Steel did not fall.
Not yet.
Ser Roderic Bolton's raised hand lingered in the cold air, holding his soldiers in place.
Watching.
Measuring.
Corvyn stood unmoving at the center of the tightening circle.
Nightfeather rested low at his side.
Ready.
Waiting.
Ser Halric leaned slightly toward him.
"If you have a plan," the knight muttered, "now would be a good time."
Corvyn's eyes never left Roderic.
"I do."
Halric exhaled.
"That's comforting."
Roderic tilted his head slightly.
"You are calm for a man about to die."
Corvyn answered evenly.
"You talk too much for a man who thinks he has already won."
A faint ripple of tension moved through the Bolton ranks.
Roderic smiled.
"I admire it," he said. "Truly. Courage… or stubbornness."
Corvyn said nothing.
Above them, the raven cried again.
Louder this time.
Sharper.
Roderic's eyes flicked upward briefly.
A small mistake.
Corvyn moved.
"Now."
The word cut through the forest like a blade.
And the world answered.
From beyond the Bolton lines—
Arrows fell.
Not a few.
Hundreds.
A storm of black-fletched shafts tore through the trees, crashing into the Bolton soldiers from behind.
Men shouted.
Formations broke instantly.
Confusion spread like fire.
"What—?!"
"Archers!"
"They're behind us!"
Corvyn surged forward.
Nightfeather flashed in a deadly arc as he cut down the nearest soldier.
"Break through!" he shouted.
The Ravaryn men moved as one.
The circle shattered from within.
Ser Halric roared with savage joy.
"About time!"
He crashed into the nearest Bolton line, his blade smashing through armor and bone.
Outside the trap, shadows moved between the trees.
More riders.
More men.
Ravaryn banners, dark and subtle, emerged from the forest.
Reinforcements.
Corvyn cut his way forward through the chaos.
Bolton soldiers turned in every direction, trying to face an enemy they could not fully see.
The trap had reversed.
Now they were the ones surrounded.
Roderic Bolton's calm expression finally broke.
His eyes sharpened as he took in the battlefield.
"You planned this," he said quietly.
Corvyn stepped toward him, blood staining the snow beneath his boots.
"I learned from my father," he replied.
Roderic's lips curled slightly.
"Yes…"
His hand tightened on his sword.
"I see that."
The two men faced each other as the battle raged around them.
Steel clashed.
Men fell.
The forest burned with violence.
But for a moment—
It narrowed to just them.
Corvyn raised Nightfeather.
Roderic drew his blade.
No words now.
No games.
Only steel.
And the outcome of a hunt that had turned into war.