Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece

The medic's tent wasn't far from the commander's.

Canvas walls flapped in the cold breeze, and the scent hit them before they even stepped inside.

Strong herbs mixed with blood, sweat, and smoke.

Groans filled the air. Soft and broken, coming from wounded soldiers lined up on cots. Some were missing limbs.

Others lay still. Their armor stained dark red.

A tired woman in a blood-streaked apron looked up from a man she was bandaging. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and dark circles sat under her eyes.

"You five," she called. Wiping her hands on a cloth. "Over here. Sit."

Cassian didn't argue. He limped forward and dropped onto the nearest cot. Letting out a long breath through gritted teeth.

The medic pulled his pant leg up and frowned.

"Deep cut. You're lucky it didn't hit the bone."

She cleaned it quickly with a sharp-smelling solution that made Cassian wince. Then she stitched it closed with thin, steady hands.

"Try not to put too much weight on it for a few hours," she said. Wrapping the wound tight in clean bandages.

"And don't go kicking anyone."

Cassian gave a small, dry chuckle. "I'll do my best."

Next was Serena.

The medic gently tugged back her cloak, revealing a long shallow cut across her shoulder.

But her frown deepened when she pressed against the bruised skin beneath.

"Cracked rib. How hard did they hit you?"

Serena shrugged, her face calm as ever. "Hard enough."

The medic didn't argue. She crushed something green into a bowl, smeared it on a cloth, and pressed it to Serena's side.

"This'll help with the pain," she muttered. "Don't swing that glaive of yours too hard. It might crack further."

Serena just nodded once.

Eleanora stepped forward next. Her jacket was soaked near her ribs. Blood dripping slowly onto the dirt floor.

"Strip that jacket," the medic ordered. "That one's deep."

Eleanora peeled it off wordlessly, sitting on the cot as the woman cleaned the wound.

She poured something over it, probably alcohol.

Eleanora didn't flinch. But Kyle saw her fingers grip the edge of the cot until her knuckles turned white.

"You are tougher than you look," the medic said, impressed.

Eleanora said nothing.

Then it was Kyle's turn.

The medic took one look at the gash running across his forearm and clicked her tongue.

"This one's deep. Almost hit the tendon."

She cleaned it carefully. The sting made Kyle tense, but he didn't complain. When she started stitching. The tug of the needle bit into his skin.

"You're lucky," she said while tying it off. "Another inch, and you'd never hold a sword the same again."

Kyle flexed his fingers. They still moved.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Cedric came last.

"Just some shallow cuts?" the medic asked.

He nodded. She checked quickly. Then handed him a small tin filled with thick green salve.

"Rub that on the sore spots. Helps with swelling."

Cedric took it with a quiet "Thank you."

———

Once they were all bandaged and moving a little easier. One of the Black Legion knights returned to the medic tent.

He pushed aside the flap and looked over the group, then gave a short nod.

"The Commander wants to see you again. Follow me."

Kyle exchanged a look with the others, then slowly stood.

His limbs still ached, and the bandages on his arm pulled tight when he moved.

The others followed, quieter than before. Their steps were heavier, not from pain alone. But from the weight of everything they had seen.

The battlefield was quieter now. Fires still crackled in the distance, and the night sky above was hidden by smoke and ash.

The scent of blood still clung to the wind.

They reached the command tent, and this time. It wasn't just the Commander waiting.

Three others stood with him.

One was an older man, wide-shouldered and battle-worn.

With a deep scar that ran along the side of his neck and an ear that looked like it had been ripped clean off.

The second was a woman in her thirties, her black hair pulled into a long braid tucked under her shoulder plate.

Her armor was spotless, her posture like a drawn arrow.

The third man was thin and wiry. His eyes sharp. He had a crossbow strapped across his back. Even inside the tent, and he stood slightly apart from the others, silent.

The Commander stood over the war table. Eyes scanning a hand-drawn map with lines and markers scattered across it.

He didn't look up right away as they entered.

"These are my captains," he said plainly. His voice rough but steady. "They're the reason we haven't all died yet."

The older man gave a slight nod. "Captain Bors. Heavy infantry. I hold the lines."

The woman stepped forward next. "Captain Thalia. I run the scouts and forward squads. What I say is what we move."

The wiry man simply nodded once. "Rell. Marksman. I cover from the ridge. I don't miss."

Then the Commander looked at them fully. The lantern light caught the scar down his cheek, and his one good eye locked onto Kyle.

"I'm Commander Halric. Halric Voss."

He straightened and stepped around the table.

"You have proved you're not just panicked runts. That was good work back there. But don't think it's over. We've only bought ourselves a few hours."

Thalia moved to the table and unfurled another map, this one newer.

The ink still smudged in places. She pinned it down with her dagger and pointed toward a narrow pass between two ridges.

"The Red Legion is regrouping. At dawn, they'll push through here. The eastern pass. If they get through, our supply lines fall. And with that. The war ends. For us."

She tapped the narrowest point on the map.

"We hold here. A few dozen can pass through at a time. That's our only advantage. We'll dig in and make them bleed."

Rell spoke next. His voice calm and quiet.

"Your group will be stationed with the forward unit. First clash. That means no room for hesitation. Don't break. Don't run."

Kyle looked at the map again. That choke point. They'd be right at the front.

Thalia glanced at them. "We need your speed and precision. You five hit harder than most. We'll take every edge we can get."

Commander Halric finally looked up.

"Any questions?"

The group stayed quiet for a second.

Then Eleanora stepped forward slightly.

"What's our real objective? Are we just there to hold? Or something more?"

Commander Halric's expression didn't change. But he gave a small nod.

"Good question. The official answer? Hold the pass. Buy time." He paused.

"Unofficially? You survive. Kill what you can. But if you see their commander—"

He looked each of them in the eye.

"—you run."

Kyle's brow furrowed. "Why?"

Halric's voice dropped.

"Because no one who's fought him has made it back."

"He wears red and gold armor. Carries a flaming sword. Tall, fast, and brutal."

"Cut through two full squads in under a minute. I lost one of my best mages trying to slow him down."

He leaned forward on the table, hands firm.

"I don't want you trying to be heroes. I need survivors. Not corpses."

The tent was silent.

Serena didn't speak. But her fingers tightened around the shaft of her glaive, knuckles pale.

Cassian stared at the map, jaw clenched.

Kyle looked at each of them, then at Halric. He knew this dungeon wasn't done with them.

It wasn't just testing their strength. It was testing their choices.

No way out but forward.

Halric clapped his hands once, breaking the tension.

"Get some rest. Eat something if you can. Dawn's a few hours off."

"You did well today. Just don't die tomorrow."

Kyle gave a slight nod, and the group turned to leave.

They didn't speak as they stepped back into the night.

The campfires were burning low, shadows dancing across tents and stone.

Somewhere, a soldier was quietly crying. Another prayed in a whisper.

The war wasn't over.

It had barely begun.

And tomorrow. They'd be standing at the front.

———

Author's Note: Updates will be a bit slower for the next 2–3 days. Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience and support!

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