Chapter 6 · The Supply Line Under Ice

"Those guards are conscripts." Virrak's breath clouded between us. "They won't die for Ironvow's grain."

I crouched beside him on the ridge, squinting at the convoy crawling across the frozen river below. Three wagons. Eight guards, maybe ten. The numbers floated above their heads like always—morale scores so low they might as well be walking corpses.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "We need what's in those wagons."

"Then we take it." He started to move.

I grabbed his wrist. "Wait."

He froze. Looked at my hand, then at me. "You see something I don't?"

I saw plenty. Supply value: high. Guard resistance: minimal. Terrain advantage: ours. It was a perfect ambush, the kind of setup that would've made my old dev team cheer. Clean math. Easy win.

Except the morale scores kept dropping. Not because the guards were scared. Because they were starving.

"They're not getting fed," I said.

"Good. Makes them slow."

"Makes them desperate." I let go of his wrist. "Look at the spacing. They're bunched too tight. If we hit them, they'll scatter, and we'll spend half the night chasing down survivors in the dark."

Virrak grunted. "So we kill them fast.