The hill south of Falmouth gave a perfect view of the city.

That was exactly why Daren picked it.

He laid flat against the cold ground with his cloak pulled tightly over his back, blending into the tall grass covering the slope. Beside him, Marrick crouched behind a thin tree, carefully watching the city below while resting one hand near the knife on his belt.

Neither of them spoke at first.

They just watched.

From up here, Falmouth looked tense.

The city walls stretched across the distance like an old shield trying to protect something already frightened. Even from far away, Daren could tell the city was nervous. The northern roads were crowded with carts and civilians still trying to get inside before the gates closed for the evening.

Families dragged livestock behind them.

Farmers carried sacks over their shoulders.

Children clung to their parents while guards shouted at people to move faster.

Fear.

Daren smirked faintly.

That was good.

Fear made people weak.

Marrick narrowed his eyes while studying the walls.

"They’re still pulling villagers inside," he muttered quietly.

Daren nodded.

"Means they’re scared."

"Can’t blame them after the caravans we hit."

"No," Daren said. "Can’t blame them."

For months now, the roads around Falmouth had belonged to them.

Merchants feared traveling alone. Guards avoided the deeper forest trails entirely. Every attack made the city more nervous, and every nervous reaction made the brigands stronger.

At least, that was how it felt.

Daren shifted slightly and focused on the southern wall.

At first, nothing looked unusual.

Guards walked along the stone battlements carrying bows and spears. Watch fires had already been prepared along the towers even though sunset was still hours away.

Normal defenses.

Nothing special.

Then Daren noticed the others.

Men dressed differently from the city guards.

He frowned slightly.

"What are those?"

Marrick followed his gaze.

The strange men wore dark uniforms instead of armor. No shining breastplates. No colorful cloaks or noble crests. Everything about them looked plain, but organized.

And the way they moved felt wrong somehow.

Too calm.

Too disciplined.

They walked in groups, speaking briefly while checking sections of the wall carefully. Some carried black weapons slung across their chests. Others hauled large metal objects toward the battlements.

Marrick squinted harder.

"Mercenaries?"

"Maybe."

Daren kept watching.

One of the strange men knelt near the wall and placed a long black object onto a metal stand. Another man beside him adjusted part of it while a third carried over a strange box connected by a belt of metal pieces.

Daren frowned deeper.

"What the hell is that thing?"

Marrick tilted his head.

"Crossbow?"

"No bowstring."

"Maybe some kind of mage weapon?"

Daren didn’t answer.

He didn’t like unfamiliar things.

Still, he wasn’t worried yet.

Rich cities always hired strange people during crises. Foreign mercenaries. Alchemists. Traveling inventors selling expensive junk that usually broke the moment real fighting started.

Most of them died the same as anyone else once steel reached them.

Daren slowly reached into his pouch and pulled out a polished brass spyglass stolen from a merchant convoy months earlier.

The boss trusted him with it because unlike most of the men, Daren actually took care of valuable things.

He raised it to his eye.

The wall suddenly became much closer.

Now he could see the strange men clearly.

One stood behind the black object while another fed a belt of metal pieces into it.

Not arrows.

Not bolts.

Metal.

Daren narrowed his eyes.

"What kind of weapon uses metal like that?"

Marrick glanced toward him.

"Dangerous?"

"Don’t know."

That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

The object looked too small to throw stones and too narrow to fire heavy bolts. It had no visible runes either. If it was magical, it was unlike anything Daren had seen before.

And there were more of them.

One near the southern road.

Another facing the eastern fields.

Another overlooking the old mill route.

Every approach toward the city had one.

Marrick clicked his tongue quietly.

"They’re expecting us."

"Of course they are," Daren replied. "We’ve been hitting their roads for months."

Still, he kept watching.

More of the strange soldiers moved along the walls while local guards followed behind them looking confused. Some of the city guards even copied how the outsiders positioned themselves.

That caught Daren’s attention.

These weren’t ordinary hired swords.

The city was listening to them.

Interesting.

But not enough to scare him.

Daren lowered the spyglass slightly and counted carefully.

Not many.

Maybe twenty outsiders total.

Twenty.

That was nothing.

Their camp had over seventy fighters now, maybe more if Garron gathered the other groups hidden deeper in the woods.

They had numbers.

Experience.

Terrain advantage.

And most importantly, they had already broken the courage of the roads around Falmouth.

Twenty strange soldiers would not change that.

Then Daren noticed something else.

Near the center plaza of the city sat three massive black shapes.

He raised the spyglass again.

His eyes widened slightly.

"...What in the cursed hell..."

Marrick looked over immediately.

"What?"

Daren focused harder.

The objects looked like giant metal insects resting inside the city square. Long black bodies. Glass at the front. Wide blades stretched over the top.

They weren’t moving now.

But they looked unnatural enough that Daren immediately understood what they were.

The flying things.

Villagers had been screaming about them earlier while running toward the city gates. Most brigands laughed at the stories. Peasants always exaggerated things once fear took over.

But now Daren saw them himself.

Flying steel.

That was the only way he could describe them.

Marrick noticed his silence growing longer.

"What is it?"

"The flying things are real."

Marrick stiffened.

"You serious?"

Daren handed him the spyglass.

Marrick looked through it.

A few seconds passed.

Then his face twisted.

"What the hell are those?"

"No idea."

"They look dead."

"They’re made of metal."

"Then how did they fly?"

Daren took the spyglass back slowly.

He honestly didn’t know.

Magic maybe.

Foreign machines.

Some strange invention from rich kingdoms far away.

Whatever they were, they sat motionless in the square now.

That mattered.

If they were dangerous, why weren’t they flying around?

Why weren’t they scouting the forest?

Why weren’t they attacking already?

Daren watched one of the strange soldiers walk around one of the metal beasts while checking something near its side.

No wings flapping.

No magic glowing.

No movement.

Just dead steel.

Marrick looked uneasy now.

"Maybe we should tell Garron to wait."

Daren snorted quietly.

"Wait for what?"

"For us to figure out what those things are."

"And give the city more time?" Daren shook his head. "No."

Marrick stayed quiet.

Daren lowered the spyglass fully.

"The city’s scared. That’s what matters."

That was true from his point of view.

The civilians looked frightened.

The gates stayed crowded.

The guards looked tense.

Falmouth still looked weak.

And strange weapons or not, there were only a handful of these outsiders.

Daren began crawling backward from the hilltop carefully.

"Come on."

Marrick followed behind him.

"We’ve seen enough."

"What do we tell Garron?"

Daren glanced back toward the city one more time.

The strange soldiers kept moving across the walls like they owned the place. The local guards followed their instructions without argument. The flying metal beasts sat silently in the square like trophies from another world.

Daren smirked faintly.

"We tell him the city hired outsiders."

"And?"

"And there aren’t enough of them."

Marrick nodded slowly.

"And the flying things?"

Daren shrugged.

"Mention them. Let Garron decide if he cares."

The two scouts slipped back into the trees.

The deeper forest swallowed them quickly.

The path south wound through dense brush and narrow trails only the brigands knew well. For months, these woods had belonged to them. Guards feared entering too deeply now after several patrols disappeared or returned bloodied and broken.

The forest was theirs.

Or at least, they believed it was. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Neither scout noticed the quiet drone circling far above the clouds.

Neither knew Atlas had been watching them since they left the hill.

To Daren, the forest still felt safe.

They walked nearly an hour before reaching the hidden markers leading toward camp. A strip of red cloth tied around a tree branch confirmed the right path.

Soon smoke appeared between the trees.

Then voices.

Laughter.

Metal clanking.

The brigand camp sat deep inside a hidden valley surrounded by thick forest and steep slopes. From above it was difficult to spot. From the roads, almost impossible.

Dozens of tents filled the hollow between the trees.

Stolen wagons sat near the center with their wheels removed to prevent escape. Crates of supplies, grain sacks, cloth bundles, weapons, and barrels surrounded the campfires.

This was no starving group of desperate thieves anymore.

It looked more like a small army.

Men sharpened swords beside fires while others gambled with stolen coins. Several drank loudly while roasting meat stolen from nearby farms.

At the center sat Garron Blackmaw.

The leader of the brigands looked exactly like the stories described him.

Huge.

Broad shoulders.

Heavy beard.

Scar running down one side of his jaw.

A massive axe leaned against the chair beside him while he sat near the largest fire like some king ruling over bandits instead of a proper kingdom.

One of the guards noticed the returning scouts first.

"Daren’s back!"

Several men turned toward them immediately.

Garron slowly looked up.

"Well?" he asked.

Daren stepped closer to the fire.

"The city’s scared."

A few brigands laughed instantly.

Garron smirked faintly.

"Good."

"They’re still bringing civilians inside the walls," Daren continued. "Southern defenses are active."

Garron nodded once.

"And?"

Daren hesitated briefly.

"They hired outsiders."

That made the nearby laughter fade slightly.

Garron leaned forward.

"What kind?"

"Not city guards. Not adventurers either. They wear matching dark uniforms and carry strange weapons."

One brigand snorted.

"Rich mercenaries."

Marrick glanced toward Daren uneasily.

Garron raised one hand slightly, silencing the camp.

"How many?"

"Maybe twenty."

That earned laughter again.

"Twenty?"

"That’s it?"

"They hired twenty men to stop us?"

Several brigands grinned openly now.

But Garron kept watching Daren carefully.

"What weapons?"

Daren frowned slightly.

"Black metal tubes. Some small enough to carry. Others mounted on stands along the walls."

One man muttered, "Mage tools?"

"No runes," Daren replied.

Another brigand spat near the fire.

"Then probably alchemist junk."

That explanation satisfied most of the camp quickly.

Garron rubbed his beard slowly.

"And the flying things?"

The camp quieted again.

Daren noticed several men watching him closely now.

"They’re real," he admitted.

Some cursed quietly.

Others laughed nervously.

Garron leaned forward slightly.

"Explain."

Daren took a breath.

"Three giant metal things inside the city square. Long bodies. Blades over the top. People claim they flew."

"And did they attack?"

"No."

"Scout the woods?"

"No."

"Leave the city?"

"No."

Garron leaned back again.

"Then they’re not important."

Marrick still looked uneasy, but Daren stayed silent.

Part of him agreed.

The flying things bothered him.

The strange weapons bothered him too.

But the city still looked weak.

And weakness was something brigands understood very well.

Garron slowly stood from his chair.

The entire camp quieted immediately.

"The city hired outsiders because they’re afraid," he said loudly. "Good."

Several brigands grinned.

"Twenty strange soldiers won’t save them."

The confidence around the fires returned almost instantly.

Garron rested the axe across his shoulder.

"We hit them before they settle in."

Daren looked up.

"When?"

"Tomorrow night."

Cheers erupted around the camp.

Men laughed.

Drank.

One brigand shouted that Falmouth’s gates would burn before sunrise.

Garron turned toward his lieutenants.

"We hit the southern farms first," he ordered. "Force the guards onto the walls."

One lieutenant nodded.

"And then?"

"The east group enters through the drainage path."

Several men grinned.

Garron’s eyes hardened slightly.

"And the outsiders?"

A cruel smile spread across his face.

"We kill them like anyone else."

The camp erupted again.

Daren glanced toward Marrick.

The other scout still looked uncertain.

Honestly, Daren understood why.

The black weapons.

The flying steel.

None of it felt normal.

But Falmouth was still scared.

And scared prey usually died easily.

Daren stared north through the dark forest toward the distant city hidden beyond the trees.

Tomorrow night, they would attack.

And in his mind, Falmouth already belonged to them.

None of the brigands realized that high above the forest, unseen eyes still watched their camp in complete silence.