One Week Later-Northern Oil Fields

————

Inside the command tent, the air was thick with the scent of gun oil and stale sweat.

A single electric lantern flickered like a dying heartbeat, casting elongated shadows across maps strewn haphazardly over the makeshift table.

General Dravik,an imposing figure with a face chiseled from granite and eyes like flint,leaned over the tactical display, fingers tracing severed supply lines.

From across the table, Ethan watched intently, his posture relaxed yet alert.

Gunnar loomed behind him, a silent guardian in matte-black armor, his scarred face betraying no emotion.

“You’ve held the northern fields for six months,”

Ethan remarked, his tone calm but probing. “But Veyra’s pushing harder every day. How long until your men break?”

Dravik’s jaw tightened, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

This was a man unaccustomed to being challenged, especially not by some outsider who smelled of expensive cologne rather than gunpowder.

“My men don’t break,” he growled, the words like gravel.

Ethan’s smirk returned. “They did at Kholod Pass.”

A brief silence hung in the air.

Dravik’s hand twitched toward the pistol at his hip. The atmosphere thickened, charged with tension.

“You’ve been watching,” Dravik said slowly, almost begrudgingly.

“Of course we have.”Ethan’s voice broke the tension as he pulled a sleek tablet from his coat.

With a tap, vibrant holographic imagery burst to life,revealing a live satellite feed that showcased Veyra’s forces amassing ominously along the southern ridge.

“He’s bringing in heavy artillery. By dawn, those guns will be shelling your positions.”

Dravik’s expression remained stoic, his eyes glued to the flickering feed.

“And?” he replied, his tone flat.

Ethan leaned in, the urgency in his voice palpable,”You don’t have the manpower to stop him.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in,”Not without help.”

Dravik huffed, clearly skeptical,”What kind of help?”

The air crackled with tension as Ethan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper,”The kind that wins wars.”

Suddenly, Gunnar stepped forward, depositing a heavy metal case on the table with a pronounced thud. It hissed as it opened, revealing sleek rows of micro-drones inside.

“Sabotage units,” he announced, his voice gravelly. “Programmed to disable Veyra’s artillery before it even thinks of firing.”

Dravik picked one up, his brow furrowing.

“How do they work?”

“Nanotech disruptors,”Gunnar explained, his voice steady and confident.

“They’ll fry targeting systems and jam communications. Before Veyra even realizes what’s happening, his guns will be worthless.”

Ethan swiped the tablet again, revealing a new image: armored trucks rolling cautiously through a treacherous mountain pass.

“This is your next supply shipment. Or it would be, if Veyra’s scouts hadn’t already marked it for ambush.”

Dravik’s gaze sharpened,”Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re going to make sure it gets through,”

Ethan assured him, transitioning the image to a warehouse brimming with crates of weapons, medical supplies, and fresh uniforms. “Enough to equip three battalions. Yours, if you want it.”

For a moment, silence hung heavily in the air. Dravik scrutinized Ethan, then Gunnar, then returned to the holograms as if seeking answers hidden within.”What’s the price?”

Ethan’s smile was calculating, devoid of warmth. “Allegiance.”

“To whom?”

“To the Osborn family.”

Dravik let out a laugh that echoed through the tent, a sound laced with disbelief,”You expect me to swear fealty to some corporate dynasty?”

“No,” Ethan said, his voice smooth like silk. “What I need from you is to swear fealty to those who will help you become king.”

Silence hung in the air like an unshaken snow globe.

Dravik let out a startled laugh that quickly faded.

He leaned back, the old wooden chair creaking under his weight. “Explain that to me.”

Ethan steepled his fingers, eyes gleaming with intensity. “Varenya has been entrenched in war for decades,why? Because no one has proven strong enough to end it.”

He gestured toward the hologram beside him, its glowing light flickering with the promise of power. “We can give you that strength.”

Gunnar then placed a second case on the table, popping it open to reveal a syringe filled with shimmering amber liquid.

“Stem-cell booster,” he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. “One dose heals you. Two? You could take a bullet to the chest and walk it off.”

Dravik eyed the syringe with a mix of suspicion and intrigue. “And if I say no?”

Ethan shrugged, nonchalantly. “Veyra starts shelling your positions at dawn. Your men perish. You lose the oil fields. And we simply find someone else to back.”

Another pregnant pause filled the space.

Dravik drummed his fingers against the table, anticipation palpable. “What’s in it for you?”

“Varenya’s resources,” Ethan replied confidently, his tone patient like a chess master. “Oil, minerals, and a solid foothold on the Noctis continent. And, of course, a grateful ally in power.”

“You want a puppet,” Dravik snorted dismissively.

Ethan’s voice grew firm yet reassuring. “We want a partner. One who understands loyalty.”

The general scrutinized him, assessing every nuance in Ethan’s expression. And then, without warning, he stood, his shadow stretching like an omen across the lantern light. “I’ll think about it.”

Ethan remained unfazed. “You have until midnight.”

Dravik paused at the tent flap, curiosity piqued. “Or what?”

A razor-thin smile crept across Ethan’s face. “Or we let Veyra win.”

With that, the general exited, boots echoing into the night.

Once Dravik’s footsteps faded, Gunnar spoke softly. “He’ll take the deal.”

Ethan exhaled, rolling his shoulders, tension easing just a bit. “He’d better. Arthur doesn’t like loose ends.”

Outside, the first shells began to fall, the thunder of conflict cracking through the night sky.

————–

Varenya – The Northern Oil Fields – Midnight

The command tent lay draped in an eerie silence, punctuated only by the persistent ticking of an antique clock perched on a folding table,a resolute remnant from a bygone era, its brass casing dulled by the passage of time and the remnants of gunpowder.

With each slow tick, the hands inched closer to midnight, each second stretching into an eternity.

Ethan sat motionless in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, his gaze fixated on the clock.

Behind him, Gunnar loomed, leaning against the tent pole with arms crossed, his scarred face shrouded in the dim lantern light, betraying no emotion.

Outside, the rest of Aegis-7 formed a silent perimeter,a vigil of shadows guarding the war camp.

Five minutes later.

The tent flap rustled.

General Dravik stepped in alone, his massive figure blocking the moonlight like a dark cloud.

He wore a simple fatigue jacket instead of his usual battle armor, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms etched with muscle and scars from past battles.

His steel-gray eyes glinted with fatigue, veins of command marking his stoic presence.

“Still here, I see,” he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly.

Ethan’s lips held no trace of a smile. “Midnight wasn’t up for discussion.”

Dravik approached the map table, calloused fingers skimming over the southern front where Veyra’s forces had been advancing throughout the night. “My scouts have detected movement in Sector 7-B.”

“Artillery emplacements,” Gunnar chimed in from the shadows. “Six self-propelled howitzers took position twenty minutes ago.”

Ethan scrutinized the general’s face, watching for any sign of worry. “They’ll start shelling at dawn. Your northern trenches won’t stand a chance before your men can even grab their rifles.”

The clock’s ticking grew louder.

Three minutes later.

Dravik’s jaw tightened as he weighed the options. “If I accept your terms…”

“When,” Ethan softly interjected.

“…if I accept, what guarantee do I have that your Osborn won’t discard me the moment Veyra falls?”

Ethan reached into his coat and placed a small holoprojector on the table.

It flickered to life, projecting Arthur’s sharp, calculating face,those piercing blue eyes fixed intently on Dravik.

“General,” Arthur’s voice resonated like smooth whiskey. “You want assurances? Here’s mine: I don’t deal in trivial betrayals. The one who rules Varenya for me must be ruthless, capable, and above all,loyal. Exhibit those qualities, and the only throne you’ll be concerned about is the one I build for you.”

The projection shimmered and transformed into the formidable Osborn sigil, a silver phoenix enveloped in nine stars,before fading away entirely.

One minute later…

Dravik let out a sharp exhale through his nose, a mix of nerves and determination.

His hand drifted to the antique pistol holstered at his hip; he didn’t mean to threaten, just to think.

This wasn’t just any weapon, it was a 20th-century Tokarev, a family heirloom passed down through epochs of soldiers, each scratch and dent a testament to its history.

He ran his thumb over the weathered grip, feeling the weight of legacy in his palm.

Midnight struck.

A single, resonant gong reverberated through the tent, marking the hour.

Ethan didn’t flinch. “So, what’s your answer, General?”

With deliberate slowness, Dravik unbuckled his pistol belt and placed it on the table between them, a powerful symbol, surrendering the arms of a warrior to the authority of his new lord.

“I’ll need those drones operational before dawn,” he said in a gruff voice, the finality hanging in the air like a thundercloud.

Ethan finally cracked a smile, his confidence radiating. He activated his earpiece, his voice steady, “Aegis-7, move out. Get the Cinder Protocol ready.”

Outside, the night erupted with palpable energy, drones whirred to life, operatives murmured urgent commands, the first stirrings of a war poised to ignite.

Gunnar stepped forward, handing Dravik a sleek metal case brimming with nanotech disruptors. “Welcome to the winning side.”

Dravik’s grin was fierce and full of teeth. “Let’s go make those traitors regret their choices.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep