They didn't go back the same way.
That was the third decision.
No road. No clear path. Only movement along the edge—never inside, never fully exposed.
"Scouts first," Kate said.
Lens was already gone.
Ruger walked behind the line this time. Not leading. Watching.
They moved for two hours before the first sign appeared.
Tracks.
Fresh.
Too clean.
"They want us to see it," Eit said.
"Yes," Ruger replied.
"Then we ignore it?"
Ruger shook his head. "No." A beat. "We follow."
The trail didn't twist. Didn't hide. It led them forward. Deliberately.
"That's wrong," Kate said.
"Yes," Ruger said.
They followed anyway.
The attack came before noon.
Not from ahead.
From the side.
Three riders. Fast. Precise.
Kate moved first. Lance forward. Impact. One down.
The second twisted in the saddle. Avoided the angle. Adjusted. Too clean.
Lens appeared behind him. Blade low. Up. The rider dropped.
The third didn't engage.
He watched.
Then turned. Left.
"Don't chase," Ruger said.
No one moved.
Silence settled.
"That was light," Eit muttered.
Ruger didn't answer.
Kate looked at the ground. "They didn't commit."
"No," Ruger said. "They were measuring."
They moved again.
Slower now.
Watching for what wasn't there.
Lens returned at dusk.
"More movement," he said. "Small groups. Spread out."
Ruger nodded.
"They're mapping us," Kate said.
"Yes." A pause. "They already know where we'll be next."
They changed direction.
It didn't matter.
The next contact came anyway.
This time—five.
Same pattern.
Test. Adjust. Withdraw.
One mistake.
A rider stepped too far.
A wire caught.
He stumbled.
Eit's axe ended it.
Fast.
Clean.
"Better," Eit said.
Ruger shook his head.
"No."
They all looked at him.
"They avoided the first line," Ruger said. "They adjusted the second."
A beat.
"They learned."
Kate's jaw tightened. "So we change."
Ruger didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"No."
A pause.
"That's not enough."
They didn't fight again that day.
Not by choice.
The enemy never gave them the chance.
Night fell.
No fire.
No sound.
Only breathing.
Ruger sat apart from the others.
Thinking.
Replaying.
Angles.
Timing.
Distance.
Something didn't fit.
Not the enemy.
The space.
That moment.
When the strike had landed—
even though it shouldn't have.
Ruger frowned slightly.
He reached—not with his hand—
but along that thin, familiar thread.
For a moment—
something answered.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
But enough to feel—
wrong.
Ruger pulled back.
Not now.
"Say it," Kate said quietly.
Ruger looked up.
Kate was watching him.
The others too.
They all knew.
They were waiting for him to say it.
Ruger didn't soften it.
"We lose like this," he said.
Silence.
No one argued.
"Then we don't fight like this," Kate said.
Ruger shook his head.
"No."
A beat.
"We don't fight them at all."
That landed harder.
"Then what?" Eit asked.
Ruger looked toward the forest.
Toward Cyrus Castle.
"We make them fight wrong."
Silence stretched.
Then—
slowly—
Lens smiled.
"That," he said, "I understand."
The messenger arrived the next morning.
Lord Wenington's seal. Kate's name. A promotion.
Kate read the letter twice. Then handed it to Ruger.
"Lionheart Knights," he said. "Middle commander."
Ruger nodded. "You earned it."
Kate didn't smile. "I followed orders."
"Good orders," Ruger said.
Kate looked at him. "Yes."
The investiture was small.
A priest. A bishop. A document that made them real.
Gennard Hart performed the ceremony.
His hands were soft. His smile was softer.
Ruger knelt. Received his medal. Stood.
The bishop's eyes lingered on him.
"You've done well," Gennard said.
"We've been lucky," Ruger replied.
"Lucky," Gennard echoed.
The holy water came last.
A blessing. A formality.
Gennard dipped his fingers. Sprinkled.
The water touched Ruger's skin.
It burned.
Not heat. Not cold.
Something else.
Something that did not belong.
Ruger didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
He smiled.
The bishop nodded.
"Such devotion," Gennard said.
Ruger said nothing.
Under his armor, his skin was red.
Raw.
Wrong.
He didn't tell anyone.
The castle was a ruin.
Walls cracked.
Roofs gone.
A tower leaning like it had given up.
Ruger stepped through the courtyard.
Boots grinding over broken stone.
"Cyrus Castle," Franco said. "Two towns. Fourteen villages. Five thousand people."
"Taxes?" Ruger asked.
"Fifty gold a year. Before the Snow Fox."
Ruger stopped.
"Fifty?"
"The land is poor," Franco said. "The people are poorer. No one wanted it."
Ruger looked at the broken walls.
The empty towers.
The silence.
"We do," he said.
It wasn't gold.
That was the first surprise.
It was iron.
Ruger picked up a fragment near the tunnel entrance.
Heavy.
Too dense for its size.
"Good iron," Firth said quietly.
"Enough?" Ruger asked.
Firth looked at the rock.
Then back at him.
"Enough."
The laborers were worse than the castle.
Starving.
Bruised.
Branded.
They watched Ruger with empty eyes.
They had learned not to expect anything.
An overseer raised a whip.
Ruger caught his wrist.
"No."
The man froze.
"My lord—"
Ruger tightened his grip.
Bone creaked.
"I said no."
The whip dropped.
No one spoke.
The laborers didn't thank him.
They didn't know how.
The next day—
they worked harder.
Not faster.
Harder.
Ruger watched from the tunnel entrance.
"Fear works faster," Franco said.
"Fear stops working," Ruger replied.
"A man who expects nothing doesn't stop."
Far away—
Hart stood over a map.
"They're not moving," one officer said.
"They're holding," another added.
Hart smiled.
"They think they're waiting."
A pause.
"They're learning."
Another pause.
"So are we."
The weeks passed.
The castle didn't become whole.
But it became usable.
Walls repaired.
Gates replaced.
Men stationed.
Ruger slept in the leaning tower.
He didn't dream.
One night—
he sat alone.
The thread pulled.
Faint.
Still there.
He reached for it.
Nothing.
He waited.
The moon rose.
Wrong place.
Wrong color.
Ruger watched it.
"They know," he said quietly.
No one answered.
"They've always known."
The wind moved through the broken walls.
Ruger didn't sleep.
At dawn, he gave the order.
They didn't stay.
Not in Cyrus Castle. Not behind walls.
The forest hadn't finished with them.
And neither had they.
They moved out before the sun fully rose, leaving the broken towers behind.
No banners.
No formation.
Only direction.
Back toward the trees.
END OF CHAPTER 15