Emilio stood frozen in Miguel's tent, the weight of his confession hanging in the air like a death sentence. His heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear his own voice. Miguel didn't move at first. His expression remained eerily calm, his dark eyes locked onto Emilio's. Then, slowly, he walked around the desk, the lantern's glow casting sharp shadows across his face.
"Sit," Miguel said, his voice unreadable.
Emilio hesitated before sinking onto the wooden stool. His hands trembled in his lap, the reality of his actions crashing down on him like a wave.
"Start from the beginning," Miguel ordered, crossing his arms.
The words spilled from Emilio's lips, shaky and desperate. "The Spanish took my family weeks ago. They said they'd kill them if I didn't—if I didn't tell them what I knew. At first, I lied to them, gave them useless information, but then they—they threatened to send my sister to the labor camps."
His voice cracked. "I had no choice."
Miguel exhaled, slow and controlled. "What did you tell them?"
Emilio swallowed hard, the truth tasting bitter. "Everything about our last raid. And about the supply routes we planned to strike next."
A heavy silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of betrayal. Miguel clenched his jaw, his mind racing. "And tonight? Have you sent another message?"
Emilio hesitated for only a second—but it was long enough.
Miguel turned toward the door. "Rafael!"
The flap of the tent was pushed aside, and Rafael Ibarra stepped in, his face immediately hardening at the sight of Emilio. "What's going on?"
Miguel's voice was grim. "Vargas has been feeding the Spanish information. He's the reason they knew about the ambush."
Rafael's body went rigid, his hand dropping to the hilt of his knife. "You're joking."
Emilio shot up from the stool, panic rising within him. "Please! I didn't want to do this!"
Rafael lunged, but Miguel held up a hand. "Not yet."
Rafael stopped, breathing heavily, his anger palpable. "We should execute him now."
"We can't," Miguel said, his voice tight, controlled. "If he's still their informant, they'll be expecting a message. If he disappears too soon, they'll know we found him."
Rafael's fists clenched, his frustration boiling over. "You want to use him?"
"I want to turn him against them," Miguel corrected. He turned to Emilio, his gaze piercing. "If you want a chance at redemption, you're going to do exactly what I say."
Emilio looked between them, his throat dry, fear and desperation swirling within him.
Miguel leaned in, his voice lowering. "You're going to send them false information. Tonight."
At dawn, the Spanish forces set out from Manila, the sky painted with hues of deep purple and orange. The first rays of sunlight glinted off polished bayonets and heavy cannons. Soldiers moved in perfect formation, their disciplined footsteps pounding against the dirt road as they advanced toward Fort Nueva Castilla. Governor-General de la Cruz rode at the front, his posture rigid, his mind alight with anticipation.
Beside him, Colonel Velasco frowned as he read the latest intelligence report. "The rebels are planning to hold the western gate," he said, his voice laced with concern. "That's where their defenses will be strongest."
De la Cruz smirked, confidence radiating from him. "Then we'll hit them from the east."
Velasco nodded, but something in his gut felt wrong. It was too perfect—too predictable. He had underestimated the rebels before. He wouldn't do it again. "Double the scouts," he ordered his officers. "If anything feels off, I want to know before we reach the fort."
Back at the fort, Miguel stood on the ramparts, watching the jungle with a steely gaze. His fingers curled around the hilt of his saber, the anticipation of battle coursing through him. They would come soon.
Below him, the rebels moved with quiet urgency, positioning cannons and fortifying weak points. The wounded had been moved to the inner keep, and the remaining soldiers prepared for the fight of their lives. Miguel turned to Rafael. "Is the eastern wall ready?"
Rafael nodded, determination etched on his face. "We placed hidden gunmen in the trees. If the Spanish attack from the east, we'll cut them down before they reach the gates."
Miguel exhaled, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over him. "Good."
A shadow passed behind him. He turned to see Emilio, the young soldier who had done as he was told, sending the Spanish a message warning of an ambush at the western gate. Now, all that remained was to see if the Spanish had believed him.
Emilio's voice was small, almost lost in the chaos around them. "If they attack the east… will that be enough to prove my loyalty?"
Miguel's expression was unreadable, a mask of determination. "That depends on how this battle ends."
Emilio nodded, though he could still feel the noose tightening around his neck, the weight of his betrayal heavy on his conscience. He had tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, but doubt gnawed at him. What if his actions led to the deaths of his comrades? What if he had made a grave mistake?
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the tension in the air grew thicker, a palpable sense of dread settling over the fort. Emilio lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his tent, the shadows dancing in the flickering light. He could hear the distant sounds of soldiers preparing for battle, the clinking of weapons and the murmurs of men steeling themselves for the fight ahead.
He wanted to warn Miguel, to tell him the truth, but fear held him back. What if it was too late? What if his betrayal had already cost them everything? The thought gnawed at him, a relentless torment that kept him from sleep.
As dawn approached, the air was charged with anticipation. The Spanish forces were on the move, and Emilio could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He had to make a choice—one that would determine not only his fate but the fate of everyone he had come to care for.
In the distance, the sound of drums echoed through the jungle, a harbinger of the storm that was about to break. The battle for Fort Nueva Castilla was imminent, and as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, Emilio knew that the time for action had come. He had to decide where his loyalties truly lay, and whether he could find a way to redeem himself before it was too late.
As the sun rose higher, illuminating the fort and the men preparing for battle, Emilio felt a flicker of resolve ignite within him. He would find a way to make it right, to fight for the men he had once betrayed. The stakes had never been higher, and the price of betrayal weighed heavily on his heart. The battle for Fort Nueva Castilla was about to begin, and he would not stand idly by.
The first shots rang out just after midday. A Spanish scout, attempting to move through the jungle undetected, was cut down by a hidden rebel rifleman. His dying scream shattered the silence, a harbinger of the chaos to come. Then—chaos erupted. Gunfire erupted from both sides. Muskets roared, cannons thundered, and the cries of the wounded filled the air. The Spanish forces surged forward from the east, just as Miguel had planned.
From the trees, the rebels opened fire, striking down officers and cutting into the advancing line. The Spanish faltered, but only for a moment—then they pressed forward, determined to break through. Miguel was in the thick of it, sword in hand, cutting down an enemy soldier before ducking behind a barricade. "Hold the line!" he bellowed, his voice rising above the din of battle.
A cannon blast tore through the fort's outer wall, sending debris flying. Dust filled the air as men screamed, scrambling to regroup. Rafael fought at Miguel's side, his saber flashing in the dim light. "They're pushing harder than expected!" he shouted over the noise, his eyes scanning the battlefield for any sign of weakness.
Miguel gritted his teeth, realizing that their expectations had been shattered. They had anticipated a direct assault, but this was different. The Spanish were throwing everything they had at the eastern front. Then he realized— "They knew," Miguel muttered, eyes widening in horror. "They knew about the trap."
A second cannon blast rocked the fort. Soldiers scrambled to reposition, but Miguel felt the cold grip of realization. Somehow, despite all their precautions, the Spanish had still anticipated their move. Miguel's blood ran cold. Which meant— they had another traitor.