Soulbound: Dual Cultivation-Chapter 399: Splitting the army

The command tent grew still once more after Lucas laid bare only the edges of his design, revealing just enough for the king to grasp the outline but never the full machinery beneath it. Commander Alexander and Captain Varran exchanged uneasy glances, for they were soldiers who preferred steel they could see and terrain they could measure, not battles waged in the shadows of rumor and doubt.

The king walked slowly toward the tent opening and stood there for a moment, watching his army stretched across the plain like a living sea of banners and armor. Thousands of men waited for orders that would determine whether they would see another sunrise. He knew the weight of every command he uttered.

Behind him, Lucas remained composed, though within his mind calculations continued to shift and refine. He understood the risk. He understood the cost if he misjudged even a single movement of the enemy. But he also understood something else, something the others struggled to accept: wars were not won by caution alone. They were won by daring timed with precision.

The king finally turned back. "You ask for faith," he said, his voice measured. "And you have, in the past, turned the impossible to possible when none thought it possible."

Alexander stiffened slightly but did not interrupt. Even he could not deny Lucas’ record. Lucas had a reputation that unsettled as much as it reassured.

The king continued, "But I will not wager the entirety of Valerion’s strength on a strategy I do not fully see."

Lucas inclined his head. "That is wise."

Alexander looked at him sharply, surprised at the absence of argument.

The king stepped back toward the table and placed his hand upon the marker representing the central force.

"I will not send the full host into that valley," he declared. "I will send thirty-five hundred men."

Varran’s eyes widened slightly. "Your Majesty, that is half of our strength."

"It is enough to test the ground without shattering the whole," the king replied. "If the valley devours them, we withdraw and regroup. If your design holds," he looked directly at Lucas, "then we commit the rest."

The tent fell quiet again, but this time the silence felt different. It was no longer paralyzed indecision. It was measured risk.

Lucas studied the map, already adjusting the internal structure of his plan to accommodate the reduced numbers. Thirty-five hundred. Fewer bodies meant greater reliance on timing. Greater reliance on precision. Less margin for error.

He nodded slowly.

"I accept," Lucas said.

Alexander stepped closer. "You understand what this means. If you fail, we lose not only men but morale. The army will know we tested the valley and were broken."

"I understand," Lucas replied calmly.

Varran crossed his arms. "And if the enemy chooses not to spring the trap immediately?"

"They will," Lucas said with quiet certainty. "Their pride demands it. They believe we are compromised but still reckless enough to enter. They will see it as desperation."

The king studied him carefully. "You truly believe this will turn."

Lucas met his gaze.

"I do not believe in luck, Your Majesty. I believe in preparation meeting opportunity. I have prepared."

The king searched his face one final time, perhaps looking for doubt, perhaps hoping to find it so he could withdraw the decision. He found none.

"Very well," the king said at last. "You will command the army of thirty-five hundred. Choose your men carefully."

The king straightened, his authority settling over him once more.

"You have your chance, Xavier. I give it not because I fully understand your design, nor because I trust easily, but because history has shown that when others see walls, you sometimes see doors."

He paused, his voice lowering.

"Do not make me regret it."

Lucas bowed deeply this time, not out of ceremony but acknowledgment of the gravity placed upon him.

"I will not," he said. "Valerion will not break in that valley."

Outside the tent, orders began to ripple through the ranks. Thirty-five hundred men were summoned from their companies. Shields were tightened. Blades were checked. Horses were saddled.

The rest of the army would remain behind, watchful and tense.

Lucas stepped out into the daylight with the calm of a man walking not toward doom, but toward a carefully arranged storm he intended to unleash at precisely the right moment.

Lucas wasted no time once the king’s order was sealed.

The army stood before him... not the grand host of Valerion, but enough steel to shape an outcome if wielded correctly. He rode along the front, eyes scanning faces for discipline. Discipline was what he needed now.

He raised his hand.

"Split them."

The officers obeyed immediately.

The force divided cleanly into two wings. Not scattered. Not disorganized. A deliberate halving ... each contingent strong enough to stand alone, yet positioned to converge when required. He did not explain the geometry aloud. The fewer words spoken, the fewer words carried.

Lucas then turned to Alexander and Varran.

"You will advance," he said, "but slowly. Measured. As if nothing has changed."

Varran studied him. "And why the gentle advance?"

"So that no abrupt shift reaches the Usurpers ears," Lucas replied. "If we move too sharply, too decisively, our spies will grow suspicious."

Alexander understood that much. "You want them comfortable."

"I want them complacent."

The rumor network was already alive behind them. Soldiers believed the army would still march into the valley as planned. The spies believed they had successfully reported the halt and the renewed advance. Everything appeared consistent.

Consistency bred confidence.

And confidence dulled caution.

Lucas rode ahead with half the force to meet his personal squad positioned nearer the valley’s outer ridges. They were not ordinary soldiers. They were the men he trusted to execute without question.

Among them stood Volde.

Volde was not the loudest nor the most visibly imposing, but there was something coiled and restrained about him ... like a drawn bow held indefinitely at tension. Around his right forearm gleamed one of the Core of Dominion bracelet, ancient band etched with faint runic channels that pulsed subtly in the light. Lucas had sent word to him to test it. Soon they were going to give it to some selected soldiers amongst them so they could have a better fighting chance in the valley.

Lucas dismounted before him.

"Are they stable?" Lucas asked quietly.

Volde flexed his hands once. The faintest shimmer rippled along the bracelets.

"Stable," he replied. "But they draw heavily."

"They only need to draw once," Lucas said.

Volde nodded.

The divided army settled into position ... one half subtly angling toward the eastern rise, the other maintaining visible alignment toward the valley’s central throat. To any observer watching from afar, nothing seemed unusual. It looked like cautious formation adjustment.

Alexander and Varran advanced their supporting lines exactly as instructed ... slow, deliberate, unremarkable.

No sudden redeployment.

If a spy watched from within the ranks, he would see continuity. The same march. The same destination. The same supposed recklessness.

But beneath that surface, Lucas’ arrangement was tightening like an unseen mechanism.

The traps had already been set along the narrowest constriction of the valley floor ... subtle alchemical charges buried beneath loose shale, positioned where enemy infantry would surge downward in confidence. On the ridges, concealed placements awaited timed ignition.

Volde’s role was singular, he would be given a squad of selected soldiers that would wield the bracelets as well.

When the enemy committed and began their descent, the bracelets would allow them to trigger a concentrated shock along the valley wall ... not enough to collapse the ridge entirely, but enough to destabilize the carefully arranged ambush points. Loose rock would cascade. Archers would lose footing. Command signals would fracture.

At the same time, the alchemical traps below would ignite, not with fire, but with concussive force and blinding particulate bursts designed to disorient.

Not destruction.

Disruption.

Lucas did not need to annihilate them.

He needed to break their synchronization.

He mounted again and looked toward the distant mouth of the valley.