Page 48 of Warlord’s Plaything

48

HIRA

T he night is covered with the scent of sweat, steel, and treachery.

I move like a shadow through the underbelly of the orc war camp, my breath steady, my muscles coiled tight.

The tunnels spit me out into the edges of their encampment, but I don’t hesitate.

No second thoughts. No fear. No regrets.

Only the mission.

Only the destruction I’m about to unleash.

Xyron thinks he’s the strategist.

Thinks he’s the mind behind the war.

But this—this is what I was made for.

Infiltration. Misdirection. Chaos.

The fire before the fucking wildfire.

The orcs are restless.

Good.

They should be.

They are the kind of creatures that do not sit idle for long.

They hunger.

For battle. For blood. For conquest.

And Kaelith?

He thinks he controls them. That they are his to command. He has no fucking idea what kind of monster he’s feeding.

But he will.

Very, very soon.

I keep to the shadows, my body moving like liquid between the campfires, slipping past drunken soldiers, past war drums beating in slow, steady rhythms.

The tension is thick.

The orcs are already on edge.

Something feels wrong in their ranks.

They just don’t know it yet.

But they will.

I am about to make sure of it.

I reach the first of the war chiefs’ tents.

It’s easy.

Too easy.

The guards are sloppy.

Too much trust.

Too much arrogance.

They think Kaelith has given them power.

That he has made them untouchable.

Fucking fools.

I slip inside, pressing against the thick hide walls.

The space is dark, lit only by a few flickering lanterns.

Maps are strewn across a large table, detailing the plans of their so-called ‘alliance’ with Kaelith’s forces.

And right there, exactly as Xyron said?—

The proof.

The cracks in their foundation.

The whispered plans between the chieftains, the shifting loyalties, the growing unrest.

All I have to do is light the match.

And let the fire spread

I move swiftly, placing the first piece of my deception where I know it will be found.

A letter, carefully forged in Kaelith’s handwriting, detailing a "contingency plan" in the event that the orcs prove… unreliable.

A plan that speaks of their "eventual removal" once the war is won.

It will be found by morning.

I turn to leave, slipping back through the tent flaps but the sound of footsteps halt me in place.

I duck into the shadows, pressing myself against the wooden support beams.

A war chief steps inside, his voice a low growl.

"Something feels off."

Another one follows him, his massive form cutting off the firelight.

"You think Kaelith is hiding something?"

They know.

They fucking know.

They’re already suspicious.

Good.

It will make the deception that much sweeter.

"He is a dark elf," the second one mutters.

"Of course he is hiding something."

The first one scoffs.

"We are stronger than them."

"But we are not in control."

Tension coils in the air like a storm about to break.

"Not yet."

I smile.

This will be easier than I thought.

I slip out of the tent, unseen, unheard.

But my work is not done.

Not yet.

I move to the next target.

Another camp. Another chieftain. Another whisper planted in the right ear.

I weave my poison like a spider spinning its web.

A false order here.

A twisted message there.

By the time the sun rises, their alliance will be nothing but a fragile, crumbling illusion.

And all that will be left?—

Is ruin.

I vanish into the darkness, slipping back into the tunnels.

My pulse pounds with the thrill of it.

The war is shifting.

The game has begun.

And Kaelith?

He is already losing.

He just doesn’t know it yet.