Author's Note: Hey there. If this chapter seems different to you, it's because it is. I went back and decided to rework portions of my chapters so that they read better. Still, it shouldn't feel too different.

Enjoy.

"Matthew."

The spy corps captain nearly choked on the stalk of straw he was biting down on.

Matthew had been concealing himself in the foliage of a crooked tree since the Emblian forces withdrew from the field. He was ordered, no, he ordered himself, with maintaining a watchful presence over the surrounding woods, to see to that nothing escaped his eye as the Order to tended to the wounded. If one were to see him now, they would see nothing but a twisted patch of branches and leaves. But a careful eye would be able make out the moon's faint shimmer that glinted off two hawk-like eyes hiding in the darkness.

It was not everyday someone found him on his nightly posts, let alone call out to him. There were a select few among the Heroes who knew his force of habit though, and once he realized who it was, Matthew retreated from the darkness of the trees and into the torchlight.

He slipped down silently from his hiding place and landed on his feet as lightly as a prowling panther on the hunt, barely making a sound. Sweeping his red cloak to the side, he bent his knee and bowed his head.

"Lord Hector."

The armored general nodded in response as the rogue rose from his greeting. The man's normally carefree demeanor was overshadowed by a dark presence looming in his eyes. The woods were dark but with his trained eye, Matthew could make out the forlorn look that held the general captive. The last time Hector bore such a face was when during the Grand Funeral after the failed siege at Vaskrheim, when Lord Eliwood perished on the battlefield.

Such bitter reminisces left an awful taste in Matthew's mouth; it was a feeling he knew all too well.

Matthew's beloved Leila was torn away from him many moons before. He remembered the feeling of the world came crashing down upon him, how lost and crushed he felt, and how long it took for him to get his act together. Even now, when his mind would wander back to those dark times, the vindictive voice that resided in his heart whispering out to him, urging him to hunt down those who wronged him, telling him to carve a bloody path of vengeance, to make things "right".

It was Genny who became his voice of light during those hours, keeping him tethered to reality, making sure that he didn't give in to the intoxicating allure of the voice in his heart. It was thanks to her that he did not become any more of a captive to his loss.

He was no stranger to loss but it did not make it easier.

Lord Hector was different.

"How are things looking, Matthew?" Hector asked, voice hoarse. Upon closer inspection, Matthew could see the heavy bags that had begun to form beneath the man's eyes. It seemed the general found no rest, despite it being days since the battle. He decided that he would keep his answers short, for his master's, and friend's, sake.

"Not good." The spy said, removing the stalk of straw he had been chewing on with a bandaged hand. "While our stronghold here managed to fend off the attack with little losses, other battalions were not so lucky."

The general nodded, his movements small but Matthew's eye was able to see the deeper reasons beyond such simple gestures. Hector had already anticipated what he was going to say in response and was visibly beating himself up over what had happened. Matthew knew that he was taking the losses quite harshly. The general used to pride himself on suffering not a single casualty on the battlefield under his command back in their old world but since his promotion here as the commander of the Order's 1st Infantry Division and 4th Armor Battalion, he was in for a rude awakening.

The man, as much of a war machine as he was, could only be on one battlefield at a time. As much as he would have like to be with all his soldiers at once, there was only so much Hector, the Ostian general, could do.

"Your troops will die." Matthew recalled the blue-haired prince reprimanding the knight. "It is an undesirable result but a harsh reality we must come to terms with. Men and women alike will fall on the battlefield no matter how hard we try. But it's up to leaders like you and I bring as many as we can back, back to their homes, back to their families. Back to their lives."

The general had no response of course.

The prince said one more thing before he left back for the front that day.

"Accept what you cannot do. Only then can you see all that you can."

The words must have resonated with the knight. While quite a lot of other generals and strategists hanged back behind the frontlines to carry out their tasks, Hector took it upon himself to lead his troops to battle, fighting and bleeding alongside every man in his battalion until the battle was to be won. Many called him foolish and brash, subjecting himself only to a fool's errand. One general was worth entire companies of troops they protested. He was not worth losing just to save another soldier in his brigade. But Hector would have none of it. At every battle, it would not take a master marksman to find a blue-armored behemoth that cleaved his way through enemy lines if it meant safe passage for his troops.

And numbers and statistics only strengthened Hector's stance. Even Prince and Princess Sharena's own numbers paled in comparison to the general's. Commander Anna was, to nobody's surprise, shocked as well. Units under his direct command suffered the least number of casualties of any other squadron in the Order's army. Hector was making sure of that by placing himself in harm's way for the sake of his troops.

Until now, that is.

"While you were leading the forward strike force," Matthew added, tossing the straw to the ground before stamping it out, "the 4th Armored Battalion was tasked with the defense of the Front Gate."

The Front Gate was a magnificent arch that lead towards the capital of Askr, hand-sculpted from every brick and piece that lined its giant figure. It was also a mural, lined with busts and figures of heroes and legends from long ages past. Even though they gave their lives to ensure that peace and prosperity would find their home their mounted visages only bore further witness to countless deaths and bloodshed. The Front Gate was also the first line of defense that was in line towards the capital. As such, it was normally the area that was hit the hardest by the invaders and was usually stationed with the most battle-ready battalion that would be able to fight and react at a moment's notice. Of any invading conflict, the most lives would be lost here.

"What news do they bring?" Hector immediately asked, his eyes, and perchance his soul, begging for any semblance of good news. "Has Amelia written back to us yet? Draug?"

Matthew knew he had to dash away the glimmer of hope that remained in his friend's eyes.

"They've been wiped out. All seventy-five armored soldiers, down to the last knight."

Hector said nothing as he turned away from the spy. Matthew knew better than to stare so he gave the knight some space. To a man who treated the battalion like family, the weight of all their deaths must have been immense. Hector knew the name and face of every solider in that battalion. After all, he led them singlehandedly against countless odds and prevailed together time and time again. Now, they were gone, snuffed out like candles in a storm. Matthew grimaced at the thought of having to deliver the news of the deaths to the families that awaited their return. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters that would here that their loved ones perished. It was a tough responsibility, and that responsibility lied with Lord Hector. Matthew could only wonder what sort of thoughts swirled around in the general's mind.

"Did the Gate fall?" Was all that the general asked. He didn't turn around.

Matthew reflexively shook his head. "No. The knights protected it down to the last man."

Hector stood silently. Matthew could see his hands curl into fists, a slight tremor in the general's mien.

"How did it happen?"

Matthew let out a strained sigh. The tough part was now coming.

"How did…" Hector began, a slight stutter in his normally unwavering voice. "How did they die?"

Matthew was quiet for a moment. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts and organize the intel he dug up.

"The Emblian forces have been changing their strategy lately." Matthew reported. There would be time for eulogies later. Now, it was back to business, a place where one could not afford to be emotional. "Their previous strategies of using shock cavalry proved to be ineffective against the armored knights that held the forward vanguard along the front line. Mounted riders, no matter how many, could not break through the entrenched armored line. And whenever they tried, Emblian riders suffered heavy casualties. Physical attacks were repelled with ease."

"So, what was different this time?"

Matthew brushed the right corner of his lip with a thumb, furrowing his eyebrows. "The entire attack was a feint, designed to make us unprepared for what they threw at us next. Something that armored troops are nearly incapable of fighting against."

Hector turned around, his face grim. "Mage riders?"

Matthew nodded. "A whole brigade of them. My sources had claimed that Embla has appointed a new lead tactician to manage their shock cavalry brigade but I didn't think that they would use this battle as a testing ground for their brigade's capabilities."

"Who's leading the mage riders?"

"One whose skill in magic on horseback is unmatched. He wields the Dire Thunder tome, decimating whatever stands in his path. He's scored victories against us since our losses back in the Gates of Archanaea. Those victories must've netted him with such a promotion."

"I remember him." Hector muttered under his breath. "A terrifying lighting mage. The few soldiers that survived their encounters with him say the Emblians praise him as Thunder's Fist."

"This 'Thunder's Fist' and his mage cavalry brigade were behind the attack at the Front Gate." Matthew added. "I'm sure you knew where the rest of the shock riders were to attack."

Hector nodded. "We saw them on the field back here. It wasn't their full force but they were quite formidable. It seems that this tactician bolstered their training by miles."

Matthew tilted his head in confusion towards the general. "You 'saw?'" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, you didn't face them head on?"

"There was no need." Hector replied, pausing. "HE was there."

Matthew stopped in his verbal tracks, his eyes gone wide. "The rumors were true. I didn't believe it at first. The Scourge really has returned. I thought he was gone for good this time after his confrontation with the leaders of the Order."

An unavoidable silence seeped in. The Scourge was a sore topic to the many soldiers of the Order but also one that was not to be carelessly tossed around like rubbish, in spite of their personal reservations. The infamous lancer was the only hero among the many that populated Askr that was not summoned in by their tactician Kiran. In fact, he wandered into the capital, slipping past the Front Gate's sentries and the capital guard, in his tattered cape and armor and that fearsome lance of his. Soldiers took turns often guessing how he ended up in the land of Zenith. Some say he is a vengeful spirit that transcended into a physical body. Others say that, given his original appearance, he was a wanderer, drifting from place to place until he found himself in Askr. Whatever the reason, people to this day, even Kiran himself, regard the Scourge as an enigma, a mystery with no answer.

It also did not help that the Scourge had an incredibly tainted track record once recognized by historians. Princess Sharena told Matthew that Genny was the first one to find out the identity of the mysterious hero. Once known and praised as the Restoration Lord of the distant land of Magvel, he was now reduced to the Scourge of Renais, a nomadic berserker of a man that was directly responsible for the death of his beloved twin sister who was greatly revered in life and death. While Matthew spent barely any time in the Askrian library, he picked up enough scattered pieces of information to find out that the damned man basically killed his sister with the very lance he arrived in Askr with.

In spite of the reputation he carried, the Scourge gave himself up to the Order without any resistance. Given his reputed strength, he probably could have leveled the entire capital on his own but he didn't. He was locked up for a while in the holding cells before the council leaders decided what to do with him.

The Scourge was indeed a man of monstrous strength, his stories and abilities were proof of that. But he was also greatly feared, feared in a way no hero should be. While a great asset to the Order's ranks, he also posed as a threat to it. Should he turn his back on them, the entire Order could potentially crumble from within.

Yet they couldn't simply execute him or exile him for who he was. The man while a monster from his world has committed no crimes towards Askr and her people. He showed that he was capable of thought when he chose not to resist arrest.

So, many leaders of the Order suggested that they were to hire him and have him fight for them on one condition. By their suggestion, the Scourge was to be placed in a unit that held only one member: himself. Unceremoniously dubbed the Spear's Head, the unit was to be sent on the hardest, nearly suicidal, missions against Askr's enemies.

It was killing two birds with one stone. If the Scourge died, the Order would rid itself of the powder keg that was the Scourge. But if the Scourge succeeded, his success would still be a victory for Askr.

Thus, the lone wanderer was permitted to fight for their side.

Alfonse, Kiran, and even Hector, despite knowing the bloody history behind the Scourge, were adamantly against this sort of treatment, saying that if he were to be enlisted in their ranks as a hero, he was to be treated with the proper respect of one; he wasn't to be treated as the Order's lapdog.

Their protests went unheard but the Scourge didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he paid no attention to anything but the assignments he received, despite the dangers they all heralded. And none dared to approach him. Even Matthew advised himself not to snoop on the lancer for his own sake.

"I never doubted in the man's skill." Hector said, recalling the battle. "But I have never seen such… terrifying power."

Matthew could see the genuine look of shock on Hector's face. In the long, long time he knew the young lord, Matthew knew it took quite a lot to shake the man behind the armor. If he found something to be terrifying, then it was a force truly to be reckoned with. The Scourge sure lived up to his reputation.

"I heard that one of your men in the strike force was injured," Matthew said, changing the subject. "Was it the new recruit?"

Hector nodded. "He hasn't even said his Vows yet but yes Marth was our only casualty. Poor lad fought hard with us but was almost run down by the riders before being saved by—"

Matthew was dumbfounded. "You're saying the Scourge rescued Marth?"

Today was just a day full of surprises after another. "Why would he do something like that? Why would he risk his own hide to save the life of some new recruit?"

Hector shrugged. "The man's still a mystery like always. After the battle, we didn't even get a chance to ask. He just vanished. Even Jeorge couldn't see where he had gone."

Impressive.

"Is he okay? Marth?"

Hector nodded. "Genny thankfully was available amidst the mess and is on duty, keeping a close eye. He's in good hands."

"Can't really say that about the rest of us…"

Matthew sighed worried for what was to come. If they were to lose further soldiers in this dire time, it would spell trouble for the already weakened Askr. With the 4th Armored Division gone and the other units scattered and in poor shape, another invasion of this magnitude would spell the end of the Order.

If Askr wanted to win this war, they would have to use everything at their disposal and strike first while Embla was still licking its wounds. If Askr hesitated, it would signal a sign of weakness to their adversaries. Another attack would be mounted on Askr and Matthew knew Hector was aware of this fact as well.

Askr would have to move first but gauging the Order's forces right now, an invasion would be close to impossible to mount. They would have to resort something more discreet and devious. It wasn't the type of fighting the Order or Hector would like. It was work suited for the Scourge but since he wasn't around clamoring for work to do, that sort of dirty work would fall to the spymaster.

That blood would be spilled by the spymaster.

"My lord." Matthew said, suddenly kneeling before the general, to the knight's surprise. "If you would."

Hector was confused by this sudden act. "Would what, Matthew? What is the meaning of this?"

"I have an idea that I would like to carry out," Matthew started to say, "and I would like to receive your permission."

"What are you talking about Matthew?"

He doubled down. "Permit me to take several of my most trusted men in my division to follow me on what I'm about to do."

Hector's face darkened. "Matthew."

Matthew knew that Hector had begun to catch onto what the spy was getting at. He knew that the general would be against it. The Council, if they found out what Matthew was about to do, would also be against it. But the Order had little available options right now, and Matthew knew that. Hector too should have been aware of that more than anyone else.

Matthew took a deep breath.

This was his chance.

"Let me avenge our fallen brothers and sisters here and I vow to you"

"…"

"I will bring us the head of whom they call Thunder's Fist."

(A/N): This chapter has been edited recently for easier reading.