Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 235 - Two Hundred And Thirty Four

Several Days Later...

The morning sky over the Strathmore encampment was a pale, washed-out grey, the sun hidden behind a thin veil of high altitude clouds. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth, woodsmoke from the breakfast fires, and the faint, medicinal tang of the burning herbs to keep the plague at bay.

Inside the command tent, Derek sat at his portable desk. A single oil lamp flickered, casting long shadows against the canvas walls. He held a sealed letter in his hand. The parchment was thick and expensive, creamy white against his leather gloves. The wax seal was intricate, a deep crimson depicting a stylized cross radiating sunbeams—the emblem of the High Cathedral of Strathmore.

Derek broke the seal with a sharp crack. The sound was loud in the quiet tent. He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the elegant, flowing script written in black ink.

"To His Grace, the Grand Duke Derek Thompson, Commander of the Northern Armies," the letter began, the words overly formal and polite. "The High Cathedral extends its deepest gratitude for your swift aid in these troubled times. Your medicines have been a blessing to our flock. We humbly invite you to the Cathedral to receive our formal thanks and a blessing for the coming battles. Yours in faith, Priest Adams the Second."

Derek smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the cold, satisfied smile of a hunter who has been waiting in the brush for hours and has finally seen the trap spring shut.

"Finally," Derek whispered to himself, his voice a low murmur.

He tapped the letter against his palm, the parchment rustling softly.

"You invite the wolf into your home, Adams," Derek murmured, staring at the signature. "You think I am a pious fool who needs your prayers. But I am coming for the truth. And I am bringing a sword."

Priest Adams. The man who had risen too fast. The man who had taken power just months after Theodore’s death, when the previous High Priest had "mysteriously" fallen ill. The man who had close ties to the capital, and whose name had appeared in the coded messages Derek had intercepted years ago. He was part of the conspiracy. Derek was sure of it.

Derek stood up. He tucked the letter securely into his tunic, next to his heart.

He turned to Ian, who was standing by the map table, organizing the daily reports on grain distribution and troop movements. Ian looked tired, but his posture was straight.

"Ian," Derek said, his voice cutting through the silence.

Ian looked up immediately. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"You will be the one in charge of today’s distribution," Derek ordered, walking over to the map. He pointed to the western sector of the city. "The medicine, the grain, the clean water. Make sure it reaches the western quarter. The reports say the sickness is spreading there, and the people are getting desperate. If we don’t help them, riots will start."

He picked up his sword belt from the chair and buckled it around his waist. The weight was familiar and comforting.

"I will not be available today," Derek stated, adjusting the buckle.

Ian frowned slightly, concern etching lines onto his forehead. "You are leaving the camp, Your Grace? Is it safe? The plague... and the assassins..."

"Yes," Derek said, cutting off his worry. "I have an appointment. One I cannot miss."

He paused, looking at his trusted aide.

"How is the search for Captain Nigel going?" Derek asked, his voice dropping.

Ian’s face fell. He shook his head slowly.

"Still ongoing, Your Grace," Ian replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "My men have scoured the countryside. We have checked the taverns, the farms, the old watchtowers. We even checked the abandoned mines. It is as if he vanished into the mist. No one has seen him since the night he left his post."

Derek’s jaw tightened. Nigel was the only witness. He was the only one who could confirm what Adams might reveal, or refute his lies. Without Nigel, Derek had only suspicion.

"Keep looking," Derek said firmly. "He is out there. He is scared. He is hiding. A man like Nigel doesn’t disappear unless he wants to. Turn over every stone. Check the every soil."

"I will," Ian promised. "We will find him."

"Report immediately if you find something," Derek ordered. "Even a rumor."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Derek walked out of the tent. The camp was bustling with activity. Soldiers were drilling in the fields, the sound of wooden swords clacking filling the air. Others were sharpening real blades, the shing-shing of whetstones a constant background noise. Wagons were being loaded with supplies. It was the sound of an army preparing for war.

He walked to the stables. The smell of hay and horse sweat greeted him. He picked five of his best men—Elite Shadows disguised as regular guards. They were silent, efficient, and loyal to the death. They nodded to him as he approached, ready for anything.

"Saddle up," Derek commanded. "We ride to the Cathedral." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

As he was checking the girth of his black mare’s saddle, tightening the strap, a shadow fell over him.

"Brother."

Derek turned. Carlos stood there.

He was dressed in his new military uniform, the blue coat stiff and clean, the gold buttons shining. He was trying to look important, trying to look like a commander. He had a sword at his hip that looked too heavy for him, hanging awkwardly. He was smiling, a wide, ingratiating smile, but his eyes were darting around

nervously, scanning the courtyard, scanning Derek.

"Mind if I go with you?" Carlos asked, trying to sound casual, leaning against a post. "I heard you were going to the city. To the Cathedral. I... I also have a place in this army. I should be seen doing... official things. Meeting the clergy. It is good for morale."

Derek looked at him, raising his brows. " Really?" He asked.

Carlos nodded.

"Very well," Derek replied calmly. He turned back to his horse. "Get a horse. But keep up. We ride fast."

Carlos’s smile widened, relief washing over his face. He had expected a fight. "Thank you, brother. I will be right behind you."

Derek pulled a cloth mask from his pocket. It was thick, infused with the herbs Marissa had prepared—a barrier against the sickness that hung in the city air. He tied it over his nose and mouth, protecting himself against the plague that still ravaged Strathmore.

He mounted his mare. She danced sideways, eager to run, sensing his energy.

"Let’s go," Derek said, his voice muffled by the mask.

He kicked the horse’s flanks. The mare surged forward, hooves pounding the earth.

Carlos scrambled onto his own horse, struggling with the stirrup for a moment, looking clumsy, before kicking his horse into a trot to follow. The five guards fell in behind them, their own masks in place, their hands resting on their weapons, eyes scanning the perimeter.

They rode out of the camp, hooves thundering on the hard-packed earth road. They headed toward the city, toward the spires of the High Cathedral of Strathmore.