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"Coordinated assault from multiple angles, overwhelming their position before they can report back to main forces.

" I trace potential approach routes with one finger, noting how the terrain favors ambush tactics over direct confrontation.

"But it has to be absolute—if even one escapes to carry intelligence back, we've gained nothing while revealing our capabilities. "

"Agreed." Rogar signals toward concealed positions where other warriors wait for orders. "Grimna, take four fighters along the northern approach. Khela, southern route with three. I'll coordinate center assault with Zahra."

The assignments place me in the most dangerous position—direct frontal engagement that will draw enemy attention while allied forces maneuver for flanking strikes.

It's a vote of confidence in my combat abilities, but it's also recognition that the claiming bonds make my survival central to overall clan welfare.

"Move on my signal," Rogar continues. "Silent approach until contact, then maximum aggression. No prisoners, no survivors, no intelligence gathered that we don't want them to have."

The assault that follows unfolds with devastating precision.

Dark elf scouts may possess superior magical abilities, but they're not prepared for coordinated attack by warriors who know every inch of the local terrain.

Their concealment spells provide protection against casual observation, not systematic hunting by enemies who've identified their positions.

My saber finds the first target before he can complete a warning spell, the curved blade opening his throat with surgical precision.

Warm blood sprays across my armor as I move toward the second scout, whose attention remains focused on maintaining the scrying focus that provides intelligence to distant commanders.

Rogar's war axe crushes the magical apparatus with devastating force, the double-headed blade shattering enchanted crystal while eliminating the operator in the same strike.

Around us, allied warriors emerge from concealment to engage remaining scouts with coordinated brutality that transforms organized surveillance into desperate survival struggle.

The battle becomes a symphony of violence that tests every skill I've developed through years of desperate circumstances.

Dark elf magic creates barriers and offensive strikes that require constant movement to avoid, while their superior physical capabilities demand tactical precision rather than direct confrontation.

But we have advantages they can't match—intimate knowledge of terrain, perfect coordination between forces, and the desperate motivation of people defending their home against invaders who've come to destroy everything they value.

One by one, the scouts fall to ambush tactics that exploit their overconfidence and unfamiliarity with local conditions. What should have been routine intelligence gathering becomes systematic slaughter that leaves no survivors to carry reports back to their commanders.

"Sweep for survivors," I command as the immediate fighting concludes, surprised by how naturally authority sits on my shoulders in combat situations. "Check bodies for intelligence materials, then prepare positions for cleanup."

The aftermath reveals the tactical significance of what we've accomplished.

The dead scouts carry detailed maps of our defensive positions, communication crystals that would have allowed real-time intelligence sharing, and magical focuses designed to penetrate concealment spells we thought were effective.

But more importantly, their equipment suggests this was advance reconnaissance for larger assault planned within days rather than weeks. We've eliminated eyes and ears that enemy commanders were counting on for final preparations.

"Messages to send?" Rogar asks as we gather intelligence materials that might prove useful.

"Several." I study the captured documents with growing satisfaction. "First, that our defensive preparations are more sophisticated than they anticipated. Second, that attacking this settlement will cost more than they're prepared to pay. Third, that maybe easier targets exist elsewhere."

"Psychological warfare."

"The most effective kind. Make them afraid of what they can't see or predict, and they'll find reasons to avoid confrontation rather than seeking it."

The cleanup operation continues through dawn, transforming brutal battlefield into unremarkable terrain that bears no obvious signs of recent combat.

Bodies disappear into canyon crevices that will hide evidence for years, while blood-stained ground receives careful attention to eliminate traces that magical investigation might detect.

By the time morning light fully illuminates the settlement, the dark elf scouts have simply vanished without explanation. Their commanders will know something went wrong, but they won't know exactly what or how much intelligence was compromised in the process.

"Think it worked?" Khela asks as we complete final security sweeps.

"It worked," I reply with absolute certainty. "They came expecting to find conventional defensive preparations and routine patrol schedules. Instead, they found coordinated ambush tactics that eliminated their entire reconnaissance element without leaving witnesses."

"And?"

"And now their commanders have to plan assault operations without current intelligence, against enemies who've demonstrated capabilities they didn't expect." I smile at the tactical implications. "Fear of the unknown is more effective than any fortress wall."

The strategy proves correct over the following hours as distant observation reveals dark elf forces withdrawing from advanced positions they'd established around our territory.

The psychological impact of losing an entire scout team to enemies they'd underestimated creates exactly the kind of uncertainty that makes military commanders reconsider their operational priorities.

But as the immediate crisis passes and adrenaline fades from my system, I'm forced to confront the personal complications that combat temporarily pushed aside.

The claiming bonds still bind me to obligations I don't fully understand, while the warrior authority I've claimed carries responsibilities that was way beyond personal survival.

"No regrets about the fighting?" Rogar asks as we secure weapons and equipment for storage.

"None," I reply honestly. "Combat feels natural when the stakes are clear and the objectives are achievable."

"And regrets about other recent developments?"

The careful question addresses concerns I've been avoiding since the claiming ceremony. Looking at his scarred features, reading the genuine uncertainty in his grey eyes, I realize that he's as unsure about the bonds we've created as I am.

"Ask me again when I've had time to understand what I've committed to," I say finally. "Right now, I'm still processing the implications of promises made under pressure."

"Fair enough." His massive hand finds mine with surprising gentleness. "But remember that commitment doesn't have to mean loss of identity. The best partnerships enhance rather than diminish individual strengths."

The observation carries weight that extends beyond romantic platitudes to encompass practical realities about how claiming bonds actually function. Perhaps the fears that have been consuming my thoughts reflect misunderstanding rather than genuine incompatibility.

Perhaps learning to trust doesn't require abandoning the independence that's kept me alive through impossible circumstances.

Perhaps the claiming represents opportunity rather than trap, if I'm brave enough to discover what partnership can become when built on mutual respect rather than mere necessity.

Time will tell. But for now, survival takes precedence over psychological complications, and we've proven once again that cooperation creates advantages no one person could achieve alone.

The blood on my armor tells its own story—of enemies eliminated, threats neutralized, and home defended through coordinated action. Whether the claiming bonds prove blessing or burden remains to be seen.

But at least we'll face that uncertainty together, as partners who've proven their value to each other through shared trials and mutual support.

And perhaps that's enough foundation to build something worth the risks we've taken to create it.