The meeting continued into the night, with Daemon and Jensen finalizing details, Daemon adding suggestions here and there. By evening, it finally broke up. With farewells from the squad leaders, Daemon and Jensen parted ways. Daemon walked through the camp, retracing whether he'd covered all the battle arrangements. Without realizing it, he'd reached the camp gates. Tonight, he planned to stay at Cassie's.
"Greetings, Captain!" Two sentries saluted him. At his rank now, staying out overnight was allowed under camp regulations.
Outside the tavern, its curtains drawn, Daemon knocked boldly.
"Coming!" Cassie's voice called from within. As she opened the door, she tapped Daemon's chest with a finger.
"Why so loud? Someone might hear!"
"What's there to fear?" Daemon brushed it off as he handed her his cloak. Since his promotion to squad captain, the tavern guards had increased from two or three to nearly ten soldiers. The whole town knew the Green Palm Tavern was now under the protection of a Storm captain.
"You're strong, you're mighty, gotcha," Cassie rolled her eyes.
In a sudden burst, Daemon carried Cassie into the back room. Despite her protests, his Battleforce-enhanced strength overwhelmed her. After a long night filled with passion, the tavern fell quiet. Though late, Daemon felt invigorated, Battleforce not only strengthened his body, but sharpened his spirit. Several rounds of … training were nothing to him now.
Lying in bed, Daemon thought. The Red Sea Flower branch that Solon gifted him couldn't be planted. Still, when he'd used it during practice, his Battleforce accelerated noticeably. But the branch was drying up. He didn't dare gamble, following Solon's advice, he ground it into juice and drank it. Three days was all it lasted. Now, his Battleforce vortex had nearly doubled, pigeon pea size, proof that Solon's gift was powerful. Yet, even so, based on his daily progress, it would take another year for his vortex to reach Joshek's size, and over a decade to reach full knight level. Human lives are under a hundred years, Daemon refused to drift aimlessly. Ser Willas had reached High Squire in his thirties, Daemon believed he could too.
He needed other methods: cultivation potions or arcane beast blood.
Watching Cassie sleep peacefully, Daemon's heart softened. He'd seen her husband, a scrawny, mustachioed man, recently. Once he learned Daemon's status, he stepped aside and even compensated Daemon, preferring peace. Still, Daemon had seized seventy percent of the man's secret profits, turnabout was fair. He planned to deal with him later. Breeders of desperation produce unexpected survivors, Daemon reasoned. He'd been the first squad leader to accept a Northwild man's tribute, others looked down on them. Daemon saw opportunity instead.
At dawn, Daemon walked through the camp. With tomorrow's departure, he had preparations to finish. At the supply convoy area, a corpulent supervisor greeted him: "Captain Daemon, good morning! How may I help you?"
He recognized the man, a relative of the junior officer who'd asked him for favors. Half of Daemon's twenty Silver Stags had come from him. Daemon's purpose today was to arrange for Cassie, to have her accompany the supply convoy rather than be left behind.
The supervisor, eager and grinning, agreed immediately. Numerous squad leaders kept local women at rear camps for protection, no issue. Daemon wasn't the first to request it; the man knew the ropes.
"Anything else, Captain?"
Once again, Daemon played the credit card: "I'll prioritize sharing any spoils with you."
Soldiers were incentivized by shared plunder, private "guerrilla" loot or conquered materials were managed by squad leaders. Daemon had discretionary authority, crop to fit his alliance.
Pleased, the supervisor magnified his smile, Daemon was a valuable connection.
Leaving the supply area, Daemon headed to Solon's tent. He could have entrusted Cassie to the baron's merchants, but he didn't want rumors, this was unofficial. Like most squad leaders, he'd go direct. At Solon's tent, he noticed two sentries at the door. Even with Battleforce cultivation, Daemon could sense that both were practiced, yet far beneath his level. They recognized him as an adversary and alerted inside. Solon's voice beckoned lazily, "Come in."
Daemon entered and waited as Solon emerged from behind the screen, half-dressed, fresh from bed. Daemon caught a glimpse behind the screen: smooth fair skin. Approaching battle, only Solon and Baron Kenning had the privilege of taking women into their tents, power was intoxicating.
"So, what do you want?" Solon asked, clearly unbothered by the intrusion.
Daemon replied: "Just to discuss tomorrow's operation and report the list of squad leaders."
"The squad leader roster is fine, handle that with Jensen. We'll set out in the afternoon and reach Faircastle by evening. Likely no fighting tomorrow. I'll be with the cavalry, manage things with Jensen. If you need me, ring over." Solon waved off the rest.
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else?"
Daemon paused then said: "Sir, the Red Sea Flower you gave is very effective."
Solon's eyes lit with interest: "Oh? You want more? But it only benefits Initiate Squires, boosting nearby Battleforce circulation, or eaten raw for your own Battleforce. But once you reach Initiate, it's useless. I no longer need it, but it's a rare treasure." He paused, an implied refusal. Then: "If you do something great, sufficient to please me, I might give you some. It's not impossible to buy, but still rare. I'll consider it."
Daemon's heart leapt: "Yes, sir! I won't disappoint you!"
After a short chat, Daemon bowed and departed.
At 10 a.m., Daemon arrived back at the rear training ground. A few squad leaders were already there: First's deputy Colain, Second's Joshek, Third's deputy Darn, along with Jensen and Daemon. They'd grown close over training. Mont and Ser Willas came occasionally. Others, like old Carl of the Second, didn't bother, citing age and war fatigue.
Daemon found an empty spot and resumed exercises, combine Battleforce training with swordsmanship. He'd received half-armor and a sword after promotion. His old sword was passed to Hans. The half-armor, made from blackstained stone and corundum ore, was both lighter and stronger than common models. It's regulated by the kingdom, at least 80 Silver Stags on the black market. Daemon now earned roughly 40 Silver Stags monthly: 20 from basic pay (10 by the military, 10 by the baron) and about 20 from side income, nearly a year's previous pay. With more funds came better living, Daemon thought. He only wanted a stable life for his family and great personal strength.
By noon, training ended. The squad leaders, chatting and jesting, headed toward the central dining tent. With little distraction in camp, strength training was the main pastime. Though petty rivalries existed, routines fostered camaraderie. The baron even held meetings over meals, further bonding them. Daemon admired this unity.
That evening, Daemon walked again to Giza Town.
"I've arranged everything. Someone will come for you tomorrow. Wait at the supply camp. I'll visit if I can." He stroked Cassie's hair gently in a low voice.
Cassie looked up, her eyes full of affection, and softly answered, "Mmm." Lying in Daemon's arms, she seemed content.
The tavern had long since closed. With nothing else to do, Daemon took Cassie away. Invisible to others but deeply moving to her, she'd lived here for years. Though they'd known each other just over ten days, Cassie believed Daemon truly cared for her, and so she followed him.
"My brother…" she whispered.
Daemon knew Cassie's brother, passed him on the streets, a simple hardworking man in his twenties with rugged looks.
"Tell your brother to come tomorrow. I'll help him settle in. Once this war is over, I'll find him work," Daemon replied thoughtfully.
After a tender moment, Daemon left the tavern. The baron might inspect morale tonight, he needed to return early. He wouldn't miss it.
Early next morning, the large Storm camp, quiet for weeks, suddenly roared to life. Soldiers ate breakfast quickly and assembled by squad, merging into four infantry formations of over four hundred men. The Storm Kingdom's heraldic banner fluttered.
With a thunderous "Drive!" the cavalry, streamlined and bloodstained, rode out from the northwest.
Horses in spiked shoes, riders in scarlet-lined armor, and lances gleamed ominously.
Quarter of an hour later, the entire force marched out toward a nearby walled city: Faircastle.
The gate closed slowly, leaving only small guard and supply contingents behind. Nearby Northwild villagers silently watched. Once the army left, they exhaled, Storm was no ordinary foe.
Cassie stood at the town's edge, the only one not frightened. She saw Daemon on horseback first, helmet obscuring his face, but his bright, determined eyes were unmistakable. "Stay safe," Cassie prayed silently.
A clean-shaven, plump man stepped forward: "Lady, I'm Henry from the supply convoy. Captain Daemon sent me to accompany you."
Henry, clever, shifty-eyed, slick as a merchant, wanted to stay close to power. Storm regiations mistook him for a soldier, so Northwilds assumed he was important. As he gestured, his guards cleared the path.
Cassie's voice quavered: "My brother… he's coming too?"
"Brother? Captain Daemon didn't mention that. But no problem, bring him tomorrow. Leave it to me," Henry replied obsequiously.