The small procession.

Zirel leading, followed by Elisa, Dylan, and Julius—stopped in front of the entrance to the Count's great tent. No guard stood watch, yet an invisible presence, heavy with authority, emanated from within. They lingered there, tense and silent, until the Count's calm, clear voice drifted through the canvas.

"Enter."

They pushed aside the heavy flap and stepped inside.

The tent was spacious and austere. A simple campaign table, cluttered with maps and reports, dominated the center. The Count sat behind it, dressed in a dark tunic, his hands clasped atop the wood. His sharp hazel eyes welcomed them without surprise, as though he had been expecting them. His gaze swept over the group, lingering briefly on the new faces, then on Dylan's condition.

"Zirel. Elisa," he greeted with a curt nod. Then his eyes settled on Dylan. "Dylan, I presume. Your return is… unexpected. And your companion?"

Julius bowed with the same measured respect he had shown Elisa. "Julius, former Captain of the Guard of the County of Pilaf, at your service, my Lord. I am the mentor of this reckless young man."

The Count's mouth curved faintly. "Your presence here is equally unexpected. To stand before me and declare openly—and without fear—that you come from the enemy's camp… that shows either bravery or folly."

"Only when the situation demands it, my lord," Julius replied calmly. "Especially when my student decides to leap into the wolf's jaws."

The Count returned his gaze to Dylan. "Zirel may have informed you of Captain Maggie's capture. Your inquiry about her suggests either great ignorance of recent events—or valuable intelligence. Which is it?"

Dylan straightened, meeting the Count's eyes without flinching. The anger and anxiety that had gripped him outside were now tempered, channeled into a cold resolve.

"The former, my Lord," he said firmly. "I was held in Pilaf's central prison. My mentor here was also a prisoner. Together, we escaped and crossed the northern forest to reach this place. We know nothing of what has transpired since."

Elisa held her breath. Each word confirmed her worst fears.

"You crossed the northern forest?" asked the Count, his tone unchanged.

"It took us three months," Dylan replied. "Most of the time was spent training…" He hesitated, a shadow crossing his face. "I refused to join a war that isn't mine while being weak, so—"

Zirel, who had remained silent, folded his arms. "Dylan? How did you escape? Pilaf's prison isn't exactly known for its leniency."

All eyes turned to him. The question hung in the air like a blade. Dylan held Zirel's stare.

"I was persistent," he said evenly. "I endured their torture—pain after pain—until my torturer finally lowered his guard. I killed him. I met my mentor after that. He knew the city, and we found a way out together. It's not every day you escape with someone who knows the place inside out."

The Count observed Dylan in deep silence, as though reading between the lines. Dylan's unmarked skin, his miraculous escape—none of it sat right.

"Luck is a fickle ally," the Count finally said, his skepticism hidden beneath diplomacy. "But in war, we must accept her gifts, however inexplicable. Elisa has informed me of her intent to join the rescue mission. Your information confirms its urgency. Your skills—both of you," his gaze included Julius, "—may prove valuable."

He rose, his stature radiating natural authority.

"My decision is this: a small, discreet unit will be formed. Its objective will be to infiltrate Pilaf's camp, locate Maggie, and bring her back. Zirel will lead the operation. Elisa will accompany him for her unique abilities. Dylan, you will join them. Your recent knowledge of the enemy's camp and its defenses will be invaluable. Julius, your combat experience—and your… stabilizing influence on your student—will also be needed."

He let his words settle in the heavy air.

"You leave at nightfall. Use the remaining hours to prepare—and for Dylan to share everything he knows, everything he saw." The emphasis on the last word did not go unnoticed. "The success of this mission is crucial—not only to recover one of our finest officers but for the morale of our forces. Do not fail me."

Fate was sealed. The unlikely group had been made official. As they turned to leave, the Count added, his voice quieter:

"And Dylan… remember this. Loyalty is the only currency of real value in my realm. I trust you understand."

It was both an order and a warning. Dylan inclined his head slightly but said nothing. His face remained unreadable. As they stepped out into the daylight, the mission awaiting them suddenly felt more real—more dangerous—and far heavier with consequence.

——

Elisa's tent had become their temporary refuge—a place where the air was lighter than the rest of the camp. Dylan sat cross-legged on a coarse mat, slowly spinning a dagger between his fingers. The supple leather armor he'd put on after a much-needed bath felt foreign on his skin, a quiet contrast to the ragged prisoner he'd been only hours earlier. Julius sat on a low stool, sharpening a short sword with calm, rhythmic strokes. Elisa and Zirel watched in silence, waiting for Dylan to speak first.

"The Count didn't ask many questions," Dylan began finally, without looking up from his blade. "Me, the miraculous escapee, and you, Julius—the former captain of Pilaf's guard. He accepted us like one accepts a bitter potion: holding his nose and hoping it works."

Julius grunted, not stopping his work. "Desperation has a distinct smell. It hangs over this camp like swamp fog. He knows the war's turning against him. He's clinging to anything that floats."

"Even if that thing's half-rotten?" Dylan countered, glancing up. His gaze met Elisa's, full of that same quiet worry he knew too well. "My infiltration mission is over. Technically, I should report and vanish. The Count gave me an order—but I'm not one of his soldiers. I never swore him loyalty."

Elisa stiffened. "Maggie is your friend too, Dylan."

"She is," he admitted without hesitation. "And I'll get her out. That's non-negotiable." He planted the dagger in the dirt floor, the tip sinking deep. "But after that? What then? Do we come back here as heroes, hand the Count his precious victory, and let this stupid war grind on?"

Zirel, leaning against the tent's central pole, crossed his arms. "Got a better idea?"

"I don't know," Dylan said quietly, his gaze clouding over with old pain. "But I know I'm not fighting for a flag. I fight for the people who matter to me. Maggie. You, Lise." His eyes flicked toward Julius. "Even this old fool. The war—they can keep it. I'm done dying for someone else's cause."

He leaned forward, eyes sharpening.

"But there's Alka." He spat the name like poison. "She sold me out. She's the reason I ended up in Pilaf's cells. She's playing both sides, and I want to know for whom—and why."

Elisa shivered. The name meant nothing to her, but the hatred in Dylan's voice said enough.

"You plan to use this mission to settle a score?" Zirel asked warily.

"I plan to use it to save Maggie," Dylan corrected. "And if I find answers about Alka while I'm there, I'll take them. It's not the mission's goal, but it's an opportunity."

Julius set down his sword and sharpening stone. "Vengeance burns the hand that lights it, boy."

"It's not vengeance, Master," Dylan said evenly. "It's caution. Alka's a loose cannon. She's tied to all this in ways I don't yet understand. Leaving her free is like leaving a spark in a powder field. I just want to know when to snuff it out."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"The question isn't whether we obey the Count. It's how we do it—and what we do with what we learn. We save Maggie. Period. Then… we see. We keep our eyes open—for Alka, for the Count's true motives, for anything that doesn't add up."

Silence followed. It was outright insubordination, but it was hard to argue with his logic.

"The Count wants a victory," Elisa murmured. "He wants Maggie back to rally the troops. The rest…"

"The rest, he doesn't care about," Dylan finished. "As long as we give him what he wants, we have room to move."

Zirel exhaled heavily. "Fine. We'll do it your way. We go in, find Maggie, get out. We keep our eyes open for anything useful—including this Alka. But priority is the Captain. Clear?"

Dylan nodded, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "Crystal."

As they split off for final preparations, Elisa felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Rescuing Maggie had been her only goal—but Dylan had just made the mission far more complicated. They weren't just rescuers anymore. They were pawns in a larger game whose rules they didn't yet understand.

And Dylan, with his grudges and his secrets, had just become the most unpredictable player of them all.

~To be continued~

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