Chapter 1: Killing Drains

Lord Riffen Rardye stared out the oval-shaped window of his highship. It flew slowly through the day sky, and Riffen could see a few clouds shaped like goblets pass by the ship.

He sat in an uncomfortable chair that was mounted to the tan metal walls of the highship, barely big enough to fit the lord and his clanky parade armor, which was a dirty bronze color. The chest plate was infused with tiny gemstones, acting as another layer above the armor, giving the otherwise ugly suit a golden tint to it. His helm sat next to him, on an empty chair.

“Father.” The lord's son, sitting across from him, wore similar armor accompanied. Though, unlike the lord, the scrawnier man had his helmet on. “Are you sure about this? I-… Don’t think im quite ready for this. What about a feast? Or an official ceremony?” His voice was timid as if the words didn’t want to come out.

“Shut up son.” The Lord spoke, looking back out the window, seeing another high ship coast up slowly. The pale man would exhale, looking down with sweaty palms as he bounced his knee up in nervousness. The lord's words were commanding, and even though his response was short, Rege knew not to pry further.

Rege, son of lord Riffen, was taller than his old man. He barely had any muscle and had a mop of blonde gold hair that curled over his eyes. His skin was quite pale as if he didn’t see the sun often. He sat next to a large steel door, with an oval window in the middle, allowing the king and his son to see into the other rooms.

The highship carried fifty people, all of them soldiers of the highest rank. They all sat jumbled up in one room, while the lord and his son sat alone in a room in the back. At the front, was the conductor, who flew the oval-shaped ship across the skies of Humber.

The room was quiet and felt drained. Rege looked up at his father who had that same stern expression on his face. It was wrinkled and had a large scar drawn out next to his lip. Where did that come from? He thought, seeing as this wouldn’t be a good time to bring that up. He did, however, bring another thing up.

“So… Erdem. How’s the uh… economy?” Said the unsure boy, at an attempt at small talk. Perhaps to get his mind off the skirmish about to take place? His father didn’t answer. After only a few seconds, the sirens blew from near the front of the ship. Rege would stop his bumping leg. He knew what was next.

Riffen looked out the window to see the highship that was flying previously next to them stop. “Westerns.” Said the lord, standing up as he grabbed his helm, holding it with his left hand by his side. Rege would look out as well, gulping as he stood, struggling to take the iron sword out of his sheath. The lord grabbed him by the shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes through the helm.

“Calm, son. You’re a man now. So stop acting like a little lad.” Rege said nothing, staring at his feet for a moment. After his father pulled the door open and walked out, he carefully took his blade out.

Beautifully crafted, made of fine steel. He was truly undeserving of such a weapon like this. He thought as he took a deep breath, following his father out of the back room.

Riffen pulled the door to the side, stepping into the other room as the men stood up and saluted. They all looked ready.

“Westerns have come to kill me.” Said the man, unlocking the flintlock pistol on his side and holding it with his right hand. “And we’ve come to steal their loot. You’ve trained for this, so be ready and fight!” His commanding voice echoed through the ship, as the man all said ‘Aye’ in unison.

Riffen was no rookie when it came to battle. Especially when it came to highship skirmishes. Then why… why did he feel so nervous? He felt one single gland of sweat fall from his head, watching his elite soldiers all get ready, looking prepared and coordinated. His son stared down behind him, clearly not ready for what was happening.

Riffen studied his son's face. His expression. No… he thought. That’s nervousness. I’m not nervous… Im excited. A smile crept on the lord's face, twirling his pistol idly in his hand. He itched for this battle. He yearned for it.

Soon after, a large metal plank shot out the other highship, stabbing the other as it pulled it close, creating a bridge so that the two could traverse one another. As the doors opened, westerns screamed and charged the lord highship.

It was an immediate bloodbath. Westerns thrust their axes down, cracking clad armor as bones shattered and broke. Screams of the bearded men took over the skies as the knights pushed some out of the lord's ship. “Advance!” Said a commanding knight, as another cut the arm off a western, throwing him down below. His screams faded quickly.

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Westerns seemed to always fight more barbarically, and during any type of battle, they always screamed and shouted. This made the sounds of death viler and more twisted, as you could tell it came from the heart. Their skin was a mix of yellow and orange, and almost all had beards and chainmail armor on.

Knights of the lord's highship fought more organically, keeping their swords and shields high and fighting with honor. Some fought in the highships, some fought on the bridge connecting the two. The lord, however, climbed atop the seats connected to the walls and went out the hatch on the roof, climbing up atop the highship.

The wind blew through the man's white hair, which was kept up neatly in a topknot. He held his pistol at bay, putting his helmet atop his head. He saw another man climb atop the opposing highship, wearing Maille armor and an iron helm, holding a large battle axe in both of his hands. Two gold rings. Chief commander. Riffen thought, the western stepping onto the other highship that Riffen was standing on.

No words were spoken between the men. The western charged at Riffen, slamming his battle axe downwards aiming towards his head. Riffen dodged right. Predictable. He thought as he shot a bullet at the commander, it clinging off his chainmail armor.

The commander charged again, swiping the axe towards the legs of the lord. Riffen grunted, stepping back sharply as he barely dodged. The western didn’t stop, charging forward as he brought the axe to his side, swinging it sharply towards the side of Riffen.

With his thumb, he switched the mode on his pistol and brought it towards the side where the Western was attacking him. Pulling the trigger, a large sword came out of the barrel, clanking with the axe as it stopped the force of the blow. Riffen could hear a loud grunt of shock from the man he was fighting. The lord grinned, bringing his pistol upwards and slashing at the man's face. The western dodged back, as the long sharp blade poking out of the gun cut off some of his beard.

The western would pant, charging once more as he went for another slash, riffen blocking then attacking the man with his blade. After a few exchanges of slashing and dodging, the western dropped the axe unexpectedly and tackled Riffen, causing him to slip off the highship. He saved himself by stabbing the blade into the ship, as he dangled in the air. He didn’t dare look down, as the western stood above him, grinning. A foot came flying at the man's face, as he kicked Riffen, the blade slowly falling as he was repeatedly kicked.

One more kick and he would fall. One more kick and the blade wouldn’t last. This was bad, Riffen thought. If he didn’t do something-

Blood sprayed downwards, dripping down the highship. The lord watched as the burley western’s body fell past him, falling off the ship and down into the sea below. Riffen looked up to see his son standing, holding his bloody sword with both hands. in awe of what he had just done. Riffen smiled, blade slowly falling more.

“Stop gawking and help me up!” Yelled the lord, Rege snapped out of his bloody trance, looking down to see his father slowly falling off the ship. He scrambled, nearly dropping his own sword off the ship as he fell on both knees. Extending both arms as he helped pull his father up. Riffen, once up, lay on his back, looking up at the sky above. They were high up.

That man… When did Westerns know the correct battle tactics? What happening these days? Riffen thought, panting heavily as he stared up. The smile on his face didn’t fade. He felt refreshed as if that was what he needed for the day. A good battle, even if it did almost cost him his life.

“You saved my life, son” Riffen stood, taking off his helmet and locking his pistol back on his side.

“I took one as well…” Rege said, staring blankly at his sword, covered with blood. His whole body was shaking, and he felt as if he was going to hurl. He stared down at the head of the man he killed, lips becoming pale. Riffen would sigh, slapping his son's back as he walked back towards the hatch. “I was like that once. You’ll get used to it. We all do.”

“Killing… It drains, father. I don’t know… I don’t think I'll be the same after this.” The young man said, still stuck in place. His voice cracked multiple times while saying that. Riffen didn’t respond or stop. Simply climbed back down the hatch. Should I care? Feel bad? He thought as he climbed down. No. He’ll learn. He must.

The sounds of shields clanking and men screaming stopped. The last remaining men cheered, seeing the king and his son safe. All the westerns were dead, as medics tended to the wounded and bodies began to get piled up. The king got on one knee, seeing the small pile of knights dead. He put his fist to his forehead, sending them a prayer.

Crossing the bridge, he stepped inside the enemy highship. Next to him, was a tan-skinned man in his early twenties, with brown curly hair and a chest-plate of blood. “Sir.” The man said, following him into the other highship. “Report of the skirmish. Three men dead, Five wounded.”

“More than usual. Westerns have grown stronger as the war wages.” The Lord said, thinking of his encounter with the commander just minutes ago. The curly-haired man would nod with a sigh. “Every western has been slain, assuming the commander up top has as well.”

Riffen smirked, walking over to the back of the highship and pulling out large crates from the back. “He has. My son killed his first man today. I couldn’t be prouder.” Multiple others came and took the crates. The man next to Riffen nodded. “Killed the commander?” The tanned-skinned man sounded surprised but showed no weakness as he cleared his throat.

“I’m sure he’ll be of great use to the Orbele army someday. Though sir… I do have my concerns. Why go on highship skirmishes yourself? Do you realize how much danger this puts you in? How much danger this puts the entire country in?”

The lord smiled. His arms crossed as he watched the rest of the crates being lifted out and back towards his highship. “Something is brewing, Demal. Something big. And I won't dare miss it.” He walked back towards his own ship, as the lord’s general stood in silence, pondering that answer.

The victory belonged to the Knights of Humber. And that night, they had a grand feast.