The Abused is The Abuser in Another World

Chapter 40: March of the Silent Blades

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a cold, silvery light across the Drakharoth Enclave. The air was still, the usual sounds of the swamp hushed as though the land itself knew that something monumental was about to take place. The warriors who had been chosen for the raid gathered in the heart of the Enclave, their faces etched with a mix of resolve and exhaustion. Their wounds from the last battle had only begun to heal, but the hunger gnawing at their bellies was a sharper pain than any they had sustained on the battlefield.

Noir stood at the center, his crimson eyes scanning the assembled warriors. Lyralei, Thalor, Grid, Lor, Zolin, and Razor were among them, each battle-hardened, each bearing the scars of their recent conflict with Kaelthor's forces. The weight of the mission ahead was clear on their faces. This was not a fight for glory or vengeance—this was a fight for survival.

As they gathered in front of him, Noir remained silent for a moment, letting the stillness of the night deepen the gravity of what was about to unfold. His tall figure, cloaked in dark armor, seemed to absorb the light around him, his presence both commanding and ominous.

Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying with it the authority of a leader who had endured countless battles and trials. "Warriors of Drakharoth, tonight we march not for conquest, but for survival." His words were sharp, cutting through the night. "We face a great challenge—our enemies are weakened, but so are we. The Enclave is on the edge of starvation, and we cannot afford to hesitate."

Lyralei, standing at the front of the group, glanced toward Thalor, who gave her a small nod of encouragement. She stepped forward slightly, her sharp eyes fixed on Noir. "We'll do what needs to be done, Noir. But we know Grimscar won't be an easy target."

Noir's gaze shifted to her, and he nodded in acknowledgment. "Grimscar is vulnerable without Kaelthor, but that doesn't make them defenseless. They'll still have soldiers, and they'll still fight to protect what's theirs."

Thalor, ever the strategist, spoke up next. "We'll need to be precise. We hit them fast, take what we need, and get out before they have time to react." His voice was calm but laced with the weight of experience. "We can't afford a prolonged battle—not in our condition."

Grid, who had been quietly watching the conversation unfold, added his thoughts. "We've faced worse odds before. If we're careful, we can pull this off." His tone was pragmatic, but there was a fire in his eyes that spoke of his readiness for the fight ahead.

Razor, standing at the edge of the group, cracked his knuckles, the faint sound breaking the tension in the air. "I'll carve through whatever defenses they have left. Just point me in the right direction."

Noir's gaze lingered on Razor for a moment before turning to address the group as a whole. "Tonight, we march for the survival of the Enclave. There will be danger, and not all of us may return. But know this—if we succeed, we will have secured a future for our people. We will have bought time to recover, to regroup, and to strike back when we are stronger."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a brief moment, the warriors exchanged glances. They knew what was at stake. The mission was perilous, but they had no choice.

Lor, still bandaged from the last fight, grunted in agreement. "We've survived worse. Let's get this done."

Zolin, who had been silent for most of the conversation, finally spoke up, his voice a low growl. "I'd rather die fighting for food than starve sitting in this swamp. Let's do this."

Noir nodded once more, his gaze sweeping across the warriors gathered before him. "We move swiftly and silently. Lyralei will scout ahead and find us a way in. Thalor, you'll coordinate the attack. Grid and Zolin will handle the rear, securing the supplies. Lor and Razor will be at the front—our vanguard."