Roderic Bolton came forward again.
Bleeding.
But unbroken.
His boots crushed the blood-stained snow with each step, his sword still steady despite the wound at his side.
Corvyn did not move.
Nightfeather rested in his hand.
Waiting.
Watching.
Around them, the battle was ending.
Bolton soldiers were falling back.
Some fled.
Most did not get the chance.
But none of it mattered now.
Only this.
Only him.
Roderic raised his blade.
"No more games," he said quietly.
Corvyn answered with silence.
Roderic attacked.
A direct strike.
Heavy.
Desperate.
Corvyn met it cleanly.
Steel rang.
The force of the blow shuddered through his arm, but he held firm.
Roderic pressed again.
Faster now.
Less controlled.
The wound was weakening him.
But it also made him dangerous.
Unpredictable.
Corvyn stepped back once—
Then forward.
Closing the distance.
Nightfeather snapped upward, deflecting Roderic's blade aside.
Their bodies collided.
Close.
Too close for wide strikes.
Roderic reacted instantly, driving his shoulder forward to break Corvyn's balance.
Corvyn staggered half a step.
Just enough.
Roderic swung again.
A killing blow.
Corvyn turned sharply.
The blade missed his neck by inches.
And in that opening—
Corvyn struck.
Not wide.
Not wild.
Precise.
Nightfeather drove forward.
Straight.
Clean.
Through armor.
Through flesh.
Through the space between breaths.
Roderic froze.
His sword slipped from his hand.
A quiet sound escaped him.
Not a scream.
Not a curse.
Just… breath.
Corvyn held the blade there for a moment.
Then pulled it free.
Roderic staggered back.
His knees gave way.
He fell into the snow.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Final.
Snow drifted down around them.
Soft.
Uncaring.
Roderic lay still for a moment, staring up at the grey sky.
Then his eyes shifted.
Finding Corvyn one last time.
"…Ravaryn…" he murmured faintly.
A trace of something—respect, perhaps—passed through his fading gaze.
Then it was gone.
His body went still.
Forever.
Corvyn stood over him.
Breathing steady.
Unmoving.
Nightfeather dark with blood.
Ser Halric approached slowly from behind.
"Well," he said, looking down at the fallen knight,
"that solves one problem."
Corvyn did not respond immediately.
His eyes remained on the body.
Then—
He turned away.
"Five camps," he said quietly.
Halric blinked.
"You're still thinking about that?"
Corvyn looked toward the forest.
The battle was over.
But the war…
Had only just begun.
"This changes nothing," he said.
Halric gave a slow grin.
"Good."
He lifted his sword onto his shoulder.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Behind them, the men of Ravenhold gathered.
Victorious.
Bloodied.
Alive.
Corvyn stepped forward into the trees once more.
The Wolfswood awaited.
And somewhere within it…
The rest of the war waited too.