossible.
Yet…
For reasons none of them could explain…
They wanted to believe him.
Adrian rose to his feet.
“I need volunteers.”
Every soldier stepped forward.
Without hesitation.
Even Tomas.
The young guard who had once admitted he was afraid now stood with quiet determination.
Sir Roland smiled with pride.
These men had not lost their courage.
Adrian slowly walked past each volunteer.
Then he began making his selections.
One by one…
He dismissed the loudest voices.
The quickest tempers.
The men eager to prove themselves.
Finally…
Only six remained.
One rejected guard clenched his fists.
“My prince…”
“Am I not brave enough?”
Adrian looked him directly in the eyes.
“You are.”
The soldier blinked.
“But bravery without discipline becomes recklessness.”
“You are too eager to die.”
The courtyard fell silent.
“I need men who intend to come home.”
No commander they had ever served had spoken those words before.
For years they had been taught that dying gloriously was the highest honor.
This prince believed surviving for tomorrow’s battle was far more valuable.
Sir Roland watched Adrian in thoughtful silence.
Perhaps…
This was why the gods had spared him.
The afternoon passed in preparation.
Adrian discarded every unnecessary tradition.
Heavy armor was removed.
Bright cloaks were left behind.
Loose equipment was tied down to prevent noise.
He taught the men simple methods they had never considered.
Move only when the wind covers your footsteps.
Never stand against the moonlight.
Communicate through hand signals.
If discovered…
Retreat immediately.
Do not chase fleeing enemies.
Do not seek glory.
Complete the mission.
Return alive.
Even Sir Roland admitted he had never trained men this way.
“You’ve fought many wars.”
Adrian stopped for a brief moment.
“…Enough.”
The answer was short.
Honest.
Yet incomplete.
Roland sensed there was more behind those words.
He chose not to ask.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon…
Small footsteps approached Adrian.
It was the little boy from the previous day.
The same child who had asked his father if they were ever going home.
He nervously held out a tiny carved wooden horse.
“My father made it.”
“You should keep it.”
Adrian accepted it carefully.
“So you come back.”
His fingers closed around the small carving.
In his previous life…
He had received medals.
Commendations.
Salutes.
None of them carried the weight of this simple wooden toy.
He knelt before the child.
“I’ll return it.”
The boy tilted his head.
“When?”
Adrian looked toward the ruined banner still flying above the tower.
“When your kingdom is safe.”
The child smiled.
For the first time since arriving in this world…
So did Adrian.
It was only the faintest smile.
Almost impossible to notice.
Almost.
Sir Roland noticed.
And somehow…
That single expression gave the old knight more hope than any speech ever could.
Far below…
Inside the imperial command tent…
The commander laughed as servants poured him wine.
“They’ve hidden themselves inside a broken tower.”
“They’re already dead.”
Across the table sat the older general.
Unlike the others…
He wasn’t smiling.
“The prince has done nothing.”
The commander shrugged.
“Exactly.”
The old general slowly shook his head.
“No.”
“That is exactly what troubles me.”
Silence settled inside the tent.
The commander scoffed.
“He’s a frightened child.”
The old veteran lowered his eyes toward the map.
Something refused to leave his mind.
The prince wasn’t acting like prey.
He was waiting.
And experienced soldiers knew…
The most dangerous trap was often the one you never saw being built.
Night descended upon the valley.
Clouds swallowed the moon.
Darkness wrapped itself around the forest.
Perfect.
The six chosen men gathered beside the broken gate.
Each carried only a sword, a dagger, and a small bundle of supplies.
No banners.
No heavy armor.
Nothing that would slow them down.
Sir Roland stepped forward.
“Allow me to lead.”
Adrian shook his head.
“You command the tower.”
“If we fail…”
“The people will still need someone to protect them.”
The old knight understood.
He placed a fist over his heart before kneeling.
“May the Lord watch over you, Your Highness.”
Adrian looked back one final time.
Children slept beside dying fires.
Mothers quietly whispered prayers.
Old soldiers sharpened worn blades they knew might never see another sunrise.
These people…
Were no longer simply refugees.
They were his responsibility.
He turned toward the endless sea of imperial campfires below.
His expression hardened.
“Their greatest strength…”
He quietly drew his sword.
“…will become their greatest weakness.”
Instead of raising it to charge…
He pointed its tip toward the shadowed forest.
“Move.”
Without another word…
Six shadows disappeared into the darkness.
Far below…
An imperial sentry yawned as he completed another routine patrol.
He lazily glanced toward the forest before continuing along the line of grain wagons.
He never noticed the faint movement between the trees.
Six silent figures had already crossed into the enemy’s world.
The first move…
Had begun.
End of Chapter 4
“Empires believed they were defeated by great armies. Few ever realized that some began to fall the moment one man chose where to strike.”
————————–The End———————
Next : The Night Raid
By : Zenryth