The rhythm of battle echoed faintly in the distance, a constant hum of chaos and bloodshed. But far from the frontlines, on the less fortified side of the northern fortress, a different kind of tension brewed. Here, the flickering wooden torches barely pierced the darkness, their dim light casting long, wavering shadows across the cold stone walls. The jagged rocks that jutted out from the fortress base made this side a poor battleground, but it still required vigilance—any weakness could be exploited.

  Atop this quieter section of the wall, a handful of guards paced back and forth, their eyes scanning the horizon with wary determination. The distant sounds of clashing steel and barbarian war cries weighed heavily on their minds, casting a shadow of unease over their otherwise routine patrol.

  Two guards moved slowly along the ramparts, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Their armor clinked softly with each step, the noise barely audible over the faint echoes of the battle raging on the other side of the fortress.

  “Do you think they’ll break through the front?” one of them murmured, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm of this side of the wall.

  The other guard, slightly older with a scar running across his jaw, shook his head but didn’t stop scanning the darkness. “General Zhang won’t let that happen. But…” He trailed off, his gaze lingering on the distant flickers of light from the frontline. “It’s not the front I’m worried about.”

  The younger guard frowned, gripping his spear a little tighter. “You think they’ll try something here?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” the older guard replied, his voice grim. “It’s quiet here. Too quiet.”

  Their conversation was brief, but the tension in their voices mirrored the unease shared by every man on that wall. The guards moved on, their eyes darting to every shadow, every rustle in the wind, knowing that even a moment's lapse could mean death.

  Unbeknownst to them, danger was already creeping closer.

  Far beyond the visible range of the fortress, a group of figures blended seamlessly into the snow-covered landscape. Their bodies were wrapped tightly in white furs and cloaks dusted with frost, their faces obscured by cloth to match the icy surroundings. The bitter cold that gnawed at the exposed skin of the fortress guards seemed to have no effect on them; they moved with a quiet, practiced efficiency, as if they were part of the very winter itself.

  At the center of this silent group stood their leader—a man in his late forties, his face weathered and hardened by years of similar missions. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the fortress walls with the keen precision of a predator sizing up its prey. A few streaks of gray ran through his dark beard, but his movements held the confidence of a man who had done this too many times to count.

  He raised a gloved hand, signaling his squad to halt. The snow crunched softly beneath their boots as they came to a stop, crouching low to stay hidden in the undulating terrain. The leader’s gaze lingered on the guards pacing the top of the fortress, his mind already mapping out their movements.

  “It seems they’ve placed more guards here than we anticipated,” he muttered, his voice low but firm, carrying the weight of authority. His breath formed small clouds in the cold air, dissipating quickly as he spoke. “But that doesn’t change our mission.”

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  The men around him remained silent, their eyes locked on him, waiting for orders. The leader turned to one of his closest subordinates, a younger man with sharp eyes that gleamed even in the dark.

  “There’s no room for mistakes,” the leader said quietly, his tone leaving no space for argument. “We strike swiftly and silently. Once we’re in, no one leaves that gate alive.”

  The subordinate nodded, his face hidden beneath his hood, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. The leader’s gaze swept across the group one final time, ensuring they understood the gravity of the task ahead.

  Then, without another word, he motioned forward. The group began to move again, slipping through the shadows like phantoms, the weight of their mission pressing heavily against the frozen silence.

  The faint whistle of arrows slicing through the cold night air was nearly drowned out by the distant chaos of battle, but on the quieter side of the fortress, it was unmistakable. Two guards patrolling the ramparts barely had time to register the sound before powerful, precise arrows found their marks—one piercing through the throat of the first guard, the other embedding itself cleanly in the skull of the second. Both men crumpled to the stone floor without a sound, their lifeless bodies sprawled in the growing shadow.

  A third guard, stationed farther down the wall, caught a glimpse of the ambush. His eyes widened in horror, his mouth opening to raise the alarm—but he never got the chance. Another arrow, swift and silent, buried itself in his chest, silencing him instantly. He toppled backward, his body hitting the stone with a dull thud, the noise muffled by the thick blanket of snow.

  From the darkness below, two shadowy figures emerged, scaling the fortress wall with practiced ease. Their grappling hooks caught firmly in the stone, allowing them to ascend swiftly and silently. In mere seconds, they reached the top, moving with the fluid precision of seasoned infiltrators. Without hesitation, they shed their snow-covered furs and slipped into the uniforms of the fallen guards, blending seamlessly into their surroundings.

  Just as they adjusted the last pieces of their stolen armor, two more guards rounded the corner, approaching them with casual familiarity. One of the guards squinted in the dim torchlight, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the crumpled bodies nearby and the discarded white furs littering the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing—” the guard began, his voice sharp with suspicion. But before he could finish, the disguised infiltrators struck with ruthless efficiency. A dagger flashed in the torchlight, slicing cleanly across the first guard's throat. The second guard barely had time to react before an arrow was driven into his eye at point-blank range, dropping him where he stood.

  The infiltrators wasted no time. Working in perfect synchronization, they dragged the bodies to the edge of the wall and tossed them over, the soft crunch of snow below swallowing the sound of their impact. Quickly, they stripped the fresh corpses of their uniforms, handing them to two more members of their group who had climbed up in the meantime.

  Now fully disguised, the infiltrators resumed the patrol as if nothing had happened, their faces calm, their movements indistinguishable from the real guards. The quiet side of the fortress remained undisturbed, but beneath the surface, danger had already seeped in, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from within.

  Thanks to the success of the initial infiltration, more shadowy figures began to slip over the fortress walls under the cover of darkness. Like ghosts in the night, they moved with silent precision, spreading out through the fortress interior. Unlucky patrols that crossed their path were swiftly and efficiently dispatched—silent blades slitting throats or arrows piercing vital points before a sound could escape. The infiltrators stripped the bodies of their uniforms, blending seamlessly into the ranks of the fortress guards.

  The corpses of the fallen were dragged into the shadows, hidden in dark corners behind piles of discarded supplies, crates, and rubbish. Some bodies were hastily concealed, while others were left in places where the chaos of battle would delay their discovery. Each infiltrator, now disguised, moved toward their designated targets, slipping deeper into the fortress like a venom spreading through the body, unnoticed until it was too late.

  Meanwhile, back at the frontlines of the fortress, the battle raged on. The night was alive with the clash of steel, the screams of the dying, and the rhythmic pounding of war drums mixed with the howls of barbarian wolf riders. The cold air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of smoke from burning siege equipment.

  But despite the ferocity of the barbarian assault, their momentum was beginning to wane. The defenders, though battered and bloodied, held their ground with grim determination. Their familiarity with the fortress's defenses gave them a critical advantage. Archers on the walls continued to rain down arrows, while spearmen repelled wave after wave of barbarians attempting to scale the walls with ladders.

  The ground below the fortress was littered with bodies, the snow stained red with the blood of the fallen. Barbarian casualties far outnumbered those of the defenders, and their once-frantic assault began to slow as exhaustion and fear crept into their ranks. The initial fury that had driven them forward was now met with the cold, unyielding resistance of seasoned soldiers who refused to break.

  Still, the defenders knew better than to celebrate. The barbarians were fierce, but their greatest threat might already be within the fortress walls, hidden in plain sight, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from within.