The Smell of Smoke

The world stretched in every direction like an iron cage, as if even the air itself had been forged in steel. The plains, once vast and wild, were now patrolled by monstrous machines, crawling like armored insects, their treads crunching over dead grass and scorched earth. In the distance, the spires of the Imperial Capitol loomed, a jagged skyline of black iron and gleaming bronze. On the horizon, smoke rose from another town—a familiar sight in the Empire of the Khans.

Tarkhan Bayar surveyed the scene, his gaze hard, his breath measured. He adjusted the strap of his combat pack, feeling the weight of his rifle, a custom-made piece with a scope that could pierce the dark at three hundred meters. His squad stood at attention behind him, silent and disciplined, their faces masked by the black visors of their helmets. The air smelled of ash and something more primal, a lingering scent of fear that Bayar had learned to recognize over the years.

“Report,” Bayar barked, his voice cold and clipped. He didn't look at the soldier who stepped forward, but he could sense his nervousness, even through the thick armor.

“Scouts have confirmed, Tarkhan,” the soldier said. “The village is completely gone. Raiders torched it, took the supplies, and moved east.”

Bayar nodded once, slowly. His hand tightened around the grip of his rifle. Raiders—renegades who rejected the Khanate’s rule, living off the land like parasites. They had been cropping up more and more over the past decade, emboldened by the growing unrest in the outer territories. But they were nothing more than a distraction to Bayar. His mission was more important than cleaning up after bandits. He turned to face his second-in-command, a man named Erdene, whose sharp eyes gleamed from beneath his helmet.

“Orders?” Erdene asked, though he already knew what was coming.

“We move east. I want them dead by sunset.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the landscape shifted from the charred remains of the village to the wide, unforgiving plains. The terrain was harsh, endless grasslands dotted with crumbling ruins from civilizations long absorbed into the Mongol Empire. It had been centuries since the Khanate’s initial conquest, and yet the scars of that era were still fresh in every brick and broken stone. Bayar had grown up hearing stories of how the Great Khan had crushed Europe beneath his heel, how entire cultures had been bent to the will of the Empire. Now, those same tales were little more than bedtime stories to keep children obedient.

But Bayar knew the truth. His ancestors had lived it. And he was determined to uphold the legacy.

The squad moved in perfect unison, their black uniforms blending into the dying light. The treads of their armored vehicles chewed through the earth, sending dust into the air. They were a small detachment, just twenty soldiers, but each one had been trained in the ruthless efficiency of the Khanate’s military doctrine. They didn’t need numbers to be deadly.

After several hours of travel, Bayar’s sharp eyes caught movement in the distance—a shadow, low to the ground, slipping between the tall grasses. He raised a fist, signaling a halt. The vehicles came to an immediate stop, engines humming quietly as the squad disembarked with precision. Erdene was at his side in seconds.

“Raiders?” Erdene whispered, already scanning the horizon.

Bayar nodded. “Likely.”

“Orders?”

Bayar didn’t hesitate. “Flank them. I want two units on either side. We take them alive if possible. If not...”

Erdene smirked. “Understood.”

The ambush was swift.

Bayar’s squad moved like phantoms, circling around the unsuspecting raiders. They were dirty, ragged men, armed with scavenged weapons and makeshift gear. There were seven of them, huddled around a fire, talking in low voices as they passed around what looked like stolen rations. Bayar could feel the tension in the air as his soldiers moved into position, their rifles aimed and ready.

For a moment, everything was still. Then, with a sharp hand signal from Bayar, the squad struck.

Gunfire erupted, sharp and sudden, but Bayar’s men were precise. They took down four of the raiders in the first volley, their bodies collapsing into the grass with barely a sound. The remaining three scrambled for their weapons, but it was too late. Erdene was on them in an instant, his rifle butt smashing into the jaw of one man while another soldier tackled the last two to the ground.

Within moments, it was over.

Bayar approached the prisoners, his rifle still slung over his shoulder. The two raiders lay on their stomachs, bound and gagged, while Erdene wiped blood from his knuckles with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Amateurs,” Erdene muttered, kicking one of the dead raiders aside.

Bayar crouched down in front of the prisoners, studying them in silence. One of them—a young man with wild eyes and a patchy beard—was trembling, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The other was older, his face weathered and scarred, but there was no fear in his eyes. Only defiance.

“We could use them for intel,” Erdene said, stepping up beside him. “Find out where their base is, what they're planning.”

Bayar tilted his head, considering. His cold, calculating gaze locked onto the older man’s eyes, searching for weakness. He found none.

“You’re rebels,” Bayar said, his voice low but cutting. “You know the punishment for treason.”

The older man spat at his feet, blood and saliva mixing with the dirt. “Treason?” he rasped, his voice thick with contempt. “The Khanate is the traitor. We fight for freedom. For a world without chains.”

Bayar’s expression didn’t change, though inwardly he admired the man’s courage. “You call it freedom,” he said, “but all I see is chaos.”

“Better chaos than your Empire,” the man snarled. “We lived before you came. We can live after you’re gone.”

Bayar stood slowly, towering over the prisoner. His mind was already calculating the next steps. He knew this man was a leader—perhaps not of the entire rebellion, but of this group. And leaders had information. Valuable information.

“We’ll see about that,” Bayar said, then turned to Erdene. “Take them back to camp. I want them interrogated. Thoroughly.”

Erdene grinned. “With pleasure.”

Night had fallen by the time the squad returned to their mobile camp, a series of reinforced vehicles arranged in a tight formation around a central command post. Bayar stood outside his command vehicle, watching as the prisoners were dragged into the holding area. The sky above was a deep, bruised purple, the stars hidden by a thin layer of smoke from the distant fires. The Empire’s reach was vast, but it was not without its enemies. The rebels were growing bolder, their attacks more frequent. Bayar’s mission was clear: crush the rebellion before it spread any further.

But it wasn’t just the rebels he was worried about. The Khanate was fracturing. Tensions between the different regions were rising, and the once-unified empire was starting to show cracks. Bayar had seen it in the Capitol, during his last visit. Whispers of discontent, of civil war.

The Empire was not invincible.

“Tarkhan,” Erdene’s voice broke through his thoughts. He approached, wiping his hands with a cloth, his face grim. “We got something from the older one.”

Bayar raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

Erdene shrugged. “He was... cooperative.”

Bayar nodded, though he knew exactly what Erdene meant by ‘cooperative.’ His second-in-command had a talent for extracting information, though his methods were not always clean.

“What did he tell you?”

“They’re part of a larger cell,” Erdene said, leaning against the side of the vehicle. “Operating out of the mountains to the east. Supposedly, they’ve been stockpiling weapons, planning something big. Could be an assault on one of the border towns.”

Bayar’s eyes narrowed. “And the leadership?”

Erdene smirked. “He wouldn’t say much, but he did mention a name. ‘The Shadow.’ Sounds like their leader.”

Bayar folded his arms, considering the information. He had heard whispers of this ‘Shadow’ before, but nothing concrete. The rebels were careful, their leadership hidden behind layers of secrecy. But now, Bayar had a lead. And he intended to follow it.

“Prepare the men,” Bayar ordered. “We leave at first light.”

The next morning came quickly. The camp was already bustling with activity as Bayar’s squad prepared for the next leg of their journey. The prisoners were secured in one of the transport vehicles, heavily guarded, though Bayar doubted they would survive the trip. He had no use for dead weight, and once they reached the rebel stronghold, their lives would be forfeit.

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains, Bayar stood at the front of his convoy, his eyes fixed on the east. The mountains loomed in the distance, jagged and foreboding. Somewhere in those peaks, the rebels were waiting, preparing for their next move.

But Bayar would be ready.

He turned to Erdene, who was checking the fuel levels on one of the armored transports.

“Do you think they know we’re coming?” Bayar asked.

Erdene chuckled. “If they don’t now, they will soon enough.”

Bayar allowed himself a small smile. His reputation had preceded him before, and he knew it would again. The rebels might have the advantage of terrain, but Bayar had something far more valuable: the full might of the Khanate’s military machine behind him.

“Then let’s not disappoint them,” Bayar said, climbing into the lead vehicle. The engine roared to life beneath him, the familiar rumble of power coursing through the machine.

As the convoy began its slow, methodical march toward the mountains, Bayar couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. This rebellion—this so-called fight for freedom—would end, just like all the others before it. And he would be the one to ensure it.

The Iron Horizon stretched out before him, and Bayar was ready to crush anything that stood in his way.