As we made our journey back, the landscape passed in a blur as I rode beside Sir Axton, the weight of unspoken words heavy between us. Finally, unable to contain my thoughts any longer, I turned to him and spoke softly.
“Usually, I have little interest in the convoluted machinations of politics,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “but when I witnessed the brutality inflicted upon Lyndon by Royce, it stirred within me a sense of personal vendetta, as if Royce sought not just justice, but a vengeful reckoning.”
Sir Axton’s response came with a solemn gravity, his voice carrying the weight of untold sorrow and resignation. “A mere spark ignited the inferno that has consumed these past three years with the blood of countless souls,” he confessed, his words hanging heavily in the air.
“And what could possibly warrant such a staggering toll in human lives?” I pressed, grappling with the enormity of the tragedy unfolding before us.
“I cannot offer a tidy resolution to such a moral quandary,” Sir Axton replied, his tone tinged with regret, “but I can share with you the genesis of this relentless pursuit of justice.”
I nodded, silently urging him to continue, hungry for understanding amidst the chaos.
“Hunting was more than a pastime for the siblings,” Sir Axton recounted, his voice tinged with nostalgia and sorrow. “Royce, Braith, and Eugene shared a bond forged in the wilderness, united by their love for the hunt. But one day, a simple pursuit led Braith into the depths of the western forest, where the boundaries of Wylewood blurred into the territory of another.
“It was there that she crossed paths with Lyndon, the Bastard of Lord Harlane, Desperate to extricate herself from this unforeseen peril, Braith sought diplomacy, pleading for safe passage. But Lyndon, driven by base desires and unchecked power, had her hostage and Forced Himself on her followed by All of his eight guards. and saw fit to imprison her within the confines of his countryside estate.”
“For three agonizing days, she endured unspeakable torment at the hands of Lyndon and his retinue of guards,” Sir Axton recounted, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Until finally, the light of her spirit was extinguished, her life stolen away by the brutality of her captors. Since that dark day, Royce has sworn an oath of vengeance upon Lyndon, his every waking moment consumed by the burning desire to mete out justice for his beloved sister,” Sir Axton concluded, his voice heavy with sorrow and resolve.
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In the opulent halls of the Palace, a jubilant celebration unfurled, marking my triumphant return. The air thrummed with anticipation, guests adorned in their finest attire mingled, their voices weaving a tapestry of lively chatter. Banners emblazoned with the sigils of our noble houses fluttered proudly, a testament to the unity of our realm.
As I stepped into the grandeur, my father, resplendent in his regal garb, greeted me with a proud smile. “Behold the pride of Norweth, my beloved son,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of a father’s pride. Beside him, my mother, radiant in her grace, enveloped me in a warm embrace. “My prayers have been answered with your safe return,” she murmured, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Mother, it is your unwavering love and prayers that have guided me through every battle,” I replied, my heart swelling with gratitude for her steadfast devotion. Sir Axton, ever the stalwart knight, interjected with a jest, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “If Milady witnessed her son on the battlefield, even the enemy would seek refuge in her prayers,” he quipped, eliciting a chuckle from the assembled guests.
As introductions unfolded, my mother’s curiosity was piqued by the presence of the striking young woman at my side. “And who is this enchanting lady in your company?” she inquired, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“This is Raven Dawson,” I announced “She shall henceforth serve as the Royal Medic of our realm.”
“Royal medic at such a tender age,” my mother marvelled. “Surely, you possess remarkable skill and intellect.”
“Or perhaps,” Raven quipped with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I am a hundred years old in spirit, masquerading as a mere twenty-five.”
“Indeed, both smart and humorous,” my mother remarked.
In the midst of the festivities, my younger brother Eugene emerged from the throng, his charismatic presence drawing admiring glances from all. “Never one to miss a grand entrance,” I teased, sharing a knowing grin with him. Eugene’s lean figure was clad in a long brown coat, his short ginger hair framing a face with soft contours and green eyes. Despite his feminine features, there was a quiet strength to him, drawing others in with his gentle charisma.
“And how was your adventure, dear brother?”
“Bloody and fraught with loss,”
“And did you find more than just carnage on your journey?” Eugene pressed, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I am inundated with more pressing matters than matters of the heart,” I deflected, unwilling to delve into such personal matters amidst the revelry.
“Ah, but the heart knows no bounds,” Eugene mused, his gaze lingering on Raven with a hint of intrigue.
“I shall leave matters of the heart to poets and dreamers,” I replied with a wry smile.
“For now, duty calls, and I must attend to matters of state.”
As Eugene departed for his violin class, a knowing smile played upon my lips. “I trust you’ll excel in your studies,” I called after him, a hint of playful teasing in my tone.
A week has swept by since my return, yet an eerie unease persists, casting a shadow over the familiar tranquillity we’ve painstakingly restored. Each morning begins with a foreboding whisper, a silent dread that whispers of unseen threats lurking in the shadows, poised to shatter our fragile peace. It’s a dis-concerting prelude to the day, one that I find far from ideal.
Seeking solace, I gravitate towards the balcony of my room, drawn to the breathtaking vista of Norweth cloaked in a pristine blanket of snow. The ethereal beauty of the landscape, juxtaposed with my inner turmoil, creates a poignant tableau of contrasts.
A sudden rap on the door jolts me from my reverie, and I turn to find Eugene standing there, an embodiment of nostalgia, wielding two sabres with a casual grace. Without a word, he tosses one towards me, a silent invitation to relive the past. “Like the old times,” he remarks with a nostalgic twinkle in his eye.
A smile tugs at my lips as I catch the blade, the weight of memories flooding back. “Yes, just like old times,” I echo softly, my heart stirring with a mixture of longing and anticipation.
Together, we make our way to the training ground, a sacred sanctuary where our bond was forged and our skills honed amidst the echoes of laughter and the clang of steel. It’s a place steeped in history, where the echoes of our shared past reverberate with every step, reminding us of the unbreakable bond we share.
The training ground buzzed with anticipation as Eugene and I faced off, sabres poised for battle. The sun cast long shadows across the ground, adding an air of intensity to our duel.
“You ready for this, Royce?” Eugene grinned, twirling his sabre expertly.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, mirroring his stance.
With a nod, Eugene lunged forward, his sabre slicing through the air with precision. I parried his blow, the clash of metal ringing out as our blades collided. The dance of combat began, each movement calculated and deliberate as we circled each other, searching for an opening.
The fight stretched on, our sabres a blur of motion as we traded blows. Eugene was relentless, his attacks coming fast and furious. But I held my ground, deflecting each strike with skill and determination.
“You’re getting slow, Royce,” Eugene taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Maybe you’re just getting predictable,” I shot back, launching a flurry of strikes in retaliation.
The battle raged on, neither of us willing to give an inch. Sweat beaded on our brows as we pushed ourselves to the limit, the thrill of combat driving us forward.
But then, just when it seemed like Eugene had the upper hand, I saw an opportunity. As he lunged forward for a final, decisive blow, I feigned a stumble, throwing him off balance.
With lightning speed, I struck, disarming him with a well-placed blow. His sabre clattered to the ground, the sound echoing in the stillness of the training ground.
For a moment, there was silence as Eugene stared at me in disbelief. Then, with a grin, he extended a hand.
“Nice move, Royce,” he conceded, a hint of admiration in his voice “That makes it 94 on 212”
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“Thanks,” I replied, clasping his hand firmly. “But don’t think this means you’ve won. you still need to win 118 times”
With a laugh, we walked away from the training ground, the echoes of our duel fading into the distance.
After indulging in a bracing cold bath, I made my customary journey to the Palace Library, a sanctuary where I lose myself amidst the pages of bound worlds. Upon entering, my gaze was drawn to Raven, ensconced in a chair near the window, her slender fingers delicately tracing the edges of a tome swathed in verdant velvet.
“Seems like I am not the only one who appreciates fine literature,” I remarked with a smile, though Raven’s playful retort danced upon her lips. “Ah, but I smell narcissism,” she quipped with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Curiosity piqued, I inquired about the volume that had captured her attention. “The Legends of Dennevel,” she disclosed, her voice carrying a note of reverence for the fabled Elvin kingdom. “Ah, the stuff of folklore,” I mused, pondering the tales that had woven themselves into the tapestry of our collective imagination.
“Or perhaps,” she countered, her tone tinged with a hint of intrigue, “it could be a realm of wonder and magic awaiting rediscovery, hidden in the shadows of history.”
I leaned against a nearby bookshelf, a confident smirk playing on my lips as I observed Raven engrossed in her reading. “You don’t look like a book worm at first, it’s downright captivating.”
Raven glanced up from her book, her eyebrow arching in amusement. “Oh, Royce, your flattery knows no bounds. I’m positively swooning.”
“Perhaps I could join you in exploring the depths of those ancient tomes. After all, two minds are better than one.”
“Ah, yes,” Raven replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “because nothing says intellectual stimulation like your company, Royce. I can hardly contain my excitement.”
I chuckled, unfazed by Raven’s barbs. “Come now, Raven, don’t pretend you’re not intrigued by the prospect of unravelling mysteries together. Admit it, you find me irresistible.”
Raven rolled her eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Oh, Royce, how could I resist the charms of an egotistical know-it-all? It’s a wonder I haven’t fallen at your feet already.”
Undeterred by Raven’s sarcasm, My gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before I turned my attention to the shelves lining the library walls. With a swift, purposeful motion, I plucked a tome on Eastern Warfare from its resting place and settled into a nearby armchair.
As I flipped through the pages, absorbing the wisdom of ancient strategies and tactics, Raven couldn’t help but quip, “Ah, Royce, expanding your repertoire from charming narcissist to master tactician, are we?”
I glanced up, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Just broadening my horizons, Raven. After all, one can never have too many weapons in their arsenal.”
In the dead of night, I was abruptly roused from slumber by Eugene, his expression etched with grave concern. “I fear we are under siege,” he declared, urgency ringing in his voice.
Perplexed, I demanded, “What do you mean?”
“There’s a threat looming within these walls,” Eugene responded, his tone sombre. “I spied an enigmatic figure prowling the corridors, armed with straight sabre.”
“Wylewood,” I whispered, dread coiling in my gut.
“Yes, indeed,” Eugene confirmed, his eyes reflecting the weight of the danger.
With a steely resolve, I armed myself and hastened towards our parents’ chambers. Yet, as we traversed the dimly lit corridor, our path was abruptly blocked by a menacing phalanx of nine Wylewood assassins, poised to extinguish our lives without remorse.
Amidst the chaotic symphony of clashing steel and agonized screams, I commanded Eugene amidst the fray, my heart pounding with adrenaline-fuelled urgency. “Eugene, keep them occupied! I’ll carve through the one on the left!”
Eugene’s reply was drowned out by the cacophony of carnage, but I trusted in his skill as he waded into the fray with deadly intent. With a feral snarl, I locked eyes with my opponent, their sneer only stoking the inferno of rage burning within me. “You’re dead meat,” I hissed, my voice a venomous snarl.
The assassin grinned maliciously, their eyes alight with sadistic glee. “You’ll regret those words, princeling,” they spat, lunging forward with murderous intent.
Meanwhile, I caught glimpses of Eugene’s brutal ballet amidst the chaos, his movements a savage whirlwind of death. “Is that the best you’ve got?” he taunted, his laughter melding with the symphony of agony and despair.
The assassins grew more desperate, their strikes becoming increasingly frenzied in their bid to overwhelm us. But Eugene remained an indomitable force, his blade slashing through flesh and bone with savage precision. “Come on, give me a real challenge!” he bellowed, his eyes ablaze with ferocious determination.
With a roar of fury, I launched into my own assault, each strike propelled by a primal rage that threatened to consume me. “Die, you filth!” I roared, my voice lost amidst the cacophony of battle.
My adversary staggered back, blood gushing from a gaping wound. “You’ll pay for that, you arrogant bastard!” they spat, their own blade dripping with viscera.
But before they could retaliate, I surged forward with a primal roar, my blade a blur of carnage. With sickening force, I cleaved through flesh and bone, sending my foe crashing to the ground in a grotesque tableau of death.
As the last assassin fell, I stood amidst the carnage, my chest heaving with exertion, my hands slick with blood and gore.
Beside me, Eugene nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with savage triumph. “Let’s vanish into the shadows before more of these bastards show up,” he growled, his grip tightening on his blood-soaked blade.
Together, we melted into the darkness, leaving behind nothing but a trail of mutilated corpses and shimmering pools of blood in our wake.
As we thundered into our parents’ room, my heart froze at the sight that greeted me. My mother lay crumpled on the floor, her once vibrant eyes now dulled with pain, a dagger cruelly embedded in her belly. Horror seized me as I struggled to comprehend the scene unfolding before me. Before I could move, a sickening gurgle tore through the air as an assassin callously slit my father’s throat open, his lifeblood spurting in crimson torrents.
The world seemed to blur as rage surged through my veins like molten lava. Without a second thought, Eugene lunged at the assassin, his movements swift and sure, fuelled by a primal instinct to protect our family at all costs. The clash of steel rang out like a funeral dirge as they grappled amidst the chaos, a desperate battle of life and death played out before my anguished eyes.
My mother’s agonized cries pierced the air, a haunting melody that echoed in the depths of my soul. With trembling hands, I reached out to her, my heart breaking at the sight of her pain. “Mother,” I whispered, my voice choked with grief and disbelief.
But there was no time for tears. With a fierce determination burning in my chest, I tore my gaze away from her battered form and turned my attention to the assailant threatening our very existence. With a primal roar, I joined Eugene in the fray, my blade singing through the air as I fought with every fibre of my being to protect those I loved.
As Eugene lunged at the assassin with a primal fury, I surged forward to join the fray, my heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and dread. The clash of steel against steel filled the room, each strike a desperate bid for survival in the face of overwhelming odds.
My brother fought with a ferocity born of desperation, his every move calculated and precise as he sought to overpower our assailant. I watched, my breath caught in my throat, as he unleashed a barrage of savage blows, each one landing with bone-crushing force.
But the assassin was no easy foe to vanquish. With a sneer of contempt, they countered Eugene’s onslaught with a skill that matched his own, their blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on my own weapon as I prepared to join the fray.
Together, Eugene and I fought with a synchronicity born of years of training and camaraderie. But even as we battled with all our might, I couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of dread that clawed at my insides. The reinforcement would arrive soon, and we were running out of time.
With a final, desperate surge of energy, Eugene delivered a devastating blow that sent the assassin reeling. But before we could deliver the finishing blow, the door burst open, and a horde of reinforcements flooded into the room, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.
For a moment, we stood our ground, our resolve unyielding in the face of certain death. But as the tide of battle turned against us, I felt a sickening sense of dread wash over me. Eugene was outnumbered, his strength waning with each passing moment.
In a brutal twist of fate, a monstrous figure emerged from the throng of enemies, wielding a massive axe with deadly precision. With a sickening thud, the axe came crashing down, cleaving through flesh and bone with horrifying ease.
I watched in horror as Eugene’s head was brutally severed from his body, a geyser of blood erupting from the stump of his neck in a grotesque fountain. His lifeless eyes stared up at me in silent accusation, his mouth frozen in a soundless scream of agony.
I screamed his name, my voice raw with grief and rage, but it was too late. My brother was gone, his life brutally snuffed out in an instant. And as I stood amidst the carnage, his blood staining my hands and his memory seared into my soul, I knew that I would never be the same again.
In the chaos that ensued, one of the enemy combatants broke away from the fray and made a beeline towards me, their eyes gleaming with a malevolent intent. With a savage snarl, they raised their weapon high, poised to deliver the final, fatal blow.
My breath caught in my throat as I braced myself for the inevitable, steeling my resolve for what I believed would be my final moments. But before the fatal blow could be struck, a gunshot rang out, shattering the tense silence like a thunderclap.
I watched in disbelief as the assailant staggered backwards, a look of shock etched across their face as a crimson stain blossomed on their chest. With a sickening thud, they collapsed to the ground, their weapon clattering to the floor beside them.
Turning towards the source of the gunshot, I saw Sir Axton standing tall amidst the chaos, his expression grim but determined. With a nod of acknowledgment, he offered me a reassuring glance before turning his attention back to the battle raging around us. Sir Axton accompanied by a handful of soldiers butchered the reinforcement.
“We’ve lost Norweth” said sir Axton “But you must live Royce” ”I pledge to Bring Wylwood on it’s knees”
“But for that you’ll Have to Live, Now go on, Raven is waiting for you at the Southern Gate”
As the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded into the night, Sir Axton’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade. “We’ve lost Norweth,” he uttered, his tone heavy with grief and resignation. “But you, Royce, you must live.”
His words struck me like a physical blow, the weight of his command pressing down upon me with a crushing force. I looked into Sir Axton’s eyes, seeing the pain and determination reflected there, and knew that his words carried the weight of an unspoken promise.
“I pledge to bring Wylwood to its knees,” I declared, my voice hoarse with emotion. The fire of vengeance burned bright within me, fuelled by the blood of those we had lost and the injustices we had endured.
Sir Axton’s gaze softened, a flicker of pride glinting in his eyes. “But for that, you’ll have to live,” he insisted, his voice a whispered plea amidst the chaos of war. “Now go on, Raven is waiting for you at the Southern Gate.”
With a nod of understanding, I turned to leave, my heart heavy with sorrow for those we had lost and determination for the battles yet to come. As I made my way through the battered streets of Norweth.
As I reached the Southern Gate, my heart pounded with a mix of relief and dread. The scene that greeted me was one of chaos and carnage. There, amidst the crumbling ruins and flickering torchlight, I saw Raven, her form wreathed in an otherworldly aura as she faced off against a group of five assailants.
“Raven!” I called out, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle. “Hold on, I’m coming!”
Raven’s eyes met mine, a flicker of determination shining amidst the chaos. “Royce, be careful!” she shouted back, her voice tinged with urgency.
With a grim nod, I surged forward, my blade drawn and ready. The air crackled with magic as Raven unleashed a torrent of energy that engulfed her foes, their agonized screams piercing the night.
“By the gods…” I breathed, my eyes widening in awe and fear at the display of power before me.
Raven turned to face me, her expression a mix of relief and determination. “We can do this, Royce,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. “Together.”
With renewed resolve, I stepped forward to join her, the weight of our shared destiny pressing down upon me like a leaden cloak. As we fought side by side, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, bound by a bond that transcended the horrors of war and the darkness of the soul.