Chapter 7 A Mind That Isn’t Mine

Rhen kept walking down the dusty road, fists clenched at his sides. "Aldric, move up here. I need to talk this through."

The undead second appeared beside him moments later, matching his stride without a sound. "Already here, Captain. What’s on your mind?"

Rhen glanced sideways. The road stretched empty ahead, but he still kept his voice low. "When we get closer to the outer patrols, I’ll go in alone. You keep the legion hidden in the western woods. No movement during daylight. I’ll say I escaped the raider ambush after three days of fighting through their lines. Lost everyone else."

Aldric nodded slowly. "Solid story. They’ll want details though. Names. How you survived when no one else did."

"I’ll give them enough," Rhen muttered. A new plan unfolded in his head, crisp and complete. He would contact General Cavan first. Feed him a version of events that painted the border defeat as overwhelming enemy numbers, not internal betrayal. Use the old man’s sense of duty to get access to records. Then identify the ones who gave the real orders. Simple. Efficient.

He hadn’t even finished thinking it through. The strategy sat there fully formed, like it had been dropped into his skull.

"Wait," Rhen said, slowing. "That’s... good. Too good."

Aldric tilted his head. "You always think three steps ahead, Captain. Contacting Cavan makes sense. He’s not fully trusted by the inner circle. He’ll listen."

Rhen stopped walking entirely. "I didn’t say anything about Cavan out loud."

"You didn’t need to," Aldric replied calmly. "We’ve followed your strategies for years. This one fits."

Rhen stared at him. Another idea surfaced, sharp and tactical: slip into the capital at night, use the survivor’s hero status to gain quick audience with the king’s advisors, plant seeds of doubt about border command. Again, fully formed. Ready to use.

"Stop," Rhen whispered. He pressed two fingers to his temple. "These thoughts... they’re coming too fast. Too clean."

Aldric watched him with those steady, cloudy eyes. "You’re tired, Captain. The blood field took a lot from all of us. But your mind is still sharp. Sharper, even. That plan about using the hero narrative to get close to the advisors? It’s smart. They’ll eat it up."

Rhen hadn’t voiced that one either.

He turned away and started walking again, faster now. "Fall back a bit. I need to think alone."

Aldric dropped back without argument, but Rhen could still feel him there, watching. The new territory sense pulsed faintly. He could feel the legion behind him like a dark tide, waiting.

Another strategy bloomed suddenly: map the royal court’s weaknesses by observing who visits the survivor’s quarters first. Identify the nervous ones. The ones who ask too many questions. Brilliant. Ruthless. Perfect for infiltration.

Rhen shook his head hard. "This isn’t how I plan. I chew on things. I weigh risks. These ideas just... arrive."

He deliberately planted a false plan in his head. Something stupid. He pictured himself marching straight to the capital gates with Aldric at his side, revealing the undead legion immediately as proof of the ritual. Demanding answers in front of everyone. A suicidal move. Obvious trap.

He held the false plan clearly in his thoughts, focusing on it.

Aldric spoke up from a few paces back. "Captain, marching in openly with me at your side would be risky. But if that’s what you want, we can adjust. The legion can be ready in hours. We’ll support whatever decision you make."

Rhen’s blood turned cold. He hadn’t said a word.

He spun around. "Aldric. Look at me."

His second stopped, face calm and attentive.

"I never said that plan out loud," Rhen said slowly. "I didn’t even speak it. How did you know?"

Aldric’s expression didn’t change. "You’re the Captain. We know what you need. We’re here to help carry the weight."

Rhen took a step closer, voice dropping dangerously. "What exactly are you?"

"Your second," Aldric answered without hesitation. "Your brother in arms. Still."

Rhen searched the dead man’s face. For a moment he saw the old Aldric, the one who used to slap his back after a hard fight and share sour wine. But underneath it, something else watched. Patient. Collective.

He turned away again, heart pounding. The strategies kept coming, each one more refined than the last. Ways to lie convincingly. Ways to turn the kingdom’s own system against it. All of them perfect.

Too perfect.

Rhen kept walking toward the kingdom, jaw tight. He didn’t dare test another false plan. Not yet.

Something inside his legion was listening.