Five days on the road taught Axton that six warriors weren't army.They moved like ghosts. Single file through terrain avoiding roads, avoiding cities, avoiding anywhere Heptarchy patrols might detect six people who shouldn't exist, who'd escaped trap designed killing everyone, who carried thirty-three names demanding vengeance.Ryn scouted ahead. Always ahead. Maybe hundred meters forward, reading terrain like book written in broken branches and disturbed earth, finding safe paths through landscape designed killing travelers stupid enough wandering without armies protecting them.She was good. Better than Axton realized during fortress mission where everyone died too fast noticing individual skills. Now, watching her work over days, seeing how she moved—silent, efficient, reading signs others missed—he understood why she'd survived when sixteen others didn't."Patrol." Her voice whispered through communication crystal. Urgent. Close. "Twenty soldiers. Heptarchy uniforms. Moving parall

Intelligence gathering took two weeks.Not operations. Not raids. Not ghost warfare continuing blindly accumulating casualties through inadequate preparation. Just intelligence. Systematic observation. Patient collection of information Marcus needed planning operations that wouldn't repeat second failure, that wouldn't cost lives through preventable ignorance.Ryn led reconnaissance teams. Twelve scouts rotating shifts observing convoy routes, garrison rotations, champion movements. Professional surveillance requiring patience most warriors didn't possess, requiring stillness that combat instinct resisted, requiring accepting that watching was mission instead of fighting."Champion profiles compiled," Ryn reported after first week. Data accumulated through observation, through tracking patterns, through noting which champions led which operations. "Fifteen champions total across Eastern Shadowlands occupation force. Three dead from our operations. Twelve remain.

The training ground was just dirt and stones.No markers. No equipment. No comforts promising this would be anything except brutal.Jarek stood in the center, body still screaming from yesterday. Muscles he didn't know existed now announced themselves through pain that made breathing difficult, made standing upright a choice requiring constant willpower.Kael entered the clearing. Blade drawn. Face expressionless."Yesterday you learned pain is constant. Today you learn adaptation is survival." He gestured to a pile of stones. "Pick one. Any weight. Hold it above your head. Don't drop it until I say.""That's not combat training.""That's foundation. Strength without endurance is useless. Technique without stamina is suicide. Pick."Jarek chose a stone. Maybe ten kilograms. Heavy but manageable."Wrong." Kael kicked the stone away. "Choose one that hurts. One that makes you question whether you can. Because enemies don't choose

Two weeks became thirteen days.Travel was faster after ruins. No more patrols. No more hunters. Word had spread somehow professional networks that existed beyond official channels, beyond Heptarchy control, beyond laws that pretended mercenaries didn't communicate across contracts.Ashborn Legion had talked. Had told other companies that seven Warborne killed three Gold-rank champions through tactics and terrain. Had warned that bounty wasn't worth cost. Professional courtesy becoming protective barrier when reputation exceeded threat, when competence earned respect even from enemies.Axton's ribs healed slowly. Marcus's field medicine held infection at bay but pain remained constant. Reminder that victory had cost, that perfect tactics still meant bleeding, that surviving didn't mean unscathed.He didn't complain. Complaining was luxury seven people couldn't afford when every kilometer brought them closer to Eastern Shadowlands, closer to resistance, cl