The Blue Stripes had struck just before dawn, steel and fire crashing down upon the Nilfgaardian supply convoy like a thunderclap. Ves moved through the aftermath with practiced calm, wiping blood from her blade as the sun began to rise over scorched fields. One of the men found a satchel—Temerian grain, Farbanks minted silver—and then another called out about a village, just down the road, smoke still rising.

They found it blackened and quiet. Doors broken in. Bodies.

Ves pushed open a half-collapsed door with her boot. Inside, the stink of ash and blood clung thick in the air. She stepped over a fallen beam, gaze narrowing as she spotted the glint of armor—wrong shape, wrong colors. Not Nilfgaardian... That peaked her curiousity.

She cautiously crouched beside him, pulling out her dagger and lightly poking his chestplate, to check if he was alive.