Page 33 of Orc's Veil

The spirit tilts its head. Its voice, when it speaks, is Kravos’s own—cold, measured, and utterly without mercy.

“That response is unacceptable. Confirm receipt of orders and intent to comply, or you will be designated a traitor effective immediately.”

I draw my blade.

The execution blade—forged to sever magical ties—cuts through the bound spirit with a single stroke. The entityscreams, dissolves, vanishes into wisps of smoke and light that scatter on the windless air.

Kravos won’t receive my response. He’ll interpret my silence however he chooses—probably as confirmation of his worst suspicions. The hunting party will be dispatched. Draveth will arrive in two days regardless.

The Veil’s instability had been disrupting bound-spirit communications across the boundary for days—another piece of luck I didn’t deserve.

But for now, in this moment, I’ve chosen.

And it feels like the first honest choice I’ve made in twenty years.

My remainingguards find me at dawn.

Four of them now—the other two fled in the night, carrying their reports and their fears back toward the Iron Citadel. The ones who remain are the steadiest, the most loyal, the ones who have served under me longest. Korvax is among them, his iron mask hiding whatever expression his face might hold.

They know. I can see it in their posture—the careful distance they maintain, the way their hands hover near their weapons. They know about the mark. Know about the bound spirit I destroyed. Know that their commander has crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.

“Sir.” Korvax steps forward, his voice carefully neutral. “We need to discuss the situation.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” I keep my voice flat. Commanding. The voice of the executioner I used to be, before a silver-haired witch and a burning mark changed everything.“I’ve received new intelligence regarding the boundary threat. My investigation is ongoing.”

“Sir, the bound spirit?—”

“Was compromised.” The lie comes easily. Too easily. “The Sovereign has been attempting to infiltrate our communications. I destroyed it before it could deliver false orders.”

Silence. The guards exchange glances behind their masks. I can feel their doubt, their suspicion, the calculations happening behind those iron faces. They want to believe me—I’ve led them well, earned their respect, been the kind of commander who never wavers.

But the mark on my chest is burning. And they can see the bulge of it beneath my armor, the faint glow that pulses in time with my heartbeat.

“The mark, sir.” Korvax’s voice has hardened. “The reports said you’ve formed a claiming mark. With the condemned witch.”

“Reports from deserters. From orcs who fled their posts rather than face the threats at the boundary.” I take a step toward him, letting my size speak for itself. “Do you believe deserters over your commander, Korvax?”

He doesn’t back down. I’ll give him credit for that—he stands his ground, meets my gaze through the slits in his mask, refuses to be intimidated.

“I believe what I see, sir. And I see you defending a woman you were sent to execute. I see you destroying a spirit that carried legitimate orders. I see—” He hesitates. Then: “I see the mark glowing through your armor.”

The other guards shift. Hands tighten on weapons. The moment stretches, sharp and dangerous.

“Leave.” The word comes out rough. Final. “All of you. Return to the outpost. Tell them whatever you need to tell them.”

“Sir—”

“That’s an order.” I let the command settle into my voice, let twenty years of authority ring in every syllable. “You’ve served me well. All of you. But what happens next—” I pause. Force myself to be honest, just this once. “What happens next isn’t your fight. Go. While you still can.”

Korvax stares at me. I can feel the struggle behind his mask—loyalty warring with duty, respect warring with suspicion. He’s young. Ambitious. He believes in the order the way I used to believe, with a faith that hasn’t yet been shattered by doubt.

“You’re making a mistake, sir.” His voice is quiet. Almost sad. “The order doesn’t forgive traitors.”

“I know.”

He holds my gaze for another moment. Then he turns, gestures to the other guards, and leads them away from the stone circle. I watch them go—four iron masks disappearing into the half-light, their footsteps fading until only silence remains.

They’ll report me. I know they will. Korvax might have wanted to believe me, but he won’t lie for me—not when the order’s law is so clear.