Couverture de Centrellus, Chapter 14

Centrellus, Chapter 14

Centrellus, Chapter 14

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Chapter 14: The March to TorsandOneDeep within the Xianne Palace, in a wing where the marble gave way to older, smoke-stained granite, the air smelled of oil, sweat, and suppressed sound.This was the Foundry Courtyard, a sunken, flagstoned square enclosed on all sides by the palace's sheer walls, originally built in secret centuries ago. The usual palace hum—the distant clatter of pans, the murmur of courtiers—was swallowed by the dense stone, leaving only the immediate, purposeful noises of men preparing for war.Edgar stood on a shallow dais, a silhouette against the grey light filtering from the narrow opening high above. He didn't just move with intensity; he was a still point of coiled force, his eyes tracking every detail. Below him, in the courtyard's gloom, his handpicked soldiers worked.They weren't in full ceremonial armor. They wore boiled leather, dark tunics, gear made for distance and silence, not parades. The *clank* of a crate being set down wasn't muffled; it was a sharp, definitive sound in the quiet. The crates themselves were unmarked, but their weight spoke of contents more lethal than linens: the dull thud of packed rifles, the heavier, solid sound of ammunition boxes, the dry rustle of explosives packed in straw.Edgar watched a squad muscle a small, wheeled field cannon onto a reinforced wagon. A smile, thin and cold, touched his lips. He descended the steps, his boots echoing. He approached a cluster of his sergeants, men with faces hardened by border skirmishes and palace intrigues. Their expressions weren't curious or concerned; they were professionally blank, waiting for the final word."You are not the finest warriors in Vennug," Edgar began, his voice not low, but clear and cutting, carrying in the stone box. "The finest warriors guard my father in the throne room. You are something better. You are the most useful."He let the distinction hang, watching it settle in their eyes. Useful men understood rewards."We march to Torsand," he continued, the name dropping into the silence like a stone. "Not to visit. Not to treat. To *claim*. Their wealth sleeps under mountains they are too soft to dig. Their magic is a garden they are too timid to prune. We will take it. And you will be the hands that do the taking."There was no ripple of surprise. These men had been chosen because surprise was a luxury they'd traded for advancement. There was only a slight tightening of shoulders, a sharper focus in their gazes.He turned to Mun. The lieutenant was a bull of a man, shoulders straining the seams of his tunic, his head shaved to grey bristle. A scar notched his eyebrow, pulling one eye into a permanent squint that gave him a look of grim assessment. He wasn't wary; he was utterly present, a tool waiting in the rack."Mun," Edgar said. "Final inventory. Water, food, powder, shot. Count it twice. We leave when the twin moons set."Mun slammed a fist to his chest in a salute that sounded like a meaty thud. "It will be done, Your Highness." His voice was gravel in a bucket. No wariness. Only the absolute certainty of a heavy door being shut.Edgar gave a single, curt nod. His gaze swept the courtyard—the loaded wagons, the armed men, the secret made manifest in steel and supplies. The march hadn't just begun. It was already a fact, waiting for the cover of darkness to slink out into the world.TwoIn the dim confines of a secluded chamber deep within the Xianne Palace, Prince Edgar sat opposite a pale, yet imposing man named Kaelen. The room was austere yet imposing, its walls adorned with intricate carvings depicting battles long past. A single flickering lantern cast elongated shadows on the stone walls, the subdued light lending an air of secrecy.Kaelen was a man whose presence commanded attention. His weathered face was marked by lines that spoke of decades spent navigating the harsh underground tunnels of Kryllos. His hair was streaked with silver, cropped unevenly, as if practicality always outweighed vanity. His sharp, calculating eyes gleamed like polished onyx, scanning Edgar with a quiet intensity that betrayed his shrewdness. Despite the calloused hands and rough appearance, Kaelen's posture was regal, his bearing a reminder that Kryllos, though hidden from the surface, was no lesser a nation."Prince Edgar," Kaelen began, his voice low and gravelly, the kind of tone honed by years of commanding men in the shadows. "You've heard the whispers of our people, but now you will see what those whispers conceal. Kryllos has remained in the depths for centuries—hidden, resilient, unbroken."Edgar studied him, a spark of intrigue flashing in his eyes. "And yet, here you stand. Your people ready to rise from the shadows at last?" His voice carried a subtle note of superiority, laced with his typical blend of charm and condescension.Kaelen didn't flinch. His lips curled into the barest hint of a smile, one that didn't touch his eyes. "Not out of desperation, Your Highness, but out of ...
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