Soulbound: Dual Cultivation-Chapter 395: Marching to Grave

Dawn came gray and cold, spreading slowly over the vast stretch of soldiers assembled beneath Valerion’s banners. Armor gleamed faintly in the weak morning light, horses stamped against the frost-laced ground, and commanders moved through the ranks issuing final instructions with practiced authority. From a distance, the army looked disciplined and formidable, every formation aligned, every standard raised high as though confidence alone could shape the outcome of what was to come.

But beneath that surface, a quiet weight pressed down on those who knew the truth.

The king stood at the front of the command line, his posture straight and unyielding, his expression carved from stone. To the ordinary soldier, he looked every bit the ruler who would lead them to victory. Only a handful understood that behind those steady eyes lay the knowledge that they were likely marching into a trap prepared days in advance. He had not spoken of it openly, but the tension in his jaw and the silence that followed every strategic order told its own story.

Henrietta sat mounted at his right, outwardly calm, inwardly restless. She could feel it in the way commands were shorter than usual, in the way the king avoided unnecessary counsel. Distrust had not vanished overnight. It lingered like a second shadow behind him.

Lucas stood slightly behind the front line of command, watching the horizon where the usurpers’ forces would soon appear. Around him, soldiers checked weapons and tightened straps, whispering quiet reassurances to one another. They believed this would be a difficult fight, but winnable. They did not know they were walking into something already shaped against them.

Lost battle, he thought, his gaze hardening.

He did not believe in surrendering to inevitability, but numbers and preparation were cruel things. If Rus had positioned twelve thousand soldiers in readiness, then they were not reacting to Valerion’s movements. They had been anticipating them. That meant their formations would be optimized, their terrain selected carefully, their reserves hidden where they would do the most damage.

Lucas’s mind moved rapidly, breaking the battlefield down into possibilities.

They could not outnumber them.

They could not outmaneuver a force already prepared.

They could not rely entirely on the king’s command if doubt clouded his timing.

So what remained?

Patrick.

The name surfaced in his thoughts like a thin thread of light in a cavern.

Patrick was small, overlooked, and embedded where it mattered most. He could not change the course of armies, but information, delivered at the right moment, could fracture even the most carefully constructed plan. If they could learn where the hidden reserves stood, where the cultivators were stationed, where the command structure concentrated its strength, then perhaps the battlefield could be bent, if not broken.

Lucas inhaled slowly.

"The only advantage we have," he murmured under his breath, "is that they believe they are unseen."

If the usurpers were confident enough to prepare openly, then they might also grow careless in that confidence. And if they believed their spy within Valerion remained undiscovered, they would not yet adjust their internal communications. Patrick’s access would remain intact, at least for now.

Lucas’s eyes shifted toward the king.

The greater problem was not only the enemy ahead, but the fracture within their own command. A single moment of hesitation at the wrong time would cascade into disaster. If the king doubted his generals mid-battle, if he withheld a reserve out of suspicion, then the loss would accelerate beyond repair.

So the battlefield could not be fought traditionally.

"We need chaos," Lucas thought. "Not order."

If the enemy had prepared for structured formations and predictable command, then unpredictability was the only blade left to them. A strike where they were not expecting one. A false collapse. A feigned retreat. Something that forced Rus to react instead of execute.

But such tactics required absolute coordination, and coordination required trust.

Lucas clenched his jaw.

"Then I will carry it," he decided silently. "If trust is fractured at the top, I will act where I must and answer for it later."

A horn sounded in the distance, low and resonant, signaling the final mobilization. The army began to move, ranks shifting forward like a great steel tide rolling toward the inevitable clash.

Around him, soldiers steadied themselves, unaware of how precarious the balance truly was.

Lucas adjusted his grip on his horse and allowed his mind to continue racing, searching, calculating. The battle ahead might have been shaped to crush them, but no plan survived first contact unchanged.

If there was even the smallest crack in the enemy’s design, Lucas intended to find it and pry it wide enough for Valerion to survive.

The army advanced, dust rose in faint clouds around the marching columns, and from a distance the banners of Valerion looked proud and unwavering.

Up front, however, where the vanguard rode, the air felt different.

Lucas led his squad ahead of the main body, eyes scanning the terrain with increasing scrutiny. The land began to narrow subtly, rolling hills pressing closer together, rocky ridges rising on either side like silent sentinels. He did not like it. The earth itself felt as though it were guiding them somewhere specific.

Then he saw a figure emerge from behind a cluster of scrub and stone.

Patrick.

He approached cautiously, hood low, armor marked with dust to blend in with the forward scouts of the Usurpers. Lucas signaled his squad to hold position while he rode forward alone.

Patrick did not waste time.

"They want you in the valley ahead," he said quietly, urgency sharpening his voice. "The one between the twin ridges. Their main force will fall back deliberately, just enough to draw you in. Once Valerion commits, hidden units will descend from both sides. Archers, heavy infantry, and cultivators positioned above."

Lucas felt a chill run down his spine as his gaze shifted toward the narrowing land ahead.

"The ridges," he murmured.

"Yes," Patrick confirmed. "They have already fortified positions behind the rocks. There are even barricades hidden beneath brush to slow cavalry. They have prepared it for days."

For a moment, the sounds of marching behind them seemed to grow distant.

A valley.

High ground on both sides.

A staged retreat.

It was not merely a trap. It was an execution.

"If we enter that formation," Lucas said quietly, more to himself than to Patrick, "we lose the maneuver advantage. Our cavalry becomes useless. Our archers are exposed. We are compressed and slaughtered from above."

Patrick nodded grimly. "That is their intent."

Lucas exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts into order.

At this point, if the king marched the army into that valley, there would be no recovery. Even the bravest resistance would only prolong the inevitable. They would not simply lose. They would be annihilated. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"I need to stop this now," Lucas said.

One of his squad members rode up beside him. "Send a rider back," the man suggested quickly. "There’s still time."

Lucas shook his head.

"No," he replied firmly. "This cannot be delivered by half words. The king is already on edge. If this reaches him through anyone else, he might question it. Or worse, hesitate."

He turned back to Patrick. "You’re coming with me."

Patrick stiffened slightly. "If I am seen."

"You won’t be," Lucas cut in.

He scanned his squad and gestured sharply. "Armor."

One of his men dismounted without hesitation. Lucas stripped off his own identifying pieces and exchanged them quickly, fastening the unfamiliar plates over his tunic. Patrick did the same, pulling on the squad member’s spare gear and adjusting the helm until his face was obscured.

The transformation was imperfect but sufficient. From a distance, they would look like ordinary riders from the vanguard.

Lucas mounted again, his expression set.

"You all hold position," he ordered the rest of his squad. "Do not advance beyond this point."

They nodded grimly.

Lucas turned his horse sharply, Patrick riding at his side. They spurred forward, galloping back along the length of the marching army, weaving between columns of infantry and cavalry. Soldiers barely glanced at them as they passed, assuming urgency but not questioning it.

The valley loomed ahead in the distance, deceptively serene beneath the pale morning light.

Patrick rode in tense silence beside him. "If they notice I am missing," he said quietly, "they will suspect something."

"They will," Lucas agreed. "But not immediately. And if we fail to halt the army, suspicion will not matter."

They pushed their mounts harder, the king’s banner finally coming into view at the center of the advancing formation.

Lucas’s mind raced as they approached.

He would need to be precise.

No room for doubt.

Because if the army took even a few more steps toward that valley without correction, Valerion would not be fighting a battle.

They would be marching straight into a grave prepared for them days in advance.