I watched Selene beam at my words, causing me to continue. ''I want variety, scouts who can move like ghosts, heavies who won't flinch when blood sprays, and at least two who know wards or healing. No one who looks at me like I'm a curse instead of a prince. You vet them personally. If they hesitate even once when you explain what serving me really means.''
Afterwards, I let the sentence trail, flashing those new teeth again for emphasis. ''We feed them to monsters if they're disloyal.''
Her smile didn't falter; if anything, it edged sharper, like she'd been waiting for permission to unleash that ruthlessness she keeps leashed. "Understood. I'll have names by morning. A few from the Ninth's vanguard already owe me favours; they'll jump at the chance to guard the man who's finally growing fangs worth fearing.''
Following that, Selene turned around and left me alone in the dining room. I continued eating what was left on the table, allowing the horrible hunger pain to die down as I planned to retake Bleakmarch for myself. By the time I finished, the sun had risen, shining through the hall's windows. Maids began cleaning the table as I stood up.
I headed toward the entrance while sensing people coming and going. Once outside, I spotted the Centurion Marcus standing at the main gate. When I approached, the man turned around and saluted. ''Your Highness, the Legionnaire Cavalry should be here from the Eastern Front. The Ninth has started its march northwest. They were allowed to leave. Now you've taken command of the legion.''
Interesting.
''When will they arrive?''
''A week if she pushes them hard, they'll have to meet us at Bleakmarch.''
''How many soldiers do we have now?'' I inquired, curious as so much has happened that I have forgotten.
''Well, the First Cohort is here, so a thousand soldiers, and five hundred with the Legionnaire Cavalry.''
''Order them to form up outside the manor. We will start marching west this afternoon.''
Marcus rushed off, followed by other Legionnaires as I stood there, thinking. With fifteen hundred men, maybe I'll be able to get a foothold in Bleakmarch.
I shook my head as Garrick approached, looking concerned as he spoke. ''My prince, are you sure about this? Not even two full Legions could clear it; they were run out.''
''Don't worry,'' I laughed. ''This will impress the entire kingdom and put Duke Theo Ravencourt in my pocket. It's a stain on the Western Duchy. If I clear it, everyone will be impressed, shocked, and in denial. I'll also get a place to call my own away from the Verona scheming.''
''Still...''
I couldn't help but smile at the old man's frustration and slapped him on the shoulder. ''We'll be fine, it will be training for the men we have here now, the rest can catch up once they arrive. Now send word to this General Bloodaxe, order her to march on Tidewater City.''
''Why are we going there?''
''That's the point of our journey, we can clear the way for the traders and travellers, it will spread the rumour of the new prince and the new Ninth Legion.''
Garrick nodded. ''You do realise the monsters or bands of crazy bandits might butcher us.''
When I heard that, I got excited before shaking my head. ''No chance, we will play it safe and wipe everything out.''
After that, I went back to my room to relax as the manor was in chaos. Soldiers rushed around gathering stuff, and carriages were organised for the staff that came with me. While sitting there, I designed a Roman fort they used on campaigns, remembering most details thanks to being a lover of history back on Earth.
By the time I was done, Selene, Garrick, and Marcus stepped into the bedroom, looking concerned, only to calm down as I glanced at them. ''What's wrong?''
''It's time to move, your highness,'' Marcus said while saluting.
''Alright,'' I replied, smiling. ''Let's get going.''
We walked outside as Selene stepped beside me. ''My lord. I have volunteers, but Garrick here has decided to help me vet each one. By the time we set up camp, I'll have them come meet you to swear an oath.''
''Sounds good,'' I commented, happy with how things were working out.
By the time we got outside, I spotted the massive baggage train guarded by a few dozen soldiers, causing my eyes to narrow. Turning to Marcus, I ordered. ''Send the cavalry to protect the supplies.''
The three elders stared at me with confused expressions, causing a sigh to escape my lips. ''Bandits will attack the baggage train while most of the soldiers are further ahead; if the cavalry is there, they won't bother.''
Marcus's eyes widened at the news, and he rushed off at once, prompting a bright smile from Selene and a resigned shake of Garrick's head. We made our way toward the stables, only to find the maids crowding into one of the carriages. Lily stood nearby, overseeing the bustle.
Seconds later, she turned, and her dark blue eyes met mine. There was no trace of the hatred I'd expected, only confusion. I was about to greet her, but before I could speak, she stepped into the carriage, the door closing between us. I pushed the moment from my mind and went to fetch my horse just as Marcus reappeared, looking satisfied.
''The rest of the legion will meet us at Tidewater,'' he announced. ''They've just reached the Long Road.''
''I know,'' I responded, casting the Centurion a baffled look. ''You already told me that.''
Marcus laughed, then clarified. ''They'll arrive a full day ahead of us. I didn't expect Bloodaxe to drive the men that hard.''
''Good, now let's get moving,'' I commanded, leaving the manor behind.
***
(Sahara Bloodaxe)
The steady rhythm of marching dragged me back to consciousness. I woke in the carriage as it rolled northwest, carrying me toward the Third Prince and the First Cohort. I stretched my back, feeling my muscles strain. I wondered, briefly, if the rumours were true about him changing to become someone completely different.
They said he'd grown handsome, but soldiers had always exaggerated where it mattered least. I rose and stretched, arms lifting high over my head. The motion drew a quiet series of pops from my shoulders and spine, the sound echoing through the cabin. Muscle shifted easily beneath my armour, strength worn as naturally as breath.
When I turned to the mirror, a muscular hourglass figure met my gaze, tall, solid, and unapologetically powerful. Dark green eyes watched back, a lazy confidence shining in them. My purple lipstick was still flawless, a sharp contrast against my smooth green skin, which looked good if I was honest.
Thick hair spilt loose around my shoulders, a deeper green than my skin, framing a face that balanced beauty with unmistakable strength I built up over years of training. I ducked out of the carriage and dropped to the road after putting on my Verona armour, boots hitting packed dirt in time with the Ninth's march.
The column flowed around me without breaking stride, shields forward, spears high. Ahead, banners snapped in the wind. To either side, merchants pulled their carts off the road, eyes averted, hands tight on reins. Coins hated uncertainty, and the Ninth carried plenty of it. My horse felt me before I reached her.
She stamped once, ears flicking back, then stilled. I caught the pommel, swung up in one smooth motion, and settled into the saddle as if I'd never left it. The leather creaked; the world seemed to widen. ''Hello girl, we've got a mission, we need to meet the famous Third Prince, the king has given him command over the Ninth.''
The horse made a neighing sound as if answering me. I smiled only to notice Asmara moved through the Ninth as if she belonged at its heart, which, in truth, she did; she had been with us for a year now and was a fine Centurion. She is a skilled Third Circle Warrior. I'm glad she chose to fight alongside the Legion.
She cut a striking figure beside my horse: tall, broad-hipped, and carried an unshakable poise. Her skin was the dark brown of sun-baked earth, long black hair falling down her back in loose waves that never seemed to tangle, no matter how hard the march. Gold earrings caught the light with each step.
The woman favoured black and red layered cloth wrapped and belted tight for movement, split high at the thigh, and bound with leather straps that held blades and tools within easy reach. Thigh-high boots hugged powerful legs built for distance and violence alike. A curved sword rested in her hand now, point down, grip easy, as though it were an extension of her arm rather than a weapon.
Her expression stayed calm as she walked at my stirrup, sharp grey eyes scanning ahead, behind, and through the ranks all at once. If the men noticed her presence, none dared linger on it. Asmara had a way of making admiration feel like a liability. ''There was another attempt, recently,'' she said quietly. ''This time the prince turned around and killed them.''
I glanced down at her. ''Oh, really? That is surprising, considering everything we've heard about him. Where did this happen?''
Asmara nodded once, revealing. ''They reached him inside the Hollowend Dungeon while training. Then he turned into something else, something unnatural.''
That gave her pause, not fear, exactly, but calculation. ''The traders said it wasn't magic but physical. I heard he was fast, brutal. Like he was some kind of monster.''
I noticed her fingers tightened briefly on the sword's hilt as she continued talking. ''He butchered them alongside Lady Selene Rothsvayne, which is strange because I know he cannot fight, thanks to his size.''
Following the Centurion's words, I nodded and continued. We marched on, banners snapping, merchants scattering farther from the road as if distance alone might save them. Asmara lifted her gaze to meet mine with a knowing glint in her grey eyes. ''He asked for you.''
Of course he did, I shook my head, a smile crossing my lips. ''Good, I can't wait to see if everything we've heard is the truth.''
After that, I led the Ninth through the heart of the Verona Kingdom. We marched past towns and villages to the familiar soundtrack of boos and jeers. I understood why the Legion's name had been dragged through the mud after the disasters in the east, but I refused to let it weigh on me.
Something told me the tide was about to turn. Days blurred together on the road. By the time the spires of Tidewater City finally rose into view, the men were spent: boots dragging, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow with fatigue. We were an hour away from the meeting spot when I spotted three riders rushing in my direction.
My eyebrow rose as the commander stopped in front of me, looking panicked. ''What's wrong, Legionnaire?'' I asked.
''There's a humanoid monster nearby,'' he said after calming down. ''It's butchering a group of Wild Orcs that ambushed a merchant caravan.''
Damn savages, lost to the Wild Gods!
''Take us there,'' I commanded, then looked at Asmara. ''Come with me, As.''
''Yes, general,'' she replied.
I followed the scouts until we came across something that shocked me. The scene opened in front of us like a slaughterhouse. Orcs, First Circle brutes, easily a dozen lay scattered in pieces across the road. Blood was already soaking into the dirt in the dark. The wagons were overturned but intact; whatever this fight had been about, it hadn't been looting.
The orcs hadn't even lasted long enough to make it sporting. At the eye of the slaughter stood the creature they'd branded a humanoid monster. Taller than rumour had painted him, broad-shouldered. His hair was short and stark white, framing a handsome face; his skin was so pale that it seemed to absorb the late-afternoon glow rather than reflect it.
Blood streaked his face, his chest, his forearms, but none of it seemed to belong to him. His bright blue eyes caught mine for half a heartbeat before flicking away again. Damn, he's changed for the best! I can already tell his aura's different.
Then one of the surviving orcs, bigger than the rest, roared and charged with a greataxe raised high. The prince didn't even look fully at him. One hand snapped out, fingers no longer human, elongated into black claws longer than my dagger, and they punched clean through the creature's chest like it was parchment.
Ribs cracked audibly. The brute's roar choked into a wet gurgle as the prince twisted, yanked, and ripped the still-beating heart free in a single motion. He lifted it to his mouth, shocking us all. Teeth, longer, sharper than any man's should be, sank in. A wet crunch, then he tore out a chunk and swallowed without ceremony, crimson dripping down his chin.
The orc collapsed, already dead before it hit the ground. The rest broke then. What few were left tripped over corpses, screaming in their tongue. He didn't chase. He stepped forward once, claws flexing, and the ones closest to him simply… stopped moving. As though the air itself had grown too heavy to breathe through.
My horse danced sideways, nostrils flaring at the copper-stink of slaughter. Asmara halted beside me, sword already drawn, but she didn't move. Neither did I, because I recognised him. Not from portraits from my visit to the palace, nor from the rumours. The paintings are completely different, even the king and queens will be shocked, I mused, admiring the third prince.
From the sheer, casual violence of it all. This was no spell, no summoned demon, no berserker rage. He was a predator who had finally remembered what shape he wore when he hunted. The Third Prince of Verona, once mocked as a fat, greedy prince, cursed, useless, turned slowly toward us.
Blood ran down his forearms, dripping from the claws that were already retracting, inch by black inch, until only his hands remained. Human again. Mostly. The wild glint in his eyes faded bright blue, though the pupils stayed slitted for several seconds longer. He wiped his mouth with the back of one wrist, almost absently, then smiled.
Not the weak, practised court smile I remembered from descriptions. This one showed teeth, too many, too sharp, and it reached his eyes in a way that made the hair lift along my arms. ''General Bloodaxe,'' he said, voice low, almost pleasant.
A little rough, like he hadn't used it for polite conversation in a while. ''You made good time.''