Dawn's mist still clung to the valley when the drums began to shake the hills.
Black banners rippled above wooden palisades, and a lone torch struggled against the wind.
Mirage stood at the fireline, watching the lord's soldiers in their polished armor—too bright for battle, as if this were a parade of power, not war.
Behind him, the mercenaries shifted uneasily. A grizzled man with a cropped beard spat into the dirt.
"If those fools had just taxed the merchants and left it at that, we wouldn't be part of this bloody circus..."
Mirage didn't respond.
His eyes traced a fissure in the wall—a weakness he'd marked the moment he saw the defenses. His hand tightened on his longsword's hilt, not to draw it, but because its weight reminded him of... something. Something he no longer knew if he'd lost or abandoned.
The blond youth—Nicholas—edged closer, his voice dropping to a murmur:
"Captain. We need orders. Their cavalry's flanking right. If they encircle us—"
"Those riders aren't here to protect him," Mirage cut in, tone flat. "They're here to make him look strong before he's humiliated in public."
"But... you're certain our employer will hold up their end?"
"The gold's already paid. Politics, Nicholas. Victory doesn't matter. Only that this lord doesn't leave here with his pride intact."
Nicholas grimaced but fell back into line. Across the field, taunts erupted. A spear thudded into the dirt near their boots. The men stirred—some bracing, others clutching tattooed charms on their wrists.
A hoarse voice carried over the wind:
"Mercenary dogs! You won't pass this time! You can't sell us out like the others!"
No one answered. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Mirage's gaze swept slowly. These weren't battle cries—just fear dressed as defiance.
He raised a hand to Nicholas.
"Five men with me. Archers cover our advance. No massacre. Just break their front line."
A mercenary barked a laugh.
"And what's the difference?"
Mirage didn't grace that with a reply. His first step toward the wall held no fear, no fury—just the hollow weight of waiting for this farce to end.
A guard atop the palisade pointed, voice trembling:
"You... you're that mercenary—" As if the word itself were filth on his tongue.
Mirage didn't look up.
"I am."
The wind shifted, carrying ash and the scent of burnt bread. Another step, then another, until shadow swallowed half his face. Had anyone seen him then, they might've mistaken him for a ghost come to collect an unpaid debt.
To the left, the lord's silver banner flapped—a wolf gnawing an arrow. Behind Mirage, the mercenaries' flag was blank black cloth, fluttering without meaning.
No horn signaled the battle's start. Just a single stone slipping from a guard's grip, striking the earth with a crack.
That was enough.
Chaos erupted.
Gray arrows rained down as Mirage's sword rose with his first lunge—not brutal, but precise. The blade sheared through a soldier's arm at the elbow. His scream dissolved into the battle's roar.
Beside him, Nicholas drove his spear into a man's chest, then wrenched it free slowly.
"I said no massacre—!"
"That doesn't mean we die politely."
Everything unraveled faster than planned. Hesitant soldiers became cornered beasts when they realized this was no longer a performance. Wood splintered. Steel flashed.
Time blurred for Mirage. Strikes came and went as if his body moved on instinct alone. A voice—memory or something deeper—whispered:
Why does it always end in blood?
He had no answer.
When the storm ebbed, they'd shattered the front line. Corpses littered broken planks; blood turned mud to slurry underfoot. Mirage lifted his gaze to the distant keep where the lord watched.
He recalled the old man's words when the contract was offered:
"No one hires mercenaries to win. They hire us to humble their enemies in public."
Perhaps that was true.
Perhaps this was less a victory than a transaction.
But under this ashen sky—so like the void in his chest—none of it mattered. He wiped blood from his cheek and gave the order too quiet for anyone but the wind to hear:
"Finish it. Leave nothing standing that can still scream."
The men obeyed.
And the ruins echoed with the sound of the world applauding an inevitable crime.