The Fall of Everything [Rewrite]

When Corvus and Belisarius stepped into the campsite, they immediately felt the tension in the air. Anger at Corvus' failed chase intensified as he realized he was facing a new problem. The camp was quiet, but tension permeated every corner. The weak light from the campfires illuminated the tired and wary faces of the soldiers. All the soldiers who had gone on the reconnaissance mission had returned, but something was wrong. Belisarius was curious, but he had to check his carriage. The events of the day had alarmed him.
There was an unusual seriousness in Zarqa's face as he greeted him at the door. The man's eyes reflected the bad news that was coming. As Corvus made his way into the heart of the camp, Zarqa interjected. "A scout team has been attacked," he said, his voice flat and controlled, but with a weight behind it. Corvus quickened his pace, his gaze shifting to the crowd in the camp square. There, tied to a pole, stood a man. He was missing an arm, but he still looked defiant.
Zarqa continued to describe the situation. "A large group attacked. Our men somehow managed to prevail. They even captured their leader." He paused for a moment, took a deep breath.
Scout teams were chosen from skilled men because they had no other choice. They were the men who infiltrated enemy territory in small groups, watched the enemy's movements like shadows, and returned without a trace. Talent was not an option for them, it was the only way to survive. But this group of bandits... to defeat them and take their leader alive would require more than a small scouting party could do.
Corvus fixed his eyes on the man tied to the pole. Despite his defiant gaze, he saw how the man stood there with one arm. There was fatigue in his eyes, but the fire of resistance was not extinguished. In that moment, he began to realize that this man was no ordinary leader, that the threat he faced was immense.
Zarqa continued. "They spotted our guys and both sides chose to fight rather than flee. Some of the bandits managed to escape."Pointing to the man tied to the pole, he said, "This man stayed behind. He seems to have sacrificed himself to buy time for his men who escaped. He says he was the leader."
Corvus quickly reviewed the situation. Capturing the man alive meant a chance to interrogate the enemy, but he realized how dangerous a mission this was. He turned his gaze to Zarqa for a moment and asked, "And are there any casualties on our side?"
A deep sadness appeared on Zarqa's face. Corvus knew what he was about to say before he heard it. "We lost two men," Zarqa said, his voice heavy. "Four wounded, one of them seriously."
This news deepened the pain inside Corvus. He had learned that he had to value the lives of his men above everything else. Each one of them was more than a warrior to him; they were his responsibility. Each man he had lost was like a part of his own body. The anger rising inside him flared like an ember, but it was not idle. It turned into a determination that drove him.
Corvus took another step forward, approached the bandit leader and looked him in the eye. "We are listening to you," he said in a cold voice, "but every minute you do not speak will increase the price you pay."
There was a momentary flicker in the bandit's eyes, but then his defiant gaze returned. Corvus was determined to find out what was behind the man's resistance.
The laws of Rhazgord put the honor of warriors above all else. Killing was forbidden except in duels and wars, and attacking unarmed men was considered a great shame and disgrace. When Corvus learned that the man tied to the pole was from Rhazgord, the anger inside him was ready to erupt like a volcano. But there was not a trace of remorse in the man's eyes. He stared at Corvus, his lips trembling but resolute, "I want to die like a true warrior!" There was an arrogant and commanding tone in his voice, as if he had forgotten all his betrayals and demanded an honorable end.
When these words echoed around the camp, they chilled the blood of everyone there. The surrounding soldiers reacted to this brazenness by clenching their teeth and fists. Everyone had the same thought in their minds, but it was Corvus who voiced it. There was both anger and disappointment in his voice. "You are not a true warrior so you can't die like one!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the camp. "You attacked defenseless merchants! Do you not fear the wrath of the gods! People are hungry because of dogs like you!"
Corvus approached the man tied to the pole step by step, each word sharpening like a sword. "You tell me that you want to die like a true warrior! Is this worthy of a warrior's honor? You are nothing but a dog who has betrayed the gods!" Corvus' eyes met his. The gaze of the entire camp was focused on this confrontation, the soldiers gathered around the pole. Each one of them was like a wild dog trying to break free from its chains. As if on command they were ready to tear the man apart. Corvus's speech only fueled the anger rising in each of them.
At first the bandit seemed to maintain his defiant demeanor, but Corvus' anger and the weight of the truth began to weigh heavily on him. For a moment, regret and deep pain appeared in his eyes. His lips trembled, as if tears were about to fall, but he pulled himself together, biting his lips so as not to appear weak for a moment. The defiant expression on his face was completely gone. The proud demeanor of a few minutes ago was gone, now there was only a broken man. Crushed by his own past, his own actions and their consequences.
And then, suddenly, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Fuck the merchants!" The cry seemed to reach beyond the borders of the camp and almost into the city. Everyone froze. Despair, hatred and pain mingled in the man's voice. It was a revolt, a rebellion. With tears in his eyes and clenched teeth, he continued, his voice now trembling. "The hunger is not because the traders don't come! It's because you and your family don't care! You think the merchants don't come because of me! If bandits were the problem, instead of sending your mercenary armies across the continent, you should have sent them here! Ever since your ancestors united the tribes of Rhazgord to form the kingdom of Rhazgord! War, war and war! You don't know another shit! People are hungry, my family is hungry, but I'm sure Sanguinar's table is always full of wine from the merchants!"
His words completely changed the atmosphere around him. Whereas at first everyone had judged him angrily, now they were witnessing his desperation. Some even agreed with him. The soldiers retreated step by step. On the one hand, their anger had not subsided, but now the man before them was not just a criminal, but a victim of Rhazgord's disorder. Corvus' eyes narrowed a little more as he looked at the man. His hostility was still there, but now he was facing a more complex reality. What this man had done was horrible, but these actions were born out of desperation. The darkness of hunger and poverty had driven him to this point.
Corvus' outward anger had turned inward and targeted his own conscience. It was as if a whole day's worth of frustration and despair had been gnawing away at him and he began to blame himself and his family for everything. "Why didn't I act sooner?" he thought. Maybe, if he had intervened a little earlier, this man in front of him would not have had to become a bandit. How could he have been so blind? How could he not have realized the desperation of these people before? He was realizing that reality was not as simple as he had thought.
The anger inside Corvus suddenly changed direction. The target was no longer himself, but his own family, who had ruled the Rhazgords for centuries. Why had they not acted? Why had no one done anything while these people were driven to crime by hunger and desperation? For a moment Corvus saw himself as part of this injustice. He was part of this order and perhaps by remaining silent, he had deepened the suffering of these people.
He stood in the center of the camp, a few steps in front of the man tied to the pole, lost in thought. Time seemed to stand still. The world around him blurred, he could only hear the screams in his own mind. He clenched his fists so tightly that the nails on his hands dug into his palms and blood began to drip onto the ground. The blood mixed with the dust of the ground, forming a fine mud.
The soldiers around him watched their leader in silence. The fact that Corvus had become so quiet, so deep in thought, made them uneasy too. Zarqa noticed this tension. He realized that the young leader was slowly losing his temper and after a moment's hesitation, he put his hand on Corvus' shoulder. "Pull yourself together, Corvus," he said in a low voice, leaning close to his ear. "Everyone is watching you." Zarqa's voice pierced the clouds of his mind, filled with dark thoughts. Corvus took a deep breath, relaxed his fists and began to recover, though with difficulty.
Slowly he looked around. Hundreds of gazes were locked on him. Some soldiers had anger in their eyes; they wanted revenge. Others felt pity for the pity and helplessness of the man in front of them. But most were confused. In that moment, Corvus felt the weight of this decision. He knew that making a rash decision in this situation would end in disaster. His anger and frustration prevented clear thinking. He was facing a more complex problem than he had ever faced before. Killing this man would have been easy, but it was not that simple.
"Tomorrow," he said in a firm voice, a determined tone that echoed through the camp. Turning to the crowd around him, he continued, "I will decide what will happen to you!" He was delaying the decision because he felt that any decision he made now might be wrong. As his anger cooled, he needed to think more clearly. The hatred or compassion of the soldiers created a great conflict in Corvus' conscience.
Corvus turned his eyes once more to the bandit leader. The man had completely lost his defiant demeanor of a few minutes ago. Corvus walked back to his tent to collect his thoughts. His mind was churning as if he was in the middle of a battle. Anger at his family and anger at himself was adding to the turmoil inside him.