I Died and Became a Noble's Heir-Chapter 283: Retreat

The representatives exchanged glances, then nodded one by one. Whatever doubt Starfell’s betrayal had caused, Octavia’s certainty was pushing it back.

"Dismissed," Octavia said. "Return to your positions. And someone find me, that runner who reported Starfell’s departure. I want confirmation on exact numbers and direction."

As the representatives filed out, Seraphina moved close enough to speak privately. "You’re certain about Jack’s return?"

"I have to be," Octavia replied quietly. "Because if I’m wrong, we’re in for trouble."

---

The rumbling started small.

A faint vibration that most people dismissed as imagination or distant thunder.

But it grew steadily. Until even the stones beneath defenders’ feet began to shake.

Any trained soldier knew this sound.

It was the sound of men marching together.

Soldiers on the eastern wall tensed, their hands gripping weapons with white-knuckled intensity.

Archers nocked arrows but held their draw, waiting for targets that hadn’t yet appeared.

The giant ballista crews checked their mechanisms one final time, ensuring every gear and pulley would function when needed.

The rumbling intensified.

No longer just vibration but a bass note that seemed to come from the earth itself.

The kind of sound that preceded earthquakes, avalanches or other forces of nature that couldn’t be stopped.

Then they appeared in view.

The eastern approach stretched perhaps two miles of open ground between Sorne’s walls and the forest line where the road emerged.

That ground was farmland mostly, fields that had been cleared generations ago to prevent enemies from approaching unseen.

Now those fields were filled with mercenaries.

They came in organized columns, fifteen thousand men moving with the precision of professional soldiers rather than common bandits.

Their armor caught morning light, creating a sea of metal that glinted like scales.

Banners flew above each company, marking units with symbols that meant nothing to Sorne’s defenders.

But, it was a symbol of pride for them.

At the army’s head rode perhaps a hundred cavalry, their horses were massive warhorses bred for battle. And among those riders, one figure stood out like a sore thumb.

Marcus Thorne wore golden armor, making him a prize on the battlefield.

Even at this distance, through the morning haze, his presence was unmistakable.

The way other riders deferred to his position, messengers constantly approached and departed.

For even if someone didn’t know who he was, it was clear, this was their leader.

On Sorne’s eastern wall, the Arydn captain raised his hand, signaling his archers to hold. Two thousand troops stood ready, their discipline holding despite the overwhelming force approaching their position.

The rumbling continued, shaking dust from ancient stones, making defenders brace themselves against parapets that had stood for centuries but suddenly felt fragile.

---

Marcus Thorne sat astride his warhorse, watching Sorne’s walls for any sign of his prey.

Fifteen thousand mercenaries.

Seven regiments of professional killers, each one commanded by captains who understood warfare better than most noble officers ever would.

And ahead, those walls that had protected Sorne for generations but would fall today.

They had to fall today.

’I’m Marcus Thorne,’ he thought, his jaw clenching. ’Head of House Thorne. Rightful lord of territories stolen by the Kaiser family. I don’t need to worry about some brat who got lucky against a dragon.’

But Annabelle’s words kept echoing in his mind despite his attempts to dismiss them.

"My brother is a Chosen One. One hundred thousand soldiers worth of power. And he can channel divine authority through his body."

Marcus’s hands tightened on his reins. Exaggeration. It had to be an exaggeration. Chosen Ones were rare, yes, and powerful. But that powerful? At Jack Kaiser’s age? Impossible.

"If Father doesn’t kill you, my brother will surely kill you."

’Duke Alaric is at court,’ Marcus reminded himself. ’I made sure of that myself. He won’t return for at least 3 days. Maybe a week. By then, Sorne will be mine, Jack Kaiser will be dead, and House Thorne will finally reclaim what’s ours.’

But doubt crept in anyway, a persistent reminder of what could be.

What if the girl had been telling the truth? What if Duke Alaric was actually as strong as Chiron Stormblood? What if Jack Kaiser really could channel divine power?

’Then I die,’ Marcus decided, his expression hardening. ’But I die taking what’s mine. Better that than living another year watching the Kaisers prosper while my house crumbles.’

He raised his hand, signaling to the captains positioned along the army’s front. Seven men raised their own hands in response, acknowledging the command.

Marcus’s hand dropped.

The army surged forward, fifteen thousand mercenaries transitioning from marching to rushing forward.

The rumbling intensified, becoming a roar that drowned out everything else. Hoofbeat and footsteps drowned out everything else.

Marcus spurred his horse forward, leading from the front because that’s what real commanders did.

The assault had begun.

---

The Starfell emissary rode at the head of his battalion with satisfaction that bordered on smugness.

Eight hundred troops stretched behind him in organized formation, their pristine white and silver banners marking them as soldiers who’d had the wisdom to withdraw before committing to a losing battle.

’Let the others die for Kaiser pride,’ the emissary thought, his expression carrying contempt for nobles who valued honor over survival. ’I have a house to preserve, territories to maintain, and no intention of sacrificing either for some girl playing general.’

The southern road wound through dense forest, providing cover from observation but also limiting mobility. Not ideal, but necessary.

By the time anyone realized Starfell had retreated, they’d be too far away to pursue.

"My lord," one of his captains called from behind, "shouldn’t we increase pace? If they send riders after us..."

"They won’t," the emissary said confidently. "They need every soldier on the walls. Octavia Kaiser won’t waste troops chasing deserters when she’s about to face fifteen thousand mercenaries."

The captain looked uncertain but said nothing.

The emissary had chosen his officers specifically for their willingness to follow orders without excessive questioning.

The troops continued through the shadows of the forest. Perhaps another hour and they’d clear the treeline, reach open ground where they could increase speed and put real distance between themselves and Sorne.

The emissary allowed himself a small smile.

House Starfell would survive this conflict. When the dust settled and territories changed hands, they’d be positioned to negotiate with whoever emerged victorious.

Flexible loyalty was a strength, not weakness, regardless of what honor-bound fools believed.

Movement ahead made him raise his hand, signaling for them to stop.

A figure stood in the road perhaps fifty feet ahead.

Standing perfectly still.

Wearing a dark cloak that obscured his features.

"Clear the road!" one of Starfell’s captains shouted, his voice carrying authority that usually made peasants and merchants scatter immediately. "House Starfell shall pass! Move aside!"

The figure didn’t respond. He just stood there, somehow blocking an entire road simply with his presence.

The emissary felt something cold settle in his chest.

Unease that had no rational source but couldn’t be dismissed.

His horse shifted beneath him, ears flattening, eyes rolling white with the kind of fear animals showed when predators were near.

"I said move!" the captain repeated, spurring his horse forward with his sword drawn. "Final warning before..."

The figure raised one hand.

The motion was slow, like someone underwater fighting against resistance. The cloak’s sleeve fell back, revealing what lay beneath.

One gaunt finger pointed directly at the Starfell emissary.

The forest went silent.

The silence was broken only by the emissary’s horse’s panicked breathing and the creak of leather as eight hundred soldiers tensed simultaneously.

The captain who’d been advancing pulled his horse up short, his sword suddenly feeling inadequate against whatever stood before them.

"My lord," he said, his voice lacking its earlier confidence, "we should..."

"Retreat," the emissary said, his smugness evaporating like morning dew. "Full retreat. Back to Sorne. Now."

But when he turned his horse around, intending to lead his troops away from whatever that thing was, he found the road behind them had changed.

The forest pressed closer. Trees that had been twenty feet from the road now stood right at its edge, their branches interlocking overhead to create a canopy that blocked out the sky.

And in those shadows between trunks, the shadows vibrated.

The emissary’s hands trembled on his reins. His face, which had carried such satisfaction minutes ago, had gone pale enough that veins showed blue beneath his skin.