"When the empire demands blood, it doesn't care if it flows from the veins of a hero or a coward."The freezing wind howled through the open courtyard of the Iron Crag, biting ruthlessly into the flesh of the assembled soldiers. General Winfred’s elite execution squad moved with terrifying precision, forcing the terrified grunts into rows of ten. The mathematical cruelty of the decimation was an old imperial protocol, one that Collins himself had refined in a past life to break the spirit of rebellious legions.Collins stood perfectly still in the second row, his jaw clenched as his eyes scanned the spacing between the men. He was calculating the steps, the gaps, the exact rhythm of the executioner's march."They're going to kill us," Miller whispered from two spaces down, his teeth chattering so violently the sound was audible over the wind. "They're just going to pick a number and end it.""Keep your mouth shut, Miller," Watson commanded from the front of the line, his voice thick w

"Desperate men will buy their survival at any price, even if it costs them their empire."The air in the grand council chamber was thick with the suffocating scent of roasted meats and expensive spices, a grotesque contrast to the starving masses freezing just a floor below. Heavy iron chandeliers cast a flickering, amber glow across the long mahogany table where General Winfred sat flanked by three elite merchant lords. Collins stood silently in the shadows, dressed in the stained linen apron of a kitchen servant, a silver pitcher of spiced wine balanced perfectly in his grip."The cut supply lines change nothing," Winfred growled, slamming his fist onto the table. He looked exhausted, deep purple circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. "The Iron Crag will not capitulate to valley scum. I need grain, and I need it smuggled through the southern passes within forty eight hours."Lord Cassian, a bloated aristocrat wearing heavy velvet robes, let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Smuggling

"Blood is a terrible currency, but it is the only thing that can wash away an empire’s sins."The screaming started before the midnight bells could finish tolling. The open courtyard of the Iron Crag dissolved into absolute chaos as Lieutenant Vane’s mutineers collided head on with General Winfred’s elite shadow guard. Swords clashed violently in the darkness, the sounds of tearing metal and dying men echoing off the high stone ramparts.Collins sprinted through the shadows of the lower colonnade, his eyes wide and burning with a grim, bloody satisfaction. He watched his former army rip itself apart from the inside, the very machine he had built now self destructing over a lie."Keep the formation tight!" Watson roared, his broadsword clearing its scabbard as he pushed Miller and the rest of the third platoon into the snowy square. He looked back at Collins, his face splattered with mud and fresh gore. "Collins! We are right in the middle of the kill zone! Where are we supposed to go?

"I am the nightmare you thought you buried in the valley mud."The iron heavy double doors of the inner sanctum slammed shut with a deafening thud, cutting off the horrific, echoing screams of the trapped resistance fighters below. Collins stood in the center of the vaulted chamber, his small hands holding a stolen imperial shortsword that looked far too large and heavy for his fragile frame. Across the polished obsidian floor, General Winfred unbuckled his heavy velvet c

"We survived the collapse of a kingdom only to realize we are breathing the ashes of the only man who truly loved us."The mountain swallowed the sky. A suffocating sheet of gray powder drifted down through the freezing alpine air, coating the jagged graveyard of fractured granite that used to be the Iron Crag. Collins choked, his fingernails split and bleeding as he clawed his way out of a narrow air pocket beneath a fallen archway. The world was dead silent, save for the pathetic, rattling breaths of a few broken men crawling through the smoking wreckage. Across the debris field, Miller dropped to his knees in the thick gray soot, his hands violently trembling as he clutched a shattered wooden pole wrapped in stained canvas. It was Watson’s personal vanguard standard, torn to shreds, its crest unrecognizable under the filth."He is gone, Collins," Miller sobbed, his voice cracking completely, a raw, hollow sound that cut through the freezing fog. "He didn't even try to run. He just