When people think of the Ferox Empire, they think of the natural wealth, resources and landscapes. A place that was peaceful, that was safe.

At least that's what it used to be like before the fighting started.

About 60 years ago, Ferox and Kano were the two main powers of the known world. They were connected by a small section of land that was used as a trading port between the two. Kano lacked necessary resources like crops, but had a surplus of ores, including iron and jewel ores. The two powers came to an agreement to supply the other with what they needed; Ferox receiving jewels, ores and resources for the army, and Kano receiving crops.

The people of the empires got along very well. New residents, friendships and even marriages were quite common between them. There were even talks of merging the two to create one thriving empire.

Elderly people look back on it fondly as the Pax Mundi; also known as world peace. It seemed as if there would never be any more hardship to endure.

"Life was good."

But perhaps not good for some.

The animosity and skirmishes all began because of one woman, after she cheated on her husband with a powerful Kanoean town chief. The husband was furious, and privately demanded the town chief to apologize to him.

He responded by slicing the man's arm clean off after he tried to shake his hand, and leaving him to bleed out after he had dragged him to the town square.

"How dare he expect an apology from the town chief?! The Feroxians are getting out of line." He huffed as he marched away from the scene, accompanied by his underlings.

On a quest for vengeance, violence and discrimination started to place a wedge between the Feroxians and the Kanoeans. It eventually reached the capital, and turned the conflict into a serious matter.

"We've allowed those poor Feroxians to leech off of our riches for too long!"

"Let those barbaric Kanoeans starve!"

The demands for action were heard by both the Ferox and Kano emperors, who were good friends. To try and quell their people’s anger, they arranged for their young sons to declare that Ferox and Kano would remain close allies. They hoped that by letting their sons publicly reaffirm that there was only peace between the two nations, it would imply that they would remain in the Pax Mundi for generations.

The day came, and the two emperors arrived, bringing their sons in tow. They walked to the center of the grand arena that the event was being held at, smiling and waving at all of the cheering spectators in the stands and were followed by a procession of guards and nobles.

The sons, Malcolm and Gabriel, were both grinning from ear to ear, waving excitedly at the crowd and smiling at eachother. They were arguably even closer friends than their fathers— they had been together since they were both infants.

The Kanoean emperor smiled at the Feroxian emperor, who returned his smile with a smirk and a pat to the back. They headed to their seats: dazzling thrones made of gold and covered in classic Kanoean jewels, and padded with only the finest, softest Ferox-sourced cloth— another ode to what could happen if the two nations worked together.

Still waving to as many spectators as he could, as the emperor of Kano was known for being kind; he scanned the crowd, extremely pleased with how many people attended despite being at odds with each other.

And then he locked eyes with a woman.

One that probably used to be beautiful. His impeccable vision allowed for him to notice all of the details, from her long eyelashes to her full lips.

But she was scarred. Heavily so. Plus bald, on the very top of the arena and holding a bow and arrow. The emperor stopped in his tracks. Not because of the fact that he saw that she was aiming for him, nor because he had a gut feeling that she would not miss.

But because of her eyes.

Eyes that were alive with rage, sadness, fear, and oh so much pain. Her gaze seared into him like hot coals, burning away any hopes for peace that he had.

He saw the fires of a lengthy war dancing in her eyes.

The fires of revolution.

“What’s got you held up? Don’t make me leave you behind now—”

THUNK

‘Two arrows shot at the same time. Haphazardly, and without skill. She must have been saving all of her luck to be able to pierce me through my eye and my heart. Bravo, miss.’ He thought.

Horrified screams erupted throughout the arena. The guards were frozen for a good ten seconds before they finally leaped into action, rushing to surround the Kanoean emperor.

But it was already too late. There was never a chance to save him.

He looked down at his chest through his left eye. An arrow was stuck cleanly in the very center of it. Of his heart.

Right before he collapsed, he looked over to his seat that was splattered with fresh blood. His blood.

Broadening his gaze, he saw his best friend’s son, Gabriel, who was practically a nephew to him, covering his mouth with two hands. He was as pale as a sheet and visibly shaking.

Next to him was his son, Malcolm.. His whole world. His arms were hanging limply at his sides. He looked horrified, to say the least. Tears were streaming down his face.

And just a couple of feet away from the tip of the arrow that was through the other monarch’s heart was the emperor of Ferox. His other half. He couldn’t see what expression he was making. He was covered in blood from head to torso.

‘A wound that pierces more than any arrow.’

“Copying me until the end, eh?” The Kanoean emperor wheezed before collapsing.

“Emperor!” Soldiers ran to his aide, huddling around him and looking at the Feroxian emperor for instruction.

“FETCH ANY DOCTOR! LOOK IN THE STANDS, THERE MUST BE ONE HERE! SECURE THE EXITS AND APPREHEND THE SHOOTER! WE DON’T HAVE TIME–" The other monarch bellowed.

“______.”

The Feroxian monarch froze at the mention of his name. No one would dare to call him by his name except his son when he wanted to be cheeky and his best friend.

But that couldn’t have come from either of them. Neither of their voices were that weak, that devoid of life.

“I’m so sorry….I messed it all up…sorry Malcolm…sorry Gabriel…it’ll be tough now because of me. Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

The other emperor could only watch in horror as the life drained out of his friend.

“Y-you…I can’t do this without you, _______...”

He leaned over his friend, sobbing as he repeated sorry until he died.

The second that Malcolm saw his father’s mouth stop moving, saw the way that he went still…a bloodcurdling scream was ripped out of him.

“FEROXXXXXXX!”

With that single yell, the arena turned into hell.

Men from the two nations were ripping each other apart with their bare hands. The women ran for their lives, yet not a lot of them made it out of the arena.

Out of the 200,000 people that had attended the peace talks, only about 50,000 lived to tell the tale. More than half of that percentage were not left unscathed. More Feroxians were left dead than Kanoeans.

The events of that day are known as the Battle of Fury. It marked the beginning of the great Ferox-Kano War, and the start of the Age of Warfare.

Sixty years later, the two sons, Malcolm and Gabriel sit on the thrones of Kano and Ferox. Best friends turned to hateful enemies.

And so began the Age of Warfare. A chaotic time period full of death and suffering. Most jobs were forgone in favor of jobs that would go towards the wars. Basically hell on earth.

Yet, one could reach the heights of what life had to offer based on one thing:

Strength!

If you were weak? You’d just live out your life as another foot soldier, fated to fight brutal battles against blood hungry opponents while the strong watched from the back.

One might think: ‘But shouldn’t you be fighting on the front lines if you were strong?’

If only it worked that way. Unless you were really an enigma, just strength would get you nowhere. It would instead be left to something that always had weight: social standing/wealth!

If you were a noble, you were in. Gone were the days of earning a position, no matter your status– just prance around with a seal or a family crest and you would get anything you wanted. Of course, you would get better quality benefits the higher you were on the totem pole. That’s why the titles of Marquess and up were so coveted. High ranking, old-money noble families would be the only ones that had such prestigious titles.

The Age of Warfare is basically a slot machine. If you roll somewhat above average strength, but you come from a family of lower-class merchants with absolutely no title, you win nothing. But, if you roll high strength, status, and money? You win big. It’s a man’s world, a world that a capable one can advance in with the right plays. A man’s world.

With no space for women.

The only thing that had not changed with the death of the old Kanoean emperor.

Women were still seen as commodities. Or, better yet, fancy trophies to show off or pretty toys to play with for a bit and then discard.

They were not allowed in the army. Not allowed to own property or weapons without the approval of a man. Hell, they weren’t even allowed to pick their own job!

What they were expected to do was stay quiet, be attractive to men and have as many heirs, preferably sons, as they could.

If you were a noblewoman, or an emperor’s daughter? Don’t even think about actually holding a position of power. The most power a woman has ever held was through being the empress— which had little authority.

Most peasant women worked the farms until they had to marry a foot soldier man, would have a couple of babies and spend the rest of their life taking care of their husband and children. A life worse than death, in our MC’s opinion.

If you were prettier than others, you could try your luck at working at a brothel. It paid much better than farming crops did, and there was a chance of catching the eye of a nobleman and becoming one of his concubines…

But that almost never ended well: you would either be plotted against and killed by a jealous noblewoman, or forgotten by the very same noble that took interest.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

There was one particular woman that went through a different, yet perhaps more tragic experience. When they had first met, she was young and innocent, new to the brothel that she worked at and virginal. She was saved from an overbearing customer by a dashing marquess.

“I a-already told you that we will close soon, sir…please get off of me!”

“Don’t be stubborn sweetheart–”

“She said to get off. You lay your hands on her again and there will be hell to pay.” He had said coldly, brandishing his sword to the man. After they had run off in fear, the noble turned back to the woman who was curled up in a corner of the bed.

“Are you alrigh–” He started, pausing in his tracks as he got a good look at her.

She had rich dark skin, full lashes and lips, stunning onyx eyes and a crown of springy curls.

“...My lord, I cannot thank you enough for saving me–”

“You’re stunning.” He blurted, dropping to one knee in front of the bed.

“My lord?!” She gasped, bewildered at the sight of a powerful nobleman kneeling to a prostitute. She scrambled from the bed to try and help him up, but was stopped when he took hold of her wrist instead of her hand. Still kneeling, the marquess looked up at her, his eyes full of adoration.

“What is your name, o beautiful miss?”

She sputtered, taken aback as the man continued to gaze at her like she was the greatest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

“E-ewaoluwa, sir…or just Ewa.” He smiled at that, a handsome gesture that had her cheeks heating up.

“A breathtaking name for a breathtaking woman. I implore you, let me take you as my concubine. You will want for nothing, and I will treat you with the utmost respect. Even if you have already been taken by another man, that means nothing to me.” He pleaded, gently taking her hand and kissing it. Ewa was in disbelief, gaping at the man below her.

“My lord, I am not worthy! I am a commoner prostitute, new to this country, I have no title or connections…plus I am v-virginal– I would not be able to please you because I have had no experience.” She squeaked, looking away from him.

“Please, Ewa, look at me.”

Begrudgingly, she cast her gaze back on the noble, nervously shuffling around as he stared up at her.

“My name is Marquess Cilas Bardin. Cilas means ‘chivalrous and righteous’, and Bardin means ‘battle ax’. I am a high ranking individual in this empire’s army, and I have seen many immoral, unrighteous things in this world. But I hold myself to my name, Ewa. I will not force you to become mine, nor will I force you into sexual relations with me. Please heed this: your status regarding anything will not deter me in any way. From your beauty, to your character, to your sweet accent…this might seem a bit quick, but I am utterly enthralled with you, Miss Ewa.”

Ewa was beyond flustered, covering her mouth with one hand as Cilas laced his fingers through the other.

“My lord–”

“Cilas.”

“C-cilas! I still think of myself as unworthy, but…hearing how you speak of me, and with your handsome appearance…I have been wooed.” Ewa muttered, blushing so hard that her skin had a pink undertone to it. Smirking at the sight, Cilas rose swiftly and picked Ewa up in a princess carry.

“My lord!!” she squealed, flailing about as Cilas laughed and carried her out of the brothel, the pair attracting the attention of many.

“I believe that you and I will enjoy being together, Ewa.” Cilas chuckled as she covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

And they really did enjoy their relationship. Their first year was bliss: the servants and staff in Bardin Castle treated Ewa with respect, tales of the ‘exotic and beautiful concubine of Marquess Bardin’ reached far and wide, and she truly wanted for nothing. Cilas’s love grew for her each day, as did Ewa’s love for him.

Then, right before a year passed after she became a concubine, she finally had worked up the courage to give herself fully to Cilas, and he made love to her for an entire night.

About a month afterwards, Ewa had started to have frequent morning sickness. She already had an inkling that it was what she thought it was, but she was too nervous to tell Cilas. However, he had walked in on her vomiting into the bathtub and immediately taken her to the physician, despite her assurances.

“Have you missed your cycle?”

“Yes…”

“Vomiting, mood swings, tiredness?” The physician asked, a knowing look on his face.

“Yes…” She sighed, thinking back to the day before when she became cross with Cilas for no reason.

“Please allow me to test your pulse my lady.” She nodded, tilting her neck and anxiously locking eyes with the marquess, who had a worried face himself.

After a few seconds, the doctor smiled and turned to Cilas.

“A double-strung pulse. Congratulations, my lord and lady, you have an heir.”

Stunned, Cilas first gapes at the physician before turning to gape at Ewa, who gives him a nervous smile.

“Surprise–”

Cilas trapped her in a crushing hug, making sure not to put any pressure on her stomach.

“Ewa! We’re going to be parents!” He cheered, picking her up and spinning her around as he cries tears of joy. Ewa could only stare back at him, tearing up herself.

‘How was I nervous?’ She thought, beaming up at Cilas when he put her down and throwing her arms around his neck.

‘As long as he’s with me, everything will be alright.’

But fortune was not on Ewa’s side. Just a week after her pregnancy was confirmed…

Cilas got a message from the commanding head of the army, the empire’s most powerful Grand Duke, to go to war.

“How could this be? I don’t know a lot about the army, but I’m sure you’re important enough to extend your break longer!” Ewa stressed, walking behind Cilas who was heading for the carriage.

“We’ve had this talk several times already, darling. I directly command a portion of the army; I cannot sit back while my men fight and die in battle.” Cilas deadpanned, facing away from Ewa as he walked. He approached the carriage arranged for his departure, making a move to get in as the footman opened the door for him.

“CILAS PLEASE! How am I supposed to go through this pregnancy on my own? What of our marriage?! I beg of you, Cilas…think about the child…about me…” Ewa weeped, hanging her head. The marquess immediately went to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace as she cried.

“Ewa, darling, I come from a line of strong, capable men who win their battles. I will survive, win this battle and return to you before our child is born. After that, I will marry you and retire from the army. You, me and our child, no matter if we have a son or daughter, will live in peace together until the end of our days. So please, do not cry. Let us both be strong, for the child and for ourselves.” He said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing her engagement ring, before kissing her forehead softly. She sniffled for a bit longer, before rubbing her eyes furiously and nodding.

“Ok. I will stay strong, for you. For our family.” She whispered, kissing Cilas one last time before he entered the carriage and set off. She waved at him until he was no longer in sight, before sighing and turning back to the servants.

This is where fortune really started to fail Ewa.

Instead of friendly, sympathetic and caring faces, she received glares, smirks and sneers. Bewildered, she turned to her ladies maid for help, only to see that they were also sneering at her.

“What is the meaning of this?” She asked meekly, stepping back when the servants started to laugh at her.

“So you think that you can demand something from us because your seduction of the Lord worked?” A maid asked cruelly. Ewa was stunned, shaking her head quickly to refute the allegation.

“S-seduction? I would never–”

“Oh don’t give me that! How else could you, a dirt-poor prostitute with nothing useful to your name but your beauty, brainwash a marquess into leaving you with a child and planning to marry you? Damn minx.” A servant added.

“You’re all wrong! He loves me!” Ewa yelled, her eyes full of unshed tears.

“You misled him. The Lord is supposed to marry a well-bred woman that comes from a good family and has a good social status. She should naturally be submissive to her husband and never even dare to quarrel with him like you just did!”

Ewa hugged herself tightly, still in disbelief at what the servants who were just kind to her not even two minutes prior were saying.

“If the Lord really does love you, then he will return before your child is born, which we can assume will be sometime in the next nine months. But if he does not return within the next nine months…” A maid started.

“...then we know that he truly never loved you, as he missed the birth of your child. As the servants, we don’t want to see a loveless marriage between our Lord and some girl…” another servant added.

“...and the Marquess will not harbor anyone not serving a purpose.”

THUD

Ewa dropped to her knees, horrified at what had just happened as the servants walked away, grins on their faces.

“They’re going to kick me out. What should I do? How could they abandon me when I’m with child? What should I do? What should I–” She rambled, clutching at her belly.

‘Let us both be strong, for the child and for ourselves.’

Breathing in deeply, she rose from her kneeling position and breathed out. ‘I trust him.’ She thought, going for a walk around the castle to calm herself down.

Over the months, Ewa grew more and more anxious. She had become independent, the servants refusing to clean her room or serve her food, so she had to take measures into her own hands. She used her skills from her homeland to grow her own food; however, it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to provide for herself as her bump grew.

When the servants started to help her again, she grew even more worried.

“We’re not so cruel as to not help a woman who's eight months pregnant.”

“Eight months?!” She cried. She had been teaching herself how to read, growing her own food, making her own maternity clothes, and more. Before she knew it, time ran out.

Ewa was at her wits end. Every time she had tried to send a letter to her fiance, she never got anything back from him. She would hope and pray to the great Sun God each night for Cilas to return to her the next day, but he never did.

And then there was one day left before the nine-month mark was hit.

And Ewa nearly gave up. She weeped for hours, feeling heartbroken and betrayed.

‘I was only a plaything. A substitute for some noble lady that will give him an heir on their wedding night.

After she had cried until she could no longer, she turned to the door of her room.

“I have to leave.”

Carefully, she packed up everything she would need for her journey. Over the year they spent together, Cilas had given her enough money for her and her child to live off of for some years. She took food that could be stored, cow’s milk, and some belongings. Once she was ready, she took one last look at the castle she had come to hate before running off as fast as a very pregnant woman backpacking luggage could.

‘Goodbye, Cilas.’

Come the next morning, the servants came to her room with smiles on their faces, intending to drag her up and out of the room only to find nothing.

“Find her now! If she goes and spreads around what happened to her, the Bardin name will be slandered!” The head butler barked, marching to the entrance of the castle only to see an impossible sight.

Cilas Bardin himself on a black horse, accompanied by a great entourage of soldiers walking close to him, loaded with treasures and sporting a bright smile on his face. He went right past the butler, who was frozen in shock, looking for someone.

“I implore you, butler, where is Ewa? Where is our child?” Cilas asked, his smile dimming with each second of silence from the butler.

“W-well about that, my Lord, she…s-she ran away–” He sweated, flinching as the marquess’s face went from warm to cold in a few seconds.

“This entire castle betrayed her, my Lord! We all plotted to throw her out after nine months passed. We lied to her that you did not love her, that you were destined to marry a woman of higher status. The butler forbade us from feeding her or cleaning her living quarters; she was forced to cultivate her own food and take care of herself up into the last month of her pregnancy. She left last night to avoid being exiled. I deserve death to pay for what I have done, my Lord. Ewa’s lady’s maid cried, guilt written on her features as she prostated herself in front of Cilas.

Silence.

“...what did you just say?” the marquess asked, his voice so chilling that every single person in earshot shivered.

“W-we all betrayed her–”

“Not that. What you said last.”

“...I deserve death to pay for what I’ve done?” The maid said, daring to look up at his face and being left with a sight that would haunt her for the rest of her very, very short life.

SLASH

“Yes, that.” he remarked, impassive. The screams of the other servants in the area could be heard across the whole compound, as Cilas kicked the lady's maid’s severed head away from him. He turned to his men, who immediately ran to block the gate, preventing anyone from exiting the castle grounds.

“Round up every single servant in this godforsaken castle and bring them here, right now. Bind them and kneel them down in a line.” he barked out, receiving a plethora of “Yes, sir!”s and gnashing his teeth in anger.

Swiftly, every servant was rounded up, bound and forced to kneel. A soldier stood behind each one as Cilas approached the line of servants. He started with the butler.

“F-forgive me–”

SLASH

Screams from the servants erupted once more, as the butler’s headless body dropped to the ground, blood pooling everywhere. The soldier grimaced, tossing the head into a basket and laying the body down in the middle of the massive fire pit. Cilas continued down the line, ignoring the pleas of the guilty and separating each one’s head from their neck with scary accuracy and speed.

“FORGIVE ME–”

SLASH

“HAVE MERCY MY LORD–”

SLASH

“I HAVE A FAMILY–”

SLASH

“I was supposed to have a family too.” he muttered to himself, caked in layers and layers of blood as he sliced another servant’s head like butter.

In just another two minutes, he finished delivering his fatal punishment, having cut off over fifty heads. Cilas dropped to his knees after the last head was severed, his sword clanging loudly onto the floor. In his madness, he held up his hands to his face, so caked with blood that they looked swollen, and slapped them onto his cheeks, dragging them down slowly.

“EWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” He screamed, bloody and agonized as the firepit full of bodies was lit and the blood of the servants pooled.

That day would be known as ‘The Birth of the Lonely Marquess’.

The news spread everywhere; the famed Cilas Bardin, one of the greatest knights that the Feroxian Empire had ever seen, had gone mad right after winning a battle and killed every single servant that worked in his castle. He then dumped the heads of the servants in the middle of a prosperous city, and proceeded to throw himself into warfare. He climbed the ranks swiftly, becoming one of the Three Great Generals that led their own huge armies into battle and worked directly under the Supreme Commander of the Feroxian Army.

It was said that every night, he would call for an ‘Ewa’ in his dreams. Some suspected that Ewa was his famed concubine, but most believed it to be fake. Bardin Castle would be abandoned, Ewa was forgotten, and over nine years would pass.

So what happened to the forgotten concubine and her child?

‘...bit quick, but…utterly enthralled with you, Ewa.’

‘Ma...wake…’

‘We’re going to…parents!’

‘I…you alright…’

‘....Marquess will not harbor anyone without a purpose.’

“MAMA!”

With a gasp, Ewa sits up from the floor mattress she was laying on. She looked around frantically, realizing that she was no longer at the brothel, in Bardin Castle or under a tree giving birth to her child by herself.

She was in her own home, way out in the slums.

“Ma, did you have a bad dream again?

She looked at the source of the question asked, smiling warmly as she wiped away the sweat from her forehead and blinked back tears.

They had long and curly hair braided into a low bun, dusty yet smooth caramel skin, were more than a foot shorter than the estranged concubine and had radiant green eyes that stood out, even with all of the dirt and bandages that littered their face.

“Nothing to worry about, Sina.”

Ewa patted her daughter’s shoulder, smiling at her lovingly.