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The settlement remained in the distance, it was faintly visible under the dusky sky.

His soldiers, now under his sole command, began preparations. Weapons were sharpened, armor adjusted, and whispered conversations moved through the camp.

Aric, quiet as always, observed them closely.

These men did not know his name, only calling him "General,". They did not understand he was their enemy, nor did they realise they marched not for the rise of Byzeth but it’s fall.

It was always the same, even then he was just like them, sent to fight and die for a cause they barely understood.

But, How else could a man’s worth be decided?

By nightfall, the settlement was barely visible through the thickening snowfall. The world around them was swallowed in darkness, the wind howling like a wild beast—perfect cover for the attack.

Aric gave the signal, and his forces moved as one—as though they were a shadow creeping across the frozen plains.

Their numbers, nearly double that of the garrison, gave them an overwhelming advantage, but Aric knew better than to be careless. Underestimating the Kirik soilders was utter foolishness, and their familiarity with the terrain could work against him.

As they neared the settlement, Aric raised his hand to halt the men.

He could feel it—the tension before the strike, the anticipation that licked through the air. His heart beat steadily, and a cold calm settled over him.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. This was what he was born from.

The attack began with a soft whistle—a signal—and the first volley of arrows flew through the night sky, raining down on the Kirik soldiers standing watch. The cries of alarm followed almost instantly, but it was too late. Aric’s forces were already upon them.

"Push forward!" Aric’s voice cut through the chaos as he drew his sword, it was a sleek weapon that gleamed under the barely reaching moonlight.

The front line of Kirik soldiers met his men with resistance, but the sheer number and strength of Aric’s forces quickly overwhelmed them.

Clashes of steel rang out across the settlement as Byzeth soldiers, driven by the adrenaline of battle, stormed through the gates.

Aric moved like a shadow even without using the shadow step arts, each strike calculated and lethal.

His years of experience in his past life had made him a master of war, and it showed. His movements were fluid, precise, and devastating.

He didn’t need any grand techniques—his Ki-enhanced strength and speed he never possessed in his previous life, combined with his battle-hardened instincts, were enough. Each enemy that crossed his path fell swiftly, reduced to nothing more than bloodstains on the snow.

The small ammout of mages and Ki cultivators among his ranks unleashed, flames erupting and bolts of energy crackling through the air, cutting down swathes of Kirik soldiers.

The battlefield was hell, one made of magic, steel, and blood—and Aric led this torment.

The Kirik soldiers, outnumbered and outmatched, tried to mount a defense, but they were being systematically cut down.

Aric’s forces pressed forward relentlessly, giving no quarter. The snow beneath their feet was soon stained red, the bodies of the fallen littering the ground like broken dolls.

As the battle raged on, Aric’s cold, calculating eyes scanned the field. Every move was part of a larger plan, each strike a step toward a greater victory.

He maneuvered his soldiers with precision, directing them like pieces on a board, exploiting every weakness in the Kirik defenses.

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It wasn’t long before the tide turned completely in Aric’s favor. The Kirik forces, reduced to nearly half their original numbers, began to falter. Some tried to retreat, only to be cut down by Aric’s men. Others, realizing the futility of their situation, threw down their weapons and surrendered.

The settlement was theirs, just like this night’s victory was theirs.

The air was choked with the metal ooze of blood and smoke as Aric’s soldiers rounded up the surviving Kirik soldiers.

The remaining garrison, a few dozen men, were forced to their knees in the snow, hands bound and heads bowed. Their leader, a grizzled veteran, stared defiantly at Aric as he was dragged forward, blood dripping from a wound on his forehead.

The soldiers surrounding them grinned wickedly, knives drawn and pressed against the throats of the captives. One of Aric’s captains approached him, bowing slightly.

"General," he said, his voice eager. "Shall we slaughter them?"

Aric, still breathing steadily from the battle, gazed down at the kneeling soldiers, their faces pale with fear and exhaustion. He looked at them for a moment, as though considering it, before he shook his head.

"No," he said coldly. "Not yet."

The Kirik garrison leader, struggling against his bindings, raised his head, his voice hoarse but firm. "Spare them," he rasped. "Spare the people living in this settlement—they are not soilders. Leave them be."

A dark chuckle escaped Aric’s lips as he stepped forward, his shadow looming over the kneeling man. "You are right, I have no reason to kill them."

The garrison leader’s shoulders sagged in relief for a brief moment, but the gleam in Aric’s eyes quickly turned that relief to dread.

"But a message must be sent... Go into the settlement" Aric commanded, turning to his soldiers. "Bring them out. Burn their homes."

The garrison leader’s eyes widened in horror, and he screamed in protest, struggling violently against his captors. "No! You can’t do this! They’re innocent!"

Aric met the man’s desperate gaze, his voice a cold whisper. "Innocence is irrelevant in war."

As the soldiers moved to carry out his orders, Aric turned away from the pleading cries of the garrison leader.

The flames that would soon engulf the settlement reflected off his armor as he strode forward, his boots crunching on the crimson snow.

’Empires are forged from blood and brutality, yes, I am not evil... Only practical’ The prince thought.

How easy it was for a man to delude himself.