The war councils in Grimo's camp were no longer grim; they were frenzied. I felt the tension in Kutsilyo thicken like heavy smoke, a direct result of the stage I'd set. Feron, my secret agent, fed us every morsel of Grimo's increasingly desperate plans through the pre-arranged dead drops. His reports spoke of Grimo's paranoia, how he was screaming at his men, suspecting spies everywhere, accusing anyone who looked sideways at him. This was exactly what I wanted.
"Grimo suspects betrayal in his ranks," Lindsy relayed one morning, her voice almost gleeful. She had just returned from a daring infiltration of Grimo's new staging area at the old mill. "He caught one of his own men trying to 'borrow' some extra rations. Beat him half to death, accused him of being a mercenary spy. Morale is terrible."
Excellent. "And the mercenaries?" I asked, looking at Miles. He'd been discreetly observing Captain Valerius's movements near the lake stronghold.
"Valerius is fortifying," Miles replied, his brow furrowed. "More traps along the paths leading to the lake, deeper trenches, and they've started training their new recruits constantly. They're ready for a full assault, and they look like they're itching for it."
My plan was working. The constant harassment, the disappearing supplies, the subtly planted rumors—all of it had convinced both sides that the other was escalating. Now, it was time for the small skirmishes to ignite the true blaze.
The first real clash came swiftly, almost casually, on a market day. I was observing from a rooftop with Asuna, watching the uneasy truce between the factions. A handful of Grimo's bandits, probably bored and looking for trouble, tried to shake down a merchant who was selling fish near the edge of the mercenary-controlled territory by the lake.
"Hand over your catch, old man!" one bandit sneered, his hand already reaching for the basket.
Suddenly, a group of Valerius's mercenaries appeared from a side alley, their polished armor glinting in the weak morning sun. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running through his eyebrow, stepped forward. "This territory is under our protection, bandit. Move along."
"Protection, eh?" the bandit leader retorted, drawing a crude dagger. "Looks more like you're trying to steal from Grimo's territory!"
The mercenary scoffed. "Grimo's territory is wherever he can keep a lid on his own pathetic men. This is our lake, and our market."
The words escalated quickly, insults turning to shoves, and then to a flash of steel. I saw the first mercenary draw his sword, a professional glint in his eye. The bandit, surprised by the swiftness, lunged with his dagger. It was chaos in miniature. Shouts, screams from villagers caught in the crossfire, the clang of metal. Asuna tensed beside me.
"Stay hidden," I commanded, my voice flat. My eyes darted around, assessing the situation. This was the spark. I needed to ensure it became a raging fire.
Miles, disguised as a common villager, was already moving through the crowd, helping terrified families scatter. He subtly nudged a few panicking individuals towards the main thoroughfare, where more mercenary patrols were likely to be. Lindsy, a ghost, was already close to the skirmish, ready to plant more "evidence" if needed, small trinkets or symbols unique to the mercenaries near any wounded bandit.
The clash lasted only minutes, but it was brutal. Two bandits were cut down, one mercenary had a nasty gash on his arm. The rest scattered, fleeing into their respective territories. The market, moments ago a place of wary commerce, was now stained with blood.
Later that day, Grimo retaliated. A small group of his men ambushed a solitary mercenary patrol near the village well. Two mercenaries were injured, their equipment looted. The cycle had begun.
"It's a pattern now," Stanley observed, his voice still weak but his mind sharp, from his cot in the hidden base. "Grimo attacks, Valerius retaliates. Each side feels justified, each hit makes them angrier, more convinced the other is acting with hostile intent. It's a perfect feedback loop for war."
I nodded, watching Elara gently change Stanley's bandages. "That's the objective. We don't want them to think about us. We want them consumed by each other."
The skirmishes grew in frequency and intensity. Bandit raiding parties would intentionally stray into mercenary-claimed fishing spots by the lake, leading to armed confrontations. Mercenary patrols would "accidentally" wander too far into bandit-controlled streets, sparking bloody brawls. Both sides started sending out larger, more heavily armed patrols, hoping to deter the other, but only succeeding in guaranteeing more frequent and more violent encounters. The villagers, caught between these two warring factions, lived in constant fear. They learned to identify the uniforms, the colors, the insignias, trying to predict where the next fight would erupt. Their lives became an endless game of dodging blows and seeking fleeting moments of safety.
Rai, Gus, and Kira, along with our other recruits, proved invaluable during these escalating clashes. While the bandits and mercenaries fought, the Kutsilyo Shadows operated in the quiet spaces between. They would swiftly rescue villagers caught in the crossfire, providing first aid with Elara's training, and guiding them to temporary shelters we had prepared. They would also subtly tip the scales when needed. If a bandit patrol was about to be completely routed, we'd create a diversion to allow some to escape, ensuring Grimo's forces weren't annihilated too early. If mercenaries were getting too cocky, we'd ensure a minor setback for them. It was a careful dance, ensuring neither side gained a decisive upper hand, only enough to fuel their mutual hatred.
Feron's reports became more detailed, more frequent. "Grimo is furious. He's called Valerius a coward and a thief to his face. He's openly talking about wiping them out once and for all."
And then, the breaking point.
A large mercenary scouting party, returning from a perimeter check, stumbled upon a bandit camp – not Grimo's, but one of the smaller, allied bandit groups. The bandits had been celebrating a minor score, their guards lax, their fires burning brightly. The mercenaries, seeing an easy target and still seething from Grimo's constant provocations, launched a full assault. It was a massacre. The entire bandit camp was annihilated.
The news ripped through Kutsilyo like a wildfire. Grimo went ballistic. He gathered all his remaining forces, along with the remnants of the decimated allied bandit group. His roars could be heard across the village. "They have declared war! Open war! No more skirmishes! No more hiding! We will crush them! We will drive the mercenary scum into the lake and take back Kutsilyo!"
Captain Valerius, receiving reports of Grimo's open declaration, did not back down. He ordered his men to prepare for an all-out defense, fortifying their stronghold, sharpening every blade, stringing every bow.
The village fell silent, save for the ominous sounds of preparations. Hammers pounded, steel scraped, men shouted orders, their voices raw with anticipation. I stood in our hidden shack, the glow of a crude map spread before me, marking key positions. The skirmishes were over. The long-awaited, bloody confrontation was upon us. Grimo and Valerius were about to unleash hell on each other, a direct result of my careful, relentless manipulation. This was the moment I had waited for, the crucible from which Kutsilyo would either be reforged or utterly destroyed. My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever. The grand preparation for an all-out war had begun, and the Kutsilyo Shadows stood poised, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver the decisive blow.