A majestic figure, dressed in heavy steel armor, saddled a huge armored horse, and behind him, in similar armor, an impressively sized army silently awaited its order. Two thousand selected soldiers, and among them were maniacs, murderers, rapists, mercenaries and even simple hastily trained militias, who before that had only been able to plow the land and feed the cattle with hay. These are not the best warriors, but these are people who were not sorry to sacrifice on the battlefield in order to achieve the goal of their power-hungry duke.

The scarlet banners of the Duchy of Colander fluttered over the field, and in front of the standing army stood the walls of a small city standing near a stormy river. The first city they besieged was called Odre and was already preparing for the siege. To the sound of the bells, the villagers ran for cover, but there were too few city defenders to give any resistance. Even though the city was small, the walls were mostly empty, practically no one defended it.

Hiding his face under the visor of his steel helmet, Duke Fellrik raises his sword and gives a general order:

"Attack!"

The army behind him roared and thunderously shook the ground with their grand synchronized march. At first glance it may seem that they were just gathered in heaps and could not oppose anything other than a frontal attack, but in fact the army was commanded by forty commanders, each of whom led fifty fighters, and they knew perfectly well how to conduct the battle and what orders they need to give.

After the first deafening roar, the detachments of the ducal soldiers reduced their battle ardor and, splitting up, began to surround the city, which was no longer a joy for its few defenders. The city was defended by simple guards who could only catch street thieves and petty hooligans among the streets of the city, but could not fight with an entire trained army.

The defenders, seeing the approaching soldiers, fussed, they did not know how to fight against the ducal forces, but still continued to keep the gates closed for some time. In the next few hours it was all over. The defenders, in despair and fearing imminent death, opened the gates to the invaders and, of course, killed these defenders.

Duke Fellrik took the city without a fight. The only problem that was created was a skirmish somewhere on one of the streets, but it didn’t mean anything because the whole city had essentially already fallen. This battle was easy and did not last more than a day, which did not surprise either the duke or his vassals.

The Lakuus Kingdom was well aware that an attack was being prepared, but to the Duke's surprise, they did absolutely nothing about it. Fellrik may have been aware of this outcome, but he still did not know the real reason why the Lakuusians left the city defenseless.

Soldiers with blood-red banners broke into the castle, knocked down the door to the throne room and saw the few guards guarding the empty room, they were killed. The lord of the city fled with the treasury, as many expected, and therefore the Duke, with a proud look, entered, sat on the throne and bent his surrendering servants to their knees while the guards were slaughtered behind their backs. He had to have a long conversation.

All the other warriors meanwhile began to plunder, Fellrik personally approved this, knowing how difficult it was to control such an army without maintaining high morale. Men need to somehow entertain themselves, women and robbery are a great opportunity for this, he himself once did this.

Fellrik, meanwhile, was interrogating one of the court servants, who was sitting on his knees trembling in front of the new king of Lakuus. First of all, the Duke wanted to know where all the soldiers were that were supposed to protect Odre. He could not believe that the kingdom could leave the city defenseless, which is why the Duke wanted to know where all these people were.

"We were recruiting for the militia."

The captive servant spoke.

"But everyone who was taken was taken to the west, it seems, to Ran."

"Do you know how much?"

The prisoner, swallowing saliva, nodded:

"A lot, almost as many as you."

The Duke obviously did not believe such words. It is unlikely that an army of at least two hundred warriors could be gathered from this city; Odre is too small for such an army to be gathered here, unless it was overpopulated. Another thing is that Ran, one of the largest cities in the kingdom, could definitely gather up to half a thousand soldiers and independently fight off almost any siege. The Duke knew this very well thanks to the extensive network of spies throughout the country, and also thanks to his pedigree when he lived in the royal capital as a child.

Recently, however, no information has been received from this network of spies, which could indicate two things: either this network was discovered and destroyed, or complete chaos is happening in the capital of the kingdom, which prevents the agents from sending a message.

"I heard you."

The Duke said in a low voice and turned his head towards the huge soldier, no less frightening and impressive in appearance than Duke Fellrik.

"Cut off his head."

The servant barely had time to widen his eyes in fear when the huge steel monster raised his huge two-handed weapon to strike.

"NO!"

The prisoner screamed, but the next moment his severed head rolled on the stone tiles of the throne room, and his body fell lifeless, bleeding.

While the other servants, sitting on their knees, were shaking with fear, Fellrik decided to take off his helmet and show his warriors his elderly face, and judging by it, it was time for the Duke to retire. The Duke's face is that of a very old man, full of wrinkles, scars and gray hair. Just eleven years and he will be able to celebrate a whole century of his life.

From childhood, Fellrik was trained to fight with the sword, waiting for the moment when he would take the throne of his older brother by force. He prepared for this day, constantly training, while his brother Lef boasted that he would never leave the world of the living. As always, the Duke knew, it was just a boast, of which Lef was completely convinced until the end of his days.

Recently, Fellrik received a letter from Ran, he expected that it would be from a rat from the palace, but it turned out that the letter was sent by his nephew Monrid, in which he reported the death of his father and that the throne of the kingdom was now his. This became the signal for Fellrik to immediately start a war and take the throne before this brat had time to make any preparations for defense.

Fellrik was an excellent warrior, but also an equally excellent strategist. And although two thousand warriors are not enough to occupy every city of the kingdom, he did not need it, because for him it is enough to capture Ran and then the nobility will simply be obliged to obey him, but before that he will need to kill every contender for the throne and it doesn’t matter be he a trained swordsman or a baby, everyone must die.

At this moment, one of his vassals and his faithful friend Lord Bring approached the Duke and reported very shocking news:

"My lord, my men searched the castle and found records of a militia gathering."

"So what? Do they say something important?"

"Yes, my lord, this refers to the number of militia."

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Bring showed one rolled up scroll.

"Five hundred. That's as much as Baron Mardefay managed to collect."

In his old age, the Duke was truly surprised. Gathering not less than five hundred militia from this city was quite impressive, but it is unlikely that these were only trained warriors. Among them there may even be old people, cripples and children. At that moment, it seemed to the Duke that the kingdom was so desperate that it was ready to give a spear even to a pregnant woman just to fight off the misfortune of Duke Fellrik.

If five hundred people were left to Odra, then it’s hard to even imagine how many soldiers were collected from all over the kingdom. Most likely, the nobility supported this young bastard and sent all their warriors to help, but where they will gather is unknown to the Duke at the moment. Nevertheless, he will act carefully so as not to inadvertently cause trouble.

“Bring, gather a second detachment and capture Bika, and tomorrow I will lead the army to Anakrion. Tell everyone.”

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

The lord bowed and, clanking his armor, left the throne room.

Fellrik, meanwhile, wanted to kill someone. This was the meaning of his life: to endlessly kill everyone who gets in his way.

"Where did I stop?"

Fellrik said bloodthirstyly, looking at the frightened servants.

***

The Kingdom of Lakuus plunged into Chaos. The aristocracy, having learned about the death of the king and about the massacre in the Rana palace, brought their troops to full combat readiness. The people were told publicly about the vile betrayal of the king's right hand, the chief adviser of Draun Rudrin and his entourage. He was branded in all sorts of ways: a usurper, a murderer, an invader and even a tyrant, but the common people do not even suspect that they have lived peacefully for the last two decades thanks to his tutelage and administrative competence.

Ran was besieged by unknown troops who turned out to be cultists. While crazy fanatics and demon worshipers, sparing no effort, stormed the city walls, and arrows and boulders rained down on their heads, one group of cultists made their way into the city under the guise of fleeing villagers.

"Don't be late!"

The guards shouted as they let the villagers into the city.

"Close the gate!"

"Move further into the city! It's dangerous here!"

"Get it all on the walls!"

Having made their way deep into the city and finding a deserted street, the cultists, taking off their peasant rags, took their blades from the carts and, putting on black robes, moved towards the palace. Everything was carefully planned, they knew what they needed to do to achieve their grandiose goals.

They made no effort to get inside the palace while sheer chaos was happening on the streets of the city. People were herded into houses like cattle, soldiers broke carts and built barricades from them, and on the walls of the city they threw cobblestones onto the invaders and at the same time showered the enemies with a hail of arrows.

The man, hiding his face under the hood and taking out a dagger, looked across the corner at the guard, who was looking around in all directions with fear on his face. He was left alone at his post to guard the way to the dungeon while the palace prepared for the attack. The cultist turned towards his brothers with a gloomy smile and uttered the battle motto:

"You know what needs to be done. For a new world."

"For a new world!"

The cultists repeated the chant in chorus and rushed en masse towards the guard, who had no chance of defeating any of them.

Meanwhile, in the dungeon itself, one guard raised his head when he heard a sound from above:

"What is this? An attack?"

The cultists went down into the dungeon and killed several more guards along the way, and left a couple of people at the exit to cover the retreat. When they descended into the damp, low corridors of the dungeon, they immediately began to open all the cells, including those where the royal princes were located.

Slakersh was lying on a bench at that time; he was surprised to see the open door that the cultists had managed to open. The younger prince jumped up with a smile on his face and immediately decided to leave the cell, which he was already fed up with.

"Finally I'm free!"

He exclaimed joyfully.

Before Prince Slakersh had time to leave the dungeon, three cultists stood in his way, preparing their daggers, and a moment later they simultaneously began striking their chests, splashing out liters of blood from their chests. Painful screams filled the entire dungeon.

"A-a-a-a-A-A-A-A-a-a-A-A-A-A!!!"

The slacker screamed heart-rendingly as his intestines fell out of his stomach, and the floor was painted the color of his blood. As soon as the body of the younger prince collapsed, the cultists stopped delivering any blows. The last remnants of life still continued to sparkle in the prince’s eyes; they quickly went out when one of the cultists pulled out his life with a special dagger. He did not expect this at all, he did not expect that he would die like this, cut up by three bastards in black.

"Brother."

He whispered in the last moments of his life and died.

Monrid, meanwhile, watched this with a smile on his lips, expecting this to happen. When the door was opened for him, they handed him a bloody dagger, which he happily cleaned with his tongue. Having enjoyed the process, he quickly came to his senses and immediately asked:

"How many of you are there?"

"Five hundred."

The cultist said in a hoarse voice as he accompanied the heir to the throne outside.

"There are too few of you."

Monrid shook his head with displeasure.

"You will not take over the city."

"It's not required."

The cultist said as he was the first to leave the dungeon and enter the corridors of the palace.

"Let's hide in the tavern, change into this."

Monrid nodded when he was handed a tunic, after which he immediately took off his richly decorated jacket, but already stinking from dampness, and threw on a new robe, after which he followed the cultists outside the palace.

At this time, the army of cultists had already taken the walls of the city, and hastily assembled reinforcements barely had time to help due to the crowds of panicking people on the street. Fierce battles were already taking place inside the city, and the guards and militia could barely cope with them, but soon the palace garrison joined the battle.

A thousand selected knights, the best of the best from all over the kingdom, who swore to defend the royal throne, royal power, and not the king himself. That is why they were loyal to Draun Rudrin, but despite their qualities they were much inferior in numbers and in the quality of training to the troops of Duke Fellrik, and most importantly, they had no real experience in combat and more often acted as ceremonial knights than had any practical use.

Having reached the places they needed, a thousand knights scattered into different streets and began to attack the cultists, letting the blood of the invaders spill onto the ground. The weapons of the cultists simply could not penetrate the strong heavy armor of the knights and their blades bounced to the side, but the knights themselves in such vestments were not particularly agile and could successfully strike if only it was unexpected.

The battle raged to the death, and after some time, when the cultists apparently realized that they could not take the city with such forces, they began to hastily retreat. Militia, guards, knights, together with three detachments of adventurers, pursued the cultists to the very outskirts of the city, where they finished off the remnants of the enemy army. The hastily assembled commoners, having learned that they had managed to repel the assault in chorus, raised a roar, sincerely rejoicing at this victory.

However, part of the city was not in the best condition, the cultists killed many people, ordinary citizens and a huge number of guards. The streets of Rana were littered with corpses of people and animals, some streets were blocked by destroyed carts, as were the northern city gates themselves. People began to clean up the mess and put the bodies of the dead in piles where they would be burned.

With great horror, people discovered eerie symbols on the bodies of the dead cultists, but most often they encountered a triangle carved on their backs. From that moment on, everyone was completely convinced that the city had been attacked by cultists. Only they used this damned triangle, a symbol of the three great evils: demons, dark ones and Werhane.

"Let's go."

On the night after the battle, a detachment of villagers left the city and headed north, where the remnants of the cultist army, at least fifty people, were waiting for them in the thicket of the forest. One person walking in front approached the lighted fire around which the cultists were sitting, stopping and removing his hood, showing his face, the face of Prince Monrid.

A figure dressed in all black immediately appeared in front of him, whose hair shone golden in the light of the torches; this was a servant of the dark forces, Swidok.

"Baroness Reikuta Maledicta."

Monrid said with a smile on his face.

"I'm glad to see you."

"Shut up.""

Said the cultist with a dissatisfied expression on her face.

“The last thing I wanted to do in my life was to save you.”

"Did something happen?"

Monrid was perplexed seeing the anger on the Baroness’s face, and the girl answered with a sad sigh.

“Someone killed my people in Fagna and I don’t know who and most importantly how. The one who did this disappeared in Itsqueen. My people noticed the tracks of the carts, they were in the village and immediately left.”

Monrid was surprised. He expected that his hand cult would be a formidable force on the lands of the crown, but it turns out that someone tried to interfere with his plans and this angered him no less than her.

"Anything on your mind? Who could it be?"

"Antigonians."

Said Swidok.

“They recently attacked Itsqueen, most likely they wanted to attack Ran, but they met my pawns and retreated. It’s strange that they didn’t go further even though they killed all my people.”

Monrid didn't like it. He wanted to become a king, and fanatics from this distant northern country are trying to stick a fork down his throat. Most likely, this is why Draun Rudrin began preparing for war ahead of time, he was afraid that the Antigonians would begin to act, interfering with his plans to take the throne.

"Find them."

Monrid ordered.

"And kill."

Swidok smiled when she heard these words:

"With pleasure."