Damon turned his back on the dusty archery field. He left the sounds of the training soldiers behind him. His leather boots hit the dry ground with a steady, firm rhythm. Kade walked one step behind his right shoulder, keeping entirely quiet.

He walked toward the guest reception area. It was a large, open-sided canvas tent set up near the front gates of the military camp, specifically used for meeting visiting officials so they would not see the inner workings of the Benson army.

As Damon walked, his mind rapidly analyzed the situation. He needed a reason for this sudden visit. General Howe was not a friend. He was a highly ambitious, deeply cunning rival commander who controlled the army in the neighboring eastern territory.

Damon thought to himself, his internal voice highly critical and sharp. "Why is Howe here today? He never leaves his own camp unless he wants to steal something. He is like a vulture waiting for a wounded animal to die."

Damon remembered the accident he suffered. When Damon was bedridden with a broken leg, the borders of the Benson territory were temporarily weak. General Howe had used that exact moment of weakness to cross the river and seize a highly valuable piece of land known as the Eastern Valley.

The Eastern Valley was not just dirt. It was a crucial, highly fertile piece of land that controlled the main trade route between the mountains and the capital city. Damon had spent the entire morning in a strategy meeting trying to figure out how to get it back. His previous tactics of putting pressure on Howe had failed completely. Howe had heavily fortified the river banks, making a direct military attack impossible without losing hundreds of good soldiers.

Damon reached the reception tent. He pushed the canvas aside and stepped into the shade.

He saw General Howe sitting comfortably on a wooden chair.

Howe was an older man, perhaps ten years older than Damon. He wore a dark red military uniform adorned with silver medals. He had short, graying hair and a thick, highly trimmed beard. He looked completely relaxed. He was leaning back in the chair, resting his boots carelessly on a small wooden table, showing absolute disrespect for Damon’s space.

When Damon entered, Howe slowly lowered his boots to the floor. He did not stand up to offer a proper military salute.

"Benson," Howe said. His voice was loud, carrying a very fake, overly friendly tone. He smiled a wide, completely insincere smile that did not reach his cold eyes. "It is very good to see you again. You are looking healthy."

Damon stopped walking. He stood tall in the center of the tent. He crossed his arms over his broad, dark blue chest.

Damon didn’t return his smile. His face remained a frozen mask. He looked at the older man with intense, open dislike. He did not have the time or the patience for fake political manners.

"Go straight to the point, Howe," Damon commanded. His deep voice was flat and carried absolutely no warmth. "I am a busy man. Tell me why you are sitting in my camp."

Howe looked at Damon’s cold expression. The older general let out a short, highly amused chuckle.

Howe dropped his friendly facade completely. The fake smile vanished from his face, replaced by a look of smug, arrogant satisfaction. He placed his hands on the armrests and stood up slowly from the wooden chair.

Howe took a step toward Damon, stopping a few feet away.

"You are always so serious, Damon," Howe said, dropping the formal titles. "But since you want the truth, I will give it to you."

Howe crossed his own arms, mimicking Damon’s posture, but his body language was entirely relaxed and mocking.

"I came here because I was thinking about the past," Howe began, his voice taking on a teasing, cruel edge. "Specifically, I was thinking about your unfortunate accident. The one that broke your leg so terribly."

Damon’s jaw tightened. The muscles in his neck jumped slightly. He knew exactly where this conversation was going, but he remained perfectly silent. He refused to give Howe the satisfaction of seeing him angry.

Howe smiled a dark, wicked smile.

"I have to thank that accident," Howe stated boldly, completely admitting his dirty tactics right to Damon’s face. "Otherwise, I would not have been able to acquire that beautiful piece of land in the Eastern Valley so easily. While you were lying in bed drinking medicine, my men marched right in and took it without firing a single arrow."

Howe laughed softly. "It was the easiest victory of my entire military career. The soil there is wonderful. The trade taxes are making me very rich."

Damon didn’t say a single word.

He stared at Howe with cold, dark eyes. Inside his mind, Damon was calculating. He knew Howe was trying to provoke him into a blind rage. If Damon attacked a visiting General inside his own camp without an official declaration of war, the King would have Damon arrested for treason. Howe wanted Damon to make a foolish, angry mistake.

Damon controlled his breathing. He kept his hands completely flat against his arms, ensuring he did not curl them into fists.

"My past tactics failed," Damon thought to himself, staying perfectly rational. "I tried to cut off his supply lines, but he found a new path through the mountains. I cannot take the land by force without a massive war. I need to find an alternative."

Damon looked directly into Howe’s smug eyes.

"Why are you here?" Damon asked again. His voice was completely steady. He completely ignored the insult about his broken leg. "You did not ride all the way to my camp just to brag about a stolen valley. You want something else."

Howe looked slightly disappointed that Damon had not lost his temper.

"To see you, obviously," Howe replied lightly, shrugging his shoulders. He chuckled again. "I missed the famous Tyrant General."

Damon did not play the game. He went straight to business. Every piece of land had a value. Every greedy man had a number.

"Name your price," Damon spoke firmly. His voice carried the heavy weight of the massive Benson family wealth. "How much will you be willing to sell the land for? I will pay you in pure gold. Name the amount, and I will have it delivered to your camp by tomorrow morning."

Howe stopped chuckling. He looked at Damon carefully. He knew the Benson family was incredibly wealthy. Damon could easily afford to buy the valley back ten times over.

But Howe shook his head slowly from side to side.

"I won’t sell it for any price," Howe replied, his voice turning completely serious. "Not for a mountain of gold. That land gives me a clear path to the capital city. It gives me a strategic advantage over you. It is priceless."

Damon narrowed his eyes. The situation was becoming much more complicated. If Howe did not want money, then he wanted power.

"Then what do you want?" Damon asked, his voice dropping an octave. "You came here with a purpose. State your terms."

Howe smiled again. It was a very slow, highly calculating smile. He uncrossed his arms and began to pace slowly back and forth across the dirt floor of the reception tent.

"I am a military man, Damon," Howe explained, dragging his boots slightly in the dust. "I don’t care about trading gold like a fat merchant in the market. I care about strength. I care about seeing who has the better army."

Howe stopped pacing. He turned and faced Damon directly.

"How about we make a bet?" Howe proposed smoothly.

Damon raised a single, dark eyebrow. He did not trust this man at all. A bet with General Howe was never a simple game.

"What bet?" Damon asked cautiously.

Howe took a step closer. His eyes sparkled with a dangerous, violent excitement.

"A very simple, very honest test of our military training," Howe spoke, laying out his trap. "I want you to pick the absolute best of your men. Your strongest, fastest, most deadly soldiers. And I will pick the best of my men."

Howe raised his hand and pointed a finger toward the ground.

"We settle this border dispute in a fight to the death," Howe declared loudly. "Tomorrow at noon. Right here in the open field between our two territories."

Damon stood completely still. He listened to the insane proposal. A fight to the death to settle a land dispute was an ancient, brutal tradition that had not been used in the kingdom for many years.

"You can bring spectators if you wish," Howe added, smiling widely. "Let the men watch. Let the nobles from the capital city come and see. Let the news get to king. Let him know which army is meant to serve him."

Howe then laid out the stakes of the bet.

"If your men win, and my men die," Howe promised, his voice completely steady, "you will reclaim the Eastern Valley entirely. I will pull all my troops back across the river immediately. You get your land back without paying a single dime of your gold."