Today was different. As Kael stepped out of his home, he was immediately confronted by a sight that set his nerves on edge. A convoy, larger and more imposing than the last, stood before him. About twenty armed men were arranged in a loose but disciplined formation, their weapons glinting under the midday sun. At their head stood a hulking man, his sheer size dwarfing those around him. His plate armour gleamed unnaturally, reflecting the light with an almost otherworldly sheen. That wasn’t bronze rank armour, Kael’s stomach tightened.
The leader’s voice boomed out, rich and deep, carrying the authority of someone who was used to being obeyed. “You there! Are you the one they call Kael?”
Kael didn’t immediately answer, his mind racing as he took in the scene. These weren’t common mercenaries or brigands—they moved with the precision of trained soldiers. Whoever had sent them was clearly escalating things. His mind twitched threatening to summon his [Flame Blade].
“Depends on who’s asking,” Kael replied evenly, keeping his tone measured.
Kael couldn’t even see the mans face behind his helmat that provided complete cover of his whole face “We’ve been sent to collect a debt your family owes. You’ve been a thorn in the wrong person’s side, boy. You can either come with us quietly and work it off—or we can settle this here.”
Kael’s heart sank. Aimee’s suspicion about the growing trouble with their rival was clearly well-founded. Whoever was behind this wasn’t playing games anymore.
“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Kael said, trying to buy time as his eyes darted to the surrounding area. The men were spread out strategically, their movements betraying their training. There was no easy way to flee—not without drawing immediate pursuit, and not without risking his family’s safety.
The leader’s smirk turned into a sneer. “Oh, I don’t think we do. Your little stunt last week cost my employer quite a lot of coin. You think you can just kill his men and not face the consequences?” He stepped forward, the ground seeming to tremble slightly under his weight. “I don’t need all of you to make a point. Just your head will do.”
His mind raced. Fighting twenty trained soldiers, including one who was clearly well above bronze rank, was madness. But running away would only delay the inevitable—and put his family in even greater danger.
“Alright,” Kael said, his voice firm despite the pounding of his heart. “You want to settle this? Let’s settle it.” He drew his [Flame Blade], its crimson edge flaring to life as the flames danced along the metal.
The men hesitated at the sight of the flaming sword, a murmur rippling through their ranks. The leader, however, seemed unfazed. He barked a single word: “Attack!”
The men surged forward as one, their movements disciplined and efficient. Kael barely had time to react before the first wave was upon him.
Kael's [Flame Blade] blazed like a beacon as the first soldier lunged at him, spear thrusting forward. He sidestepped, slashing the flaming sword across the spear shaft, and it splintered with a hiss of burning wood. The soldier stumbled back, clutching his now-useless weapon.
Another came at him, this time with a mace. Kael ducked under the swing and countered with a horizontal slash that singed the soldier’s armor, forcing him to retreat with a cry of pain. Two more rushed forward, their swords glinting in unison. Kael parried the first strike, twisting to avoid the second, and retaliated with a diagonal slice that left one opponent sprawling.
His heart pounded in his chest as the skirmish intensified. Though Kael fought with precision, each swing of his blade wearing down his enemies, it also wore down his stamina. His strikes were quick, but the sheer number of attackers began to overwhelm him.
Kael’s breaths came in short bursts, and for every opponent he downed, another filled their place. His arms burned from the effort of swinging the [Flame Blade], and his mind raced for a way out. A soldier with a shield bashed forward, slamming into Kael with enough force to knock him off balance. He stumbled, barely deflecting a sword that came inches from his throat.
"Not bad, boy!" the leader called, his voice booming over the chaos. "But you're out of your depth."
Kael gritted his teeth and pushed back against the tide of attackers. Another flame-infused swing of his sword forced the immediate group of soldiers to back off momentarily, their faces wary of the intense heat. The opening gave Kael a brief moment to catch his breath, but it wasn’t enough. His legs trembled, and the weight of the battle pressed down on him.
The leader finally strode forward, his massive frame cutting through the line of soldiers like a ship through water. "Stand aside!" he commanded, and his men quickly obeyed. Kael's chest heaved as he stared up at the man, whose presence seemed to darken the very air around them. The plate armor he wore glimmered faintly, its mithril luster undeniable. The greatsword in his hand looked less like a weapon and more like a slab of destruction.
Kael raised his [Flame Blade], the fire flaring brighter as if to match his determination. But deep down, he knew the gap between them was immense.
"Impressive," the leader said, his tone almost mocking. "But that little toy of yours won't save you."
The man moved with a speed that defied his size. Before Kael could react, the greatsword swung down with a deafening crash. Kael raised his blade to block, and the impact sent a shockwave through his arms, nearly knocking the sword from his hands. The ground beneath him cracked under the force.
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Kael staggered back, his arms numb. The leader didn’t give him time to recover. Another swing came, this time horizontal. Kael ducked, the blade whistling past his head and carving a deep gouge into the earth behind him. He countered with a desperate thrust of his [Flame Blade], aiming for the leader’s exposed side, but the man twisted effortlessly, his armor deflecting the strike with a metallic clang.
Kael barely had time to blink before the leader’s gauntleted fist smashed into his chest, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, the air driven from his lungs. His [Flame Blade] clattered out of his hand, the fire dimming as it fell.
"Is this all you’ve got?" the leader sneered, his greatsword resting on his shoulder. He began to close the distance between them, his steps measured and deliberate.
Kael scrambled to his feet, his vision swimming. He lunged for his sword, fingers closing around the hilt just as the leader brought his weapon down again. Kael managed to roll out of the way, the blade slamming into the dirt where he had just been. The shockwave from the strike sent him tumbling further.
Desperation clawed at Kael's mind. This wasn't a fight—this was a slaughter. He could barely keep up with the man's relentless power and speed.
The leader raised his sword again, and this time, Kael knew he wouldn’t be able to dodge. The greatsword came down like a falling star, and Kael raised his [Flame Blade] in a final, desperate attempt to block.
The impact shattered the air around them. Sparks and flames erupted as the two weapons collided, but the force was too much. Kael’s knees buckled, and his sword snapped under the pressure, the once-mighty flames extinguishing with a pitiful hiss.
Kael was thrown backward, hitting the ground with a bone-rattling thud. He gasped for air, the broken hilt of his sword still clutched in his trembling hand.
The leader stood over him, his greatsword raised for the final blow. "You fought well," he said, almost respectfully. "But this is where it ends."
Kael closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
Then all went dark
Next thing Kael knew he was back on his way to the city however it wasn’t by his usual method of travel. He was in a cage, one that was being wheeled by two horses surrounded by a convoy of armed men, but before he knew it he was just too exhausted to keep his eyes open and ended up back asleap.
Kael's eyes fluttered open, the pounding ache in his chest making every breath a struggle. He felt cold metal shackles biting into his wrists and realized he was bound, his arms suspended above his head. The dim light in the room flickered from an oil lamp on the wall, and the air smelled of damp stone and mildew. His surroundings were unfamiliar, a far cry from the forest or his family's modest home.
"He's awake," a gruff voice called out, and Kael tilted his head to see the leader of the convoy standing by the door. His greatsword rested against the wall, a smug grin spread across his scarred face. Two other armed men flanked him, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons.
"Where am I?" Kael croaked, his voice raspy and weak.
"You’ll find out soon enough," the leader replied. "Someone wanted to see you. Said you’d be... interesting."
The door creaked open, and a man stepped into the room. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, but his posture and sharp gaze betrayed a vitality that belied his age. His clothes were immaculate—a finely tailored black coat with silver trim, a sign of wealth and status. He carried himself with an air of authority, and the men in the room visibly stiffened at his presence.
"Ah, so this is the boy causing all the trouble," the man said, his voice smooth and cold. He approached Kael, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor. "You're quite the enigma, aren’t you? Surviving that beating and still daring to draw your little flaming sword against my men. Impressive, if reckless."
Kael met the man's eyes, his jaw clenched despite the pain. "Who are you?"
Victor chuckled, the sound laced with condescension. "Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Victor Drell. Perhaps you've heard of me—or, more likely, you've heard of my enterprise. Drell Enterprises."
The name struck a chord in Kael’s memory. His grandfather’s tales of their once-thriving smithing business often mentioned Drell Enterprises as their fiercest competitor. This man’s reputation was as ruthless as the stories painted him—crushing rivals without hesitation.
“So, that’s what this is about?” Kael spat, his voice filled with defiance. “Still holding grudges against a man who’s been dead for years?”
Victor’s smirk widened. "When you put it like that, boy, you make me sound petty. And you'd be correct—I am petty. But I’m also practical. Your grandfather’s shadow looms larger than you realize, and now you carry the remnants of his legacy. Let’s just say I don’t like loose ends.”
Victor’s cold stare bore into Kael, and the weight of his words felt heavier than the shackles Kael wore. Before Kael could respond, Victor turned to his guards. “Say goodbye to the sky for a long while, boy. Lock him up.”
The guards grabbed Kael roughly, hauling him out of the room. They dragged him down a narrow staircase, the air growing colder and damper with every step. Kael’s boots scraped against the stone steps as they descended, the faint sound of dripping water echoing off the walls. He could practically feel the moisture clinging to his skin, a prelude to whatever grim place they were taking him.
They stopped in front of a heavy iron door. One of the guards unlocked it with a rusty key, the screech of metal grating against Kael’s ears. As the door creaked open, Kael was greeted by a sight that made his stomach twist.
Beyond the door was a dimly lit hall lined with rows of cells, at least thirty in total. Each cell was small and cramped, the iron bars rusted and stained. What truly caught Kael’s attention, however, were the prisoners. Most of them wore inhibitors—crude-looking metal bands affixed to their wrists, necks, or ankles. These devices were designed to suppress abilities, cutting people off from their magic or essence entirely. The despair on their faces, the hollow look in their eyes, told Kael everything he needed to know.
This wasn’t just a prison. It was a place where potential was smothered, where power was stripped away and lives were reduced to shadows of their former selves.
The guards shoved him forward, and Kael stumbled into one of the empty cells. He landed hard on the damp stone floor, his wrists aching from the impact. Before he could get up, the door slammed shut behind him, and the heavy click of the lock sealed his fate.
Kael pushed himself up slowly, glancing around his new prison. The cell was as grim as the hallway—a small space with a straw mat in one corner and a rusted bucket in the other. The air was thick with the stench of mildew and despair. Kael leaned back against the wall, his mind racing.
Victor Drell’s words echoed in his ears. This wasn’t just about him—it was about his family’s legacy, his grandfather’s shadow, and the power he himself had begun to cultivate. Drell didn’t just want to imprison him; he wanted to erase him, to snuff out any potential threat Kael could pose.