Night came for the second time over the plains of Calais.

The once-proud knights of Europa were currently huddled together around small campfires.

Every time they closed their eyes, their minds tortured them with the images of their friends dying beneath the rain of jagged iron, or being blown to ashes by the devil’s clay hidden beneath the ground.

"Cough, cough~" A sick voice echoed throughout the camp, followed by the voices of many sick warriors.

A lot of people were sick. Many more were severely wounded from the shrapnel.

"Listen to them out there, Odo," Lothair muttered, gesturing toward the canvas walls. "Half the men are coughing up their lungs from the smoke, and the other half are too terrified to even drop their swords to sleep. The morale of this army is completely broken. If we order them to march on those walls tomorrow, they will drop their banners and run."

Duke Odo gritted his teeth, "We cannot just sit here and freeze. We cannot just turn around and march home! The Pope will excommunicate us, and the kings will strip us of our lands! We have to find a way to cut the head off this Northern snake."

"How?" Lothair snapped, his patience entirely gone.

Odo slammed his fist onto the table.

"We try one last time!" Odo hissed, leaning forward. "No armies. No ladders. No marching in the dark. We send one man. The best we have. An assassin."

Lothair stopped raised an eyebrow. "An assassin?"

"Yes," Odo nodded quickly, "We have Gaston. He is the lightest, fastest, and most silent killer in the Parisian guild. If he can just sneak over that wall and slit the throat of their scarred Commander, the Northern army will fall into chaos. Without their leader, their discipline will break!"

Lothair let out a long sigh, looking down at his wounded arm. He knew it was a fool’s hope, but it was literally the only option they had left.

"Fine," Lothair agreed, "Send Gaston. But Odo, hear me well. If this assassin fails, we are finished. If he does not return by sunrise, we will write a letter, and we will send our fastest messenger directly to the Emperor. We will tell him exactly what happened here, and we will ask him what we should do. Because I refuse to watch the rest of my knights die in the mud for your pride."

Duke Odo swallowed hard, "Agreed. If Gaston fails... we send for the Emperor."

Up on the towering stone battlements. Bjorn walked slowly along the broad stone walkway.

"Commander!" a cheerful voice called out.

"We brought you dinner, Bjorn!" Erik laughed. "Hot venison stew and fresh bread! The local bakers love us. I think they might actually want to make you the new mayor!"

Bjorn chuckled, taking a bowl of the rich stew from Julian’s tray. "Thank you, It has been a long day."

"I am not tired at all." Julian said.

Bjorn took a bite of the hot stew, letting the warmth spread through his chest.

...

Two hours after midnight, the winds picked up, howling loudly from the ocean, and muffled any small sounds around the castle.

Gaston, the elite Parisian assassin, moved through the darkness. He had left his heavy swords behind, carrying only a pair of poisoned daggers strapped to his thighs.

He had crept across the open plains, entirely avoiding the shallow pits holding the explosive clay jars.

Gaston reached the base of the massive stone wall. He pulled a grappling hook from his belt.

The iron prongs were thickly wrapped in soft leather, ensuring they would not make a single clink when they caught the stone ledge above.

With a smooth throw, Gaston swung the rope and released the hook. It sailed upward through the darkness and caught securely on the edge of the battlements.

He pulled the rope tight, testing the weight.

Gaston scaled the towering stone wall. He moved quickly and silently, slipping through the shadows between the bright hanging lanterns.

He reached the top of the wall. He carefully pulled himself over the cold stone ledge, drawing his two poisoned daggers.

He landed on the wooden walkway, rolling forward into a crouch, ready to instantly strike down the first Northern guard he saw.

He hadn’t landed in a quiet, unguarded section of the wall. He hadn’t slipped past the sentries. Instead, he had landed directly in the center of a well-lit balcony area.

Sitting around a small, sturdy table were Commander Bjorn, King Erik, and Julian.

All three of them had stopped moving. They were staring directly at the assassin, who was currently crouched on the floor with his daggers drawn, looking absolutely ridiculous.

"Well," King Erik spoke, "I told you someone would try to climb up here eventually."

Gaston lunged forward, thrusting his poisoned dagger toward Bjorn’s chest.

The commander simply reached out with reflexes. His hand clamped around Gaston’s wrist.

With a twist, Bjorn applied pressure. Gaston yelped in pain, dropping the dagger to the floor.

Before the assassin could react with his other hand, Erik stood up, tapped the blade of his iron axe against the side of Gaston’s head.

"I wouldn’t do that," Erik chuckled.

Bjorn yanked Gaston forward, disarming his second dagger and tossing the assassin onto his back on the stone floor.

Julian quickly grabbed a length of hemp rope and tied Gaston’s hands behind his back.

The entire legendary assassination attempt had lasted less than ten seconds...

Bjorn picked up the poisoned daggers, inspecting the green liquid dripping from the blades.

"You Franks truly never learn, do you?" Bjorn sighed softly, tossing the deadly daggers over the side of the wall and into the dark moat below.

Bjorn walked over to the edge of the battlements and looked out toward the distant camp of the Holy Order.

"Julian," Bjorn said,.

"Yes, Commander?" the young boy answered quickly.

"Take our new guest down to the holding cells and make sure he is fed. Then, inform the sentries to keep a very close eye on the southern plains tomorrow morning," Bjorn instructed, a satisfied smile touching his lips.

"Are we expecting another attack, Commander?" Julian asked, hauling Gaston to his feet.