Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World-Chapter 237: Askiv

"Good" - she said, brushing a speck of dirt from her boot. Even that subtle motion made him flinch. "What's your name?"

"J-John… Just John," he managed. His voice came out as more air than sound, but at least it was enough to form the words.

Leier tilted her head slightly, testing the name on her tongue like it was a foreign thing. "John."

Behind her, the other Shadow Guards stood at the clearing's edge, silent among the trees. They still had energy. They still had blades. They needed practice. John wanted only to die.

"Good. Now tell me, John," Leier continued, her voice smooth as a gentle wave, "what were you and your dead friends doing here? Where are you from?"

John hesitated, but not because he intended to lie, he was simply drowning in pain. Every ragged breath felt like fire in his chest, his nerves aflame. Speaking threatened to crush his mind beneath fresh throbs of agony.

"K-Kovichen," he wheezed at last. "We're from Kovichen Village. Soldiers."

He paused, forcing another breath through broken ribs that stabbed at his lungs. "We were… sent to intercept a caravan. First Prince's men…supplies."

Leier inclined her head slightly. Kovichen. She didn't recognize it, but it had to be close. They carried too few supplies for a long journey.

"The First Prince?" she pressed, leaning forward. "Tell me more."

John blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his battered features. Surely everyone knew the kingdom's state. Was this a trick? Another test of his honesty?

"Y-Yes" - he rasped. - "As you know… the king of Askiv… he's dying. Nobody's sure why. Poison, maybe. Some say magic."

"The kingdom's broken. Two heirs. Two armies."- He coughed, sending bright splatters of blood down his chin - "Prince Emerik, he's firstborn. He holds the capital. But… some of the old guard, the veterans… they back the second son, Halvar. He's full of fire. Rage. Claims the king was betrayed. That Emerik poisoned him."

Leier's expression didn't change. "And you follow Halvar?"

A twitch of the head that seemed more like a nod - "Not directly. We are under Baron Koss. He swore to Halvar. Says whoever holds the most blades wins. Not the crown. Not anymore."

Leier's eye glinted. "And your mission? The caravan?"

John swallowed the blood in his mouth, voice trembling as he pushed the words out - "Intel said the First Prince's men were hauling weapons from Drastin. We were supposed to intercept them. Kill the guards. Take the load."

Leier took a brief glance around at the bodies scattered in the moonlit clearing, limbs twisted, throats cut. Blood stained the rich, living earth beneath them. It felt like a sin that such a fertile land was contaminated by their blood.

"You found more weapons than needed" - she murmured, so quietly John nearly missed it. A chill crawled through him. "And what's the outcome of this war?"

He shifted, a reflex he immediately regretted. Pain soared up his ruined arms, and he let out a raw, strangled moan.

"I-It hasn't started... not fully" - he gasped - "The king's still alive, barely. If he dies, it all breaks loose. Right now... just skirmishes, ambushes like this. Everyone's waiting."

He coughed again, more blood trickling from his lips. "The strong ones, mages, generals, they are loyal to him. No one dares move too openly while he still breathes. Some say there's… there's some sort of…"

He winced, fighting for control of his own tongue - "M-magic binding them, stopping an all-out war… until the king's dead."

Leier's gaze grew distant, holding her chin, drawing a map of the situation. Then her eye sharpened - "Have you heard of a group coming down from the North? Beyond this forest?"

Her voice had changed, and John felt it at once. The killing intent rolling off her now was far more pronounced than when she'd been torturing him. That had been a demonstration. This was something else.

He gave another agonized twitch. A nod. - "I heard stories… about dozens of people coming from the North… but no one believes them."

"Why not?" Leier asked, leaning close enough that he could feel her unsteady breath on his cheek.

"There's nothing up there" - John whispered - "An endless frozen wasteland. Our ancestors say it's a land of punishment where even demons can't survive. A white hell. No one comes back from there."

Leier studied his swollen, bloodshot eyes, searching for any hint of deception. He seemed genuine. Myths and fear had done a good job of keeping these people away from the north, just as it kept the northerners from coming south.

She rose and unsheathed her knife. John couldn't even raise his head to watch her move.

"Please…no more…" - he begged, voice trembling - "I told you the truth… I swear. Just kill me."

Leier offered no reply. She leaned in and murmured against his ear, "You can go now." Then she slid the blade into his throat with a brisk, practiced twist. John gasped as blood gushed from the wound, and the light drained from his eyes.

Moments later, Leier pulled the knife free and wiped it on the dead man's tattered clothes. She stood and surveyed the dark clearing once more.

"It seems," she said quietly, "we need to adjust our plan."