CHAPTER 56: WINTER HAS COME

The march began in the early morning, the army of Byzeth moved like a beast across the land, hundreds of feet trampling the dirt roads.

The banners flew high above the mass of soldiers, each emblazoned with the royal crest of Byzeth, fluttering in the wind.

The clang of armor, the snorting of horses, and the rhythmic march of boots filled the air, creating a near-hypnotic sound as they made their way north.

On the first day, the weather was mild. The early autumn sun only warmed their backs, and the land stretched out in shades of brown and gold, the last remnants of summer clinging to the trees.

The soldiers marched steadily, conserving their energy. Aric, mounted on his black stallion, remained near the front, his armor gleaming beneath the sun.

He was silent, observing everything, from the soldiers’ formations to the way supplies were distributed during the occasional stops.

As the day progressed, they passed the outskirts of villages and farmlands. Peasants watched from afar, wary, knowing better than to interfere with a moving army. Aric’s thoughts were far ahead, fixed on the northern settlements and how the first strike would unfold.

By evening, the temperature began to drop, and the soldiers set camp in a field bordered by sparse woods. Fires were lit, tents raised, and the men prepared for a cold night. Aric sat with Aszer and several officers, reviewing maps and strategies by firelight.

They spoke in low tones, weighing their route and timing.

"We push through tomorrow, avoiding the trade roads until we reach the northern forests," Aszer said, tracing a path on the map. "From there, it’s two more days until we reach the border towns."

Aric nodded, eyes fixed on the map. "We must increase the pace if we’re to strike before word spreads. Once we breach the northern roads, we hit hard and fast."

The fire crackled as Aszer agreed. "We march at dawn."

---

On the second day, the weather shifted drastically.

The warm autumn air yielded to a biting chill.

As they moved northward, the trees grew sparse, and the ground hardened beneath their boots. By midday, light flurries drifted down from the gray sky. The soldiers wrapped their cloaks tighter, their breath misting in the cold.

Aric rode in silence, his face hidden by the mask. His stallion’s breath steamed in thick clouds, its hooves crunching against the thin snow that began to spread across the land. With every mile, the landscape grew more desolate.

The army trudged on, the cold gnawing at their bones. Despite the discomfort, no one complained—grim determination alone carried them forward.

The march grew quieter, the sound of boots muffled beneath snow. Overhead, the sky hung heavy, promising more to come.

By nightfall, snow was falling thickly, the air near freezing. The camp went up faster this time, soldiers eager for warmth. Aric, however, seemed untouched by the cold.

He stood apart, his breath steady as he gazed across the white-blanketed land.

The silence of night was eerie. Snow absorbed all sound, and the wind howled through trees like a distant wail. Aric remained vigilant, knowing harsh weather would not hinder enemies if they caught word of the raid.

Aszer joined him at the camp’s edge, pulling his cloak tight. "The cold will serve us. The Valerians won’t expect an attack in this weather," he said, scanning the horizon.

"Agreed," Aric replied, voice low. "But it will test the men. We must reach the border towns by tomorrow night. A drawn-out march in this cold will weaken them."

Aszer nodded. "We press on at first light."

---

By the third day, the land was a frozen wilderness. Snow lay thick on the ground, the cold now a constant, gnawing presence.

The soldiers moved slower, their breaths labored in the icy air.

The horses struggled through drifts, hooves sinking deep with each step. The wind had risen, slicing through even the heaviest cloaks.

Aric stayed at the front, his stallion stamping in the snow. The prince felt the chill bite through his armor, but discomfort was nothing new. His thoughts were fixed on the settlements ahead—the real battle was near.

As they neared Valeria’s northern outskirts, the snow deepened, the trees thinned, and the land opened into windswept plains. The cold howled across the fields, and in the distance faint outlines of a settlement emerged, smoke curling from chimneys.

Aric turned to Aszer, who had ridden up beside him. "We’re close," Aric said, his voice barely carrying over the wind. "By nightfall, we strike."

Aszer grinned, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "No, you will strike."

"I’m sorry?" Aric turned.

The king smiled deviously. "We need not such numbers for one settlement. You will lead one hundred fifty men by night. I and the rest march east, splitting to the other towns."

"Understood." Aric nodded. The king had made another unconsulted decision, perhaps to play his games—but this one worked to Aric’s favor.

"By the time this settlement falls, legionaries from the north will meet you."

"Legionaries?" Aric raised a brow beneath his mask.

"Yes. I’ve spoken with the men of winter, as you advised. Their soldiers will join you here, and you’ll make base while we ready to take Valeria."

"I see," Aric nodded.

"Let’s move," Aszer commanded.

At once, the army pressed forward. Snow crunched beneath their feet as they advanced, their goal clear ahead.

The northern settlements of Valeria would soon fall—and with that, Aric would be one step closer to success.