Chapter 175: Planning for the Attacks, Iron-Scale and his Assassins Army

The Vanguard forces rested for the night to allow their alchemical engines to cool and their soldiers to recover from the naval slaughter. By mid-morning, Syra and Iron-Scale left the secured shipyards and marched up the winding cobblestone path to the Iron Keep.

Apostle Lucian and Envoy Cassian waited for them inside the castle’s grand war room. Lucian had spent the entire night gathering every surviving scout, merchant, and border guard who possessed any knowledge of the western valleys. Dozens of locals crowded around a gigantic oak table covered in blank parchment and vials of ink.

“Draw the terrain exactly as it stands today,” Syra commanded as she activated her glowing glass slate to cross-reference their claims.

The mapping session quickly devolved into a chaotic argument. An old merchant insisted the Crimson River flowed directly past the northern ridge, while a young ranger loudly claimed a recent rockslide had diverted the water south. Two former border guards bickered endlessly over the exact depth of the trench lines surrounding the enemy’s vanguard camp.

Syra adjusted the glowing lines on her slate and listened to the endless contradictions. ’Mortal memory is deeply flawed and entirely subjective,’ she concluded silently. ’We still cannot trust this map for precise tactical execution. It does provide a functional foundation to plan the initial assault.’

She raised her star-iron staff and tapped the floorboards to silence the arguing locals.

“We have enough geographical context to proceed,” Syra announced, projecting a simplified map from her slate onto the table. “The Fourth Continent has consolidated their frontline presence into these specific western valleys. We will target these three forward operating bases for our first retaliation strikes.”

Iron-Scale leaned over the projection and studied the three red markers. “We strike all three encampments simultaneously. Their commanders will panic and pull their reserve troops from the rear to reinforce the front lines.”

“That leaves their supply lines completely exposed,” Cassian realized with a nod of agreement. “The main highway connecting their rear camps is densely guarded by watchtowers. You will take severe casualties trying to march troops up that road.”

Lucian stepped forward and pointed a gauntleted finger at a seemingly blank section of the projected mountain range.

“There is a hidden smuggler’s cleft right here, situated perfectly between the Twin Peaks,” the armored Apostle explained. “It is entirely too narrow for cavalry or standard infantry. It does not exist on any official military map, but my personal scouts used it to bypass the border patrols before the siege began.”

Iron-Scale traced the hidden path with a clawed finger, his slitted eyes gleaming with malicious intent. The cleft bypassed the watchtowers entirely and opened up directly behind the enemy’s three primary bases.

“A narrow, lightless path suits my elite operatives perfectly,” Iron-Scale decided with a sharp, metallic hiss. “General Gulag and Human Commander Novus will lead and assist the main infantry to assault the three bases at dawn. My Kobold assassins will take this hidden pass tonight to sever their supply lines under the cover of darkness. The enemy will wake up to burning grain and slit throats.”

The rest of the day passed in training and discussing the plans.

The night sky stretched over the western valleys and offered little comfort to the Fourth Continent’s command camp. Inside the sprawling central tent, a heated argument raged over a large tactical map.

General Boros slammed his armored fist against the wooden table. “Admiral Vaelor lost our entire naval advantage in a single night! He allowed a mercenary fleet to shatter our blockade and hand the eastern ports right back to Lucian.”

Commander Kael crossed his arms defensively and pointed at the coastal markers on the map. “Those black ships possessed unnatural firepower, General. Vaelor was completely caught off guard. We must mobilize our cavalry and retake the shipyards immediately before these newcomers can entrench themselves.”

“We march at first light,” Boros agreed. He gripped the hilt of his broadsword tightly. “We will crush whatever mercenaries Cassian managed to hire and dump their bodies into the ocean,” the general ordered confidently.

They felt entirely secure within their fortified valley bases, assuming their massive numbers guaranteed victory in the open terrain. They had absolutely no idea that death was already creeping through the mountains.

Miles above the valley floor, Iron-Scale pressed his back against the freezing stone wall of the hidden smuggler’s cleft. The passage was incredibly narrow, forcing the elite Kobold assassins to move in a single-file line through the pitch-black crevice. Their dark scales blended perfectly with the shadows of the mountain.

Iron-Scale reached the exit and peered down at the sprawling supply depots situated directly behind the enemy’s three forward operating bases. Carts piled high with grain, replacement weapons, and medical provisions sat completely unguarded while the reserve soldiers slept peacefully in their tents.

’Fools,’ Iron-Scale mused, drawing his sleek star-iron blade. ’They leave their lifeblood exposed.’

He signaled his operatives with a simple flick of his claw. The Vanguard assassins descended the rocky slope like fluid shadows and bypassed the outer perimeter effortlessly.

Iron-Scale materialized behind a patrolling sentry, covered the man’s mouth, and drove his blade cleanly through the guard’s spine. He lowered the corpse to the dirt without making a single sound.

The Kobolds moved through the camp with practice and experience. They planted small, delayed-fuzed alchemical charges deep inside the grain wagons and the armory tents. They slit the throats of the sleeping quartermasters and vanished back into the treeline before anyone could raise an alarm.

The sun eventually broke over the mountain peaks to cast long shadows across the valley floor. The Fourth Continent soldiers began to saddle their warhorses for the planned counter-attack.

Suddenly, an immense chain of explosions erupted from their rear supply lines. Plumes of bright orange fire swallowed the grain wagons and the armories in an instant. Panic immediately swept through the valley as the reserve camps burned to the ground.

Before General Boros could even issue an order to salvage the supplies, a booming war horn shattered the morning air.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Boros shouted.

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