The sun dipped, losing brilliance and heat. But while shadows grew longer, the opposite came from the shouts of men.
Shield crashed against flesh.
Spears tore through organs.
And blades cut limbs.
While blood spilled, soaking the dirt. Leaving corpses behind, littering the vast field.
And as the war between the Kingdom and the Empire endured, so too dwindled the voice of those who were fighting in it.
And the end, came without warning.
A lull in the conflict. A couple of seconds of silence in between ragged breaths, screams, wails and shouts, stretched beyond a minute and from a minute to a while.
They looked around themselves. Confused and surprised. But none attacked. And they all just.... waited.
The Left Wing was battered. Yet despite the silence, they scrambled to lock their pikes together alongside swords and shields.
The Right Wing stood side by side. Wounded, bleeding but ready to fight. Sword gripped tight, eyes fierce and bodies crouched to pounce forward. But they also shared weary hands as their weapons shook hesitantly waiting for the next swing.
And at the center, is a battered, beaten, and broken line. With people already on their asses and knees as they breath haggardly. Either drench in sweat or blood. With mismatched poises, as each man barely stood on their own.
And from the Empire came a line.
Dauntless and united. But undoubtedly weary.
All of them... stood in silence and waited.
Waited....
For the first warcry, that they gulped their words. Feeling their dry throats.
For the first to rush forward, that they all took a step back.
And for the first clash of steel. That after seconds of confusion, lowered their weapons and arms.
They just looked around...
Wondering what now?
And for those quiet moments... they saw peace. Till a voice cut the silence.
"What are you waiting for!–"
—.—.—.—.—
Gazef Stronoff, stood with beads of sweat on his brow. His sword, held at his side, gazing stoickly at the opponents that had held him back for quite a time.
Baziwood Peshmel —a blonde muscular man in black Adamantite armor— drew deep breaths, as he used his greatsword for support.
And next to him stood Nimble Arc Dale Anoch. A handsome young man holding a longsword planted beside him. Kneeling with deep ragged breaths leaving his lips.
Two of the remaining Imperial Guards remained side by side. With armors both dented and sporting cuts so clean, smiths would question if they were wearing butter or armor.
All three men, each holding remarkable authority moved their eyes among those around them and knew, the war was over.
'The King should be arriving soon.' thought Gazef. 'There is no more room for a fight. Unless the Royal Family intends to become enemy of the people.'
In the same vein, Nimble, Heir to a Reputable Lord of Baharuth thought the same.
'This has cost so much good will. The Emperor might have to personally to step in. No. He would be forced to.' Nimble's eyes moved along the row of Imperial troops and knew, there was only one solution. 'His Majesty will have to align himself with the will of the people and acknowledge this standstill. It's the only way to save face.'
Then a voice cut through the silence.
"What are you waiting for!" all turned to the source, and found the Crown Prince atop his horse and shouted– "Attaaaack!!!"
The Imperial troops tensed but the Kingdom's levy did nothing.
• • • no one did anything.
And once again, silence engulfed the field. Because for the first time since the fighting began, their hearts had started to find a semblance of peace.
Making them all wish it was over.
"Tsk!" Barboro clicked his teeth and kicked a man forward. "I said attack! Peasant!"
He raged loudly. But the men just looked to him with uncertainty.
Angry at their disobedience, Barboro dismounted from his horse. Stomping all the way to the front and stood beside Gazef.
He held his head high as he gazed at the exhausted and wounded forms of both Baziwood and Nimble, both of which glared back at him.
Barboro's face twisted into an ugly sneer. Feeling he same level of refute that his own people had given him. And at the back of his mind, he believed at that moment that he was surrounded by no one but enemies.
"Attack Stronoff!!" he shouts.
But Gazef simply looked to him. "But your grace–"
"I gave you an order!" Barboro bellows, cutting off Gazef's refute.
But the Warrior Chieftain was undeterred. "So long as I bear this Kingdom's Treasures. Only the King may command me."
Gazef's defiance made Barboro shake in fury. He then unsheathed his sword and yelled–
"Traitorous! Scum!"
"Nii-san!" the young woman's voice drew all attention.
Even Barboro stopped with his sword and looked angrily at the source. And there... standing defiantly as she always did, was Sylvia.
She walked with heavy footfalls. Her battle damaged armor clinked with every step. Her dress and cape swayed with the wind. Hands still holding her chipped sword and somewhat shattered shield.
And just as the dimming light reached her, her colors shined with greater beauty.
Her hair swayed of soft gold, and rigid with tainted blood. Eyes shined unnaturally, as shades of gold and purple reflected the light. Her lips, red and wet, matched with the bloody smeer beneath her lips and the blood staining her cheek. While the red contrasted against her fair and beautiful skin.
And while everyone was taken aback with the Princess' warrior presence. Barboro felt spikes of envy, anger and wrath at the woman he believed to have stolen his glory.
"Stop this! Now!" she shouted –like a mother reprimanding a petulant child– before turning to one of her riders hoping to urge her father forward.
But Baziwood, who had been observing things, snickered loudly. Prompting a chain of reaction that flowed among the Imperial forces.
And in seconds, the Crown Prince was the joke of both the Empire and the Kingdom.
Embarrassment.
The tipping point from which, Barboro suddenly ran forward and raised his blade against his own sister.
Time slowed for everyone present.
And Gazef, much like the people from the Empire, had their eyes widened when the sword was raised.
And by the time Sylvia turned around to sigh a relief– *splat– blood had spattered her face.
"Eh?"
Her hand found her cheek stained with blood. And as her eyes took in the image in front of her, she wailed loudly, as she watched Albedo stumble back with a sword pressed deep between her neck and her shoulders.
"Ah– ALBEDO-SAMAAA!!!"
*Banghk! a crush of thunder echoed.
Momonga landed with glowing eyes and in his hand burned his sword and–*zhank– cleaved Barboro diagonally.
And in seconds came – "NOOOOOOOO!!!" –the wail of a King at the death of his son.
—.—.—.—.—
Midnight and still, the lights of the war tent of Baharuth remained alive.
Jircniv sat on his throne. Hands folded in front of his lips and eyes fixed on the image before him.
The Black Knight of Re-estize, sitting beside the magic-made bed of his Paladin as he gently stroke the hair of the sleeping beauty.
The tent flapped and the Generals flinched as Fluder walked in. Wearing a brand new set of white and grey robes. Flipping through the pages of papers in his hands.
"We have a lot to work with here Jir."
"Go on old man, tell me."
"Prince Barbor has already been resurrected."
"So quickly?" Jircniv raised a brow.
"Indeed. Courtesy of Lady Lakyus of Blue Rose. It seems they have been kept close. Done under the request of the nobles themselves."
"Ofcourse they would." Jircniv rolled his eyes. "If we can trust anyone to look after their self-interest, the Nobles of Re-estize is whom to look to. And the fall-out of such...tragedy?."
Jircniv could barely hide his glee. Making Fluder chuckle at his childish display.
"Irreversible." Fluder answers. "None dared defend the Knight. Not even the so called supporters of Princess Sylvia voiced themselves, as the entirety of the Kingdom had all but unanimously agreed to execute the man."
"Hahahahahaha!"
Jircniv's laughter was as genuine as it was unchecked. But his joy was shared by those around him. Smiling together as the Kingdom removes their greatest obstacle by choice.
"Yes! YEESSS! Glory to the Empire! Haha!"
"""""Glory to his Imperial Majesty!!!"""""
"Fluder! What do you need to cease his allegiance?" asked Jircniv with a wide smile.
"That, we have yet to find out." Fluder answers as he stroke his beard. "The man's motives seemed more out of convenience. The problem is now that he is untethered, we do not know what sort of goal he has. Let alone the choices he would have made."
"Indeed. Perplexing but a necessity. Use whatever it is you need to secure him for our own. And the Kingdom? What are we working with here?"
"The fools who died trying to cease him are former adventurers and a handful of veterans. All of which were under the command of Marquis Bouloppe. But there is a handful of sons of minor Lords."
"Any resurrections?"
"Only the nobles."
"Pah! Inconsequential then."
"Not entieely my boy, but the Marquis is indeed trying to use their deaths to secure the Paladin in his service."
"Ho... By forcing the crown?"
"Yes but think nothing of it. The Princess herself would never allow it. And has been confirmed to have confronted both her father and the Marquis for even daring to suggest it."
Jircniv nodded, filing the factors that the Princess could cause, but Fluder continued. "As for those resurrected. They were sons of the gray faction, the undecided ones. And since the Marquis was generous enough to afford their children's resurrection, the man now holds the largest faction inside the Kingdom."
"...a man who wants to be King, and would do anything to depose him has now seized the largest faction in the Kingdom? I pray that the King remained blind for the rest of his days."
Everyone laughed softly at the Emperor's words. While Fluder shook his head with mirth.
"Since I am feeling generous at the uhmm...benevolence that the Kingdom is gracing us. Let us help him. Fluder, see to it that word of everything– and I meant everything that happened here is to be known for the People of Re-estize."
"Of course your Majesty!" Fluder answers with an exaggerated bow. "It is only proper that the people be made aware of their near victory... only for the Royal Family itself to snatch it away from them~"the latter, Fluder whispered loudly to the amusement of those present.
"Oh and please! Do soften the blow to my image old man. I intend to be presentable to my future subjects after all." Jircniv add with a flick of his hair.
"Pah! We'll just put you on a white steed on golden armor and they won't even notice the hair out of place. Good bye my boy."
"Take care old man!" shouts Jircniv to the retreating figure of his mentor.
He then stood, raised his cup and cheered.
"For Baharuth!!!"
"""""For Victory!!!"""""
"Hahahahahaha!"