It was a Shem Soldier. He seemed to be on a routine patrol. He walked around the barrels, looking tired. Corrin caught a glimpse of his face; he seemed young. Forrest leapt from the shadows, delivering a blow with his sword.
It was quick and fast; the man coughed blood and grabbed his neck as Forrest's sword skewered through it. He pulled the man behind the barrels. The soldier took one final glimpse at his killers before his life faded away from his eyes.
Forrest pulled his sword from the corpse and sheathed it.
"We're lucky; that could have been the end of it there."
Corrin found the body of the soldier disturbing. This was, obviously, not the first time he had seen a dead body, yet it still gave him shivers.
But something about striking him from the shadows didn't sit right with Corrin. The man had absolutely no way to defend himself. Corrin couldn't help but imagine how the man's life had been.
If he were a horrible person, then Corrin felt his death had been justified. But what if he led a good life? What if, in the morning, his mother received word that he had been killed?
The grief of losing a loved one was all too familiar to Corrin. Many nights in the beginning of his training, he simply wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. As though life itself was all a big nightmare that he couldn't bear.
His anger was the only thing that fueled him: his desire for revenge.
They all took cautious steps up the stairs, and the man who had just been killed was left to rot.
Upstairs was a door. As they opened it, they found themselves in corridors. The corridors weren't heavily guarded. Patrols were here and there, to which the group would hide until they passed. Most of the soldiers were tired, clearly uninterested in the halls they walked.
Corrin's heart begged for a break, for it constantly beat. They turned the corner, and a soldier spotted them. He was standing too close. Forrest and Lenn dashed forward. Corrin knew the soldier would be killed.
His arm splatted on the ground in a pool of blood. The soldier tried to scream, but his neck was slit before a sound got out.
Corrin was disgusted by the killing. These were real people with real lives. Maybe they fought for the other side, but that didn't make them people deserving of death. Nevertheless, Corrin prepared for the killing of the Queen. If anybody deserved to die, it was her, no doubt.
She had ordered Corrin's village to be burned; she had conquered nearly the whole Northern half of the continent, and for what? To prove that she was better than everyone else? For power? She slaughtered hundreds of people.
She deserved to be dead.
The hatred inside Corrin ignited his lust for her death. He suddenly felt nothing about the death of the soldiers, like a switch had been flipped. To him, they just stood in the way. They stood in the way of justice.
If they protect that horrid person, then they should deserve to die also.
As they snuck through the castle corridors, they quickly dove into a room to avoid being spotted. This had happened a few times, so it had become something they were all familiar with. However, the room they entered was unlike the others.
They heard chatter. They walked through a small hall into the main room. To their right was a long, wide, and tall hall that went on. To their left was a wall that rose up the wall high. At the top were large wooden rafters.
On the walls were paintings and writings. They depicted dozens of people wearing royal attire with crowns on their heads. The paintings easily blew into the thousands. Around them were writings.
But the walls were the least of the group's concerns. Because standing on the other side of the room was a face Corrin had only seen once before. The silver-like pale skin, the red eyes, the dark hair. Fear rushed through Corrin.
The Queen was right there.
The group quickly hid in the hall between the door and the large open corridor with paintings. She was speaking with a Mostiis man. He had dark skin and scars all over his bald head. Corrin found the man eerily familiar, though he couldn't remember from where.
"Your highness… we can't simply wait it out, there are thousands of them!"
"I know, Sha-"
She cuts herself off and raises her fist in the air. She looks around for a moment.
"Let's continue this in the throne room."
They walk out of the room via another door on the other side.
"Gods, that was close."
Edwin wiped the sweat on his forehead. Both he and Corrin were shaking. Forrest, Lenn, and Merri all took a sigh of relief.
Vesterii pointed to the paintings.
"It looks like a sort of family heritage."
The group walks forward and takes in the paintings. Corrin looks at the writings.
"These are all in another language…"
Forrest nods.
"The ancient language of the Shem. If we look at some of the newer paintings, we'd be sure to find them in a language we can understand."
The paintings get less rough and more refined as they walk farther to the right. The writings were understandable now. Forrest looks at one of them.
"This one says, 'Vericus Shem, leader of the Shem Kingdom from the year 949 to 993.'"
Edwin touched the writing, which was just high enough for him to reach comfortably. In the painting was a man with black hair, red eyes, and pale skin. He had a full beard and a fur robe on.
"It used to be a kingdom?"
Merri stepped forward and took a look at the pictures.
"A long time ago. In the east, it was near a cluster of smaller kingdoms. Vericus was the first of the new bloodline after the previous died out. He used his power to conquer all of the small kingdoms, gaining a huge reputation."
She sighed.
"But when he died, his daughter took over in 994. From there until now, for fifty-five years, she conquered the rest of the continent and turned the kingdom into an Empire. Nothing of the sort had ever happened before. It was like the gods were on her side."
Forrest scowled.
"And forty-nine years ago, she conquered the Vrebathian Kingdom, enslaving and murdering thousands of the Anees race until they were considered endangered by all."
Forrest scoffed.
"I'm ready for her to die."
The group finished admiring the lineage swiftly before leaving. All of them reminded plainly of the actions the queen took against all peoples. Corrin knew some of the history. She took power when the nation was small and to the east.
Her first action was to conquer a nation he didn't know the name of, until he was told it much later in his life; it was called Vrebathia. He knew that the nation had existed; his father had told him stories about it alongside the stories of the gods.
But his father never spoke about the Shem Empire with anger in his heart. Perhaps, Corrin thought, he spoke in a tense voice, but he never spoke to spite them. At times, he would even give them the benefit of the doubt.
But Corrin didn't want to think of his father. The thought brought tears to his eyes. But it also brought anger.
Forrest pulled out a map of the castle, the same as before.
"This is the window. We'll climb out and up the outside wall. Follow me, and we should make it to the throne room."
They cautiously exit through the window. The outside drop is far, and the bricks are difficult to climb. Corrin's lower half of his body shakes. But he was not going to die here.
They climb up the outside and into another window. This window had no decoration, and it's large.
The window itself was decorated with panes of colored glass. Luckily, the window opens. It was near the ceiling of the throne room. They climb out and onto the large rafters.
On the throne was the queen. She spoke with another Shem, a commander, it seemed.
"That's enough. Go and gather the armies. Position them at the gate and on the walls. Do not, under any circumstance, let the rebels into the walls."
The man bows and leaves the room. The Queen wipes her face with her hand. Above, the Hidden Vanguard position themselves above the Queen in the rafters.
Forrest looks at them all.
"This is it, everybody. We'll just go down and attack her all at once. Don't miss."
Corrin's heart pounded. He knew the other felt the same. They shook with fear.
Then, in unison, they all jumped down. Their weapons were drawn. The world seemed to slow. It slowed to a crawl.
An image burst through Corrin's head at this moment: his life. His first steps, his father, Edwin, and he played together in fields as kids. All of it up until now. Then, Corrin saw one last image in his mind, as if he saw the future.
The world around him would explode, and swords would fly towards them faster than Corrin could react.
Corrin was brought back into the present. His sword was pointed towards the queen as they all plummeted down to her.
He didn't know how he had seen into the future, but he knew one thing for certain: It was a trap.