Page 153 of Warlord's Plaything

Thinks he’s the mind behind the war.

But this—this is what I was made for.

Infiltration. Misdirection. Chaos.

The fire before the fucking wildfire.

The orcs are restless.

Good.

They should be.

They are the kind of creatures that do not sit idle for long.

They hunger.

For battle. For blood. For conquest.

And Kaelith?

He thinks he controls them. That they are his to command. He has no fucking idea what kind of monster he’s feeding.

But he will.

Very, very soon.

I keep to the shadows, my body moving like liquid between the campfires, slipping past drunken soldiers, past war drums beating in slow, steady rhythms.

The tension is thick.

The orcs are already on edge.

Something feels wrong in their ranks.

They just don’t know it yet.

But they will.

I am about to make sure of it.

I reach the first of the war chiefs’ tents.

It’s easy.

Too easy.

The guards are sloppy.

Too much trust.

Too much arrogance.

They think Kaelith has given them power.

That he has made them untouchable.

Fucking fools.

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