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She pointed a pale, slender finger at the southern section of the leather chart, where the swamp ended.

”The Gray Marauders,” Zephyra continued, her voice dropping into a solemn cadence. ”They do not dwell in muddy swap like Zerith or or open valleys like Zharun.

Their territory sits high on the dry, broken stone shelves of the southern ridges, where the ironwood gives way to scratchy scrub and jagged rocks.

Unlike the Zerith, who relied on traps and venom, the Marauders are massive, thick-skinned humanoids with terrifying brute force.”

Veylara’s jaw tightened slightly as she stared at the mountain markings.

”Bruga was a brute, but he was no fool when it came to defending his den,” Veylara noted, her tone turning analytical. ”The Marauders are mountain dwellers. They have spent generations fortifying those cliffs.

The fortunate thing is, Bruga had took the elite troops and died in the battlefield, but their settlement still holds hundreds of their kin. Even their secondary guards have hides like cured bark and bones like petrified wood.

They are heavy, brutal fighters who build their mud huts scattered across open stone flats without trenches or walls... relying purely on their physical mass to crush anyone who approaches

Keep them aside, just the location of their tribe and the natural choke points make a standard frontal assault suicidal. If their secondary line sees our force coming up the path, even if they aren’t the smartest bunch they know that they can’t defeat us, and will roll boulders, drop log-traps, and rain javelins down from hundreds of paces above.”

Commander Thauren, sitting near the entrance of the hall, leaned forward with a grim scowl. ”A frontal march onto that open rock shelf gives away all our speed advantage. If our vanguard marches into their camp in a straight line, their sheer numbers and heavy clubs could turn it into a grinding, bloody brawl before we can break we’ll even reach their gate.

We would win. I do not doubt that. But we would pay for it in wounded, and we have come this far without losing a single warrior. I would rather keep that record intact.

And even if we abandon the front assault, our numbers are too small to encircle the entire ridge. If we try to starve them out, we could be stuck at the base of the cliffs for moons.”

Sol finished his food, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. He looked across the table at the crude sketch of the dry stone flats, his crimson eyes narrowing with calculating sharpness.

”A wall is only dangerous if you climb it from the front,” Sol spoke, his raspy voice pulling every eye in the room directly onto him.

Veylara tilted her head, her interest piqued. ”You scouted their ridge before the war started, didn’t you?”

”Well, I mapped the layout of their outer perimeter,” Sol replied smoothly, resting his elbows on his knees. ”But still, I could see that their camp has zero discipline. No watchtowers, or perimeter ditches, except the outer defensive wall.

They just slap mud over branches and sleep out in the open air. The strongest warriors take the center where the ground is best, and the weak fodder is scattered around the edges to take the first hit.”

He tapped the table with a finger.

”The vanguard doesn’t need to march up under a hail of boulders.

In fact, a frontal assault with the full force will just wake up all of them at once. We don’t need that mess. At first light, you lead the main force to the base of the path. Beat whatever you can find, just make as much noise as possible. Draw every eye on the high ramparts to the front gate.”

He reached out, tapping his finger against the cliffside marked behind the Marauder stronghold.

”While their attention is locked on the road, I will scale the eastern cliff face,” Sol continued. ”The Dreadwing gives me high-frequency bursts and feather-fall control. Scaling a sheer rock wall in silence is light work.”

The hall fell into a brief, stunned silence due to the outrageousness of the plan, but coming out of Sol’s mouth, it strangely didn’t seem too unexpected.

Kira’s head snapped toward him, her stormy eyes widening in immediate opposition. ”Alone? Sol, even without Bruga, there are hundreds of those giants up there!”

Zeyra frowned, her fingers instantly going to the hilts of her daggers. ”I’m coming with you. Two blades are better than one.”

”No,” Sol said flatly, as he looked at Zeyra. ”Your speed is great, but against ten-foot brutes with hides like tree bark, standard dagger strikes take too much effort.

The Dreadwing gives me silent high-frequency bursts, and with my perception and previous experience, I can slip between their sleeping bodies without vibrating a single pebble, just like last time.”

”But...I’m stronger than the last time, I’m already layer 2 and can face them.” She tried to argue.

Kira also nodded heavily with her.

”Yes, you are strong, but this time we aren’t facing the fringe and weakest bunch. They are strong ones containing even Layer 3 warriors.” He spoke, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He turned his gaze back to Veylara.

”Once I breach their camp from behind, I’ll butcher their gatehouse guards, open the gates, and let you guys march straight in.”

Veylara was silent for a moment after Sol finished outlining the plan.

Her deep blue eyes remained fixed on the charcoal sketch of the high stone shelf, but her mind was clearly turning over the shape of the idea.

”Infiltration...” Veylara said at last. A short, almost disbelieving breath left her. ”Why have we never truly considered it?”

She looked up, gaze moving from the map to Sol’s calm face. A deep smile touched her lips, her deep blue eyes flashing with fierce respect.

”After all, the biggest challenge in capturing their tribe had always been their advantage of height.” She continued, nodding firmly. ”It spares our warriors a brutal meat-grinder and allows us to enter in a single breath. We will execute it at first light.”

She stood up from the table, signaling the end of the council. ”Everyone rest. Tomorrow, we will finish the march and finally conquer the whole coalition.”

Everyone dispersed without further argument. Thauren left to review the sentry posts and ensure the captured Zerith remained secure through the night.

Zephyra gathered the charcoal map with careful hands and departed toward the quieter chambers where she would prepare whatever residual workings might be useful at dawn.

The braziers burned low, casting long, peaceful shadows over the ironwood beams.

In another private inner chamber of the lodge, a wide platform covered in thick mountain pelts and soft woven reeds had been prepared.

Sol placed his sapphire blade, against the wall within arm’s reach, and sat down on the edge of the furs. The lingering exhaustion of fighting across two entire tribal domains was finally settling heavily into his bones.

Kira and Zeyra stepped into the chamber behind him.

Kira sat beside his left arm, pulling off her soft leather boots and curling her legs beneath her on the furs.

After a moment she reached out and gently pressed her forehead against Sol’s shoulder, letting out a long, quiet breath that seemed to release the last of the day’s tension.

”Two down... only one left,” Kira whispered softly into the dim room.

Zeyra kicked off her boots, opening the wooden window to let the cool night draft in. The air carried the distant sounds of the secured settlement... low voices, the occasional soft order from a sentry, the ever-present chorus of the marsh at night.

She returned and took her place on Sol’s right, leaning back against the raised headboard, stretching out her long athletic legs, and resting her hand comfortably over his forearm.

”Get some sleep,” Zeyra murmured, her dark eyes half-lidded, softened by the warmth of the furs. ”Tomorrow we have an entire camp of giants to butcher.”

Sol let out a quiet, raspy chuckle. He wrapped an arm around each of them as they settled more fully into the thick pelts.

Kira shifted closer until her breathing began to match the slower rhythm of rest. Zeyra’s hand remained steady on his arm, a silent point of contact that required no further comment.

Inside his chest, his sun core hummed in a silent, steady rhythm, while the Mountain-Marrow Stone at his hip pulsed with heavy, ancient power.

Closing his eyes in the heart of the conquered swamp, Sol drifted into a deep, restful slumber.