Merwin Dreynoir

The ancient royal family, the Blakeflares, were the first to forge an empire that united the entire continent under a single banner.

Prior to their rise, the continent was a turbulent realm of ceaseless conflict between numerous kingdoms, making life difficult for the common people. The invasion of the Shialtians, with their formidable true mages, further threatened the already weakened kingdoms. The relentless cycle of war had left the kingdoms fragile and defenseless against the overwhelming power of the Shialtian army.

Human defeat marked the dawn of Shialtian rule. For centuries, these horned oppressors dominated humanity. The Shialtian Regiment, led by the regent, governed with an iron fist. Their king, residing on the eastern continent, granted the regiment absolute authority. The regime imposed unjust laws, enslaved humans, exploited resources, and committed numerous atrocities.

Humans, though capable of mana arts, were dwarfed by the might of Truemages, beings of immense power. Yet, a new era dawned as a new generation of humans emerged, birthing their own Truemages. The catalyst for this transformation is shrouded in mystery, but it may be linked to the influence of the existing Truemages or perhaps a devine intervention.

The Shialtian Regiment labeled all human Truemages as terrorists and initiated a brutal hunt. Rebellions ignited across the land, beginning in the south. The Regiment ruthlessly crushed these initial uprisings, but the flames of rebellion continued to spread, overwhelming their forces.

As the continent was engulfed in chaos, a humble fishing village on the eastern coast emerged as a beacon of hope. Led by a mysterious figure, the first Blackflare, the village transformed into a powerful dynasty. Subsequent generations inherited the unique ability to harness the destructive power of black flames, the most potent flames ever witnessed.

The final push for human liberation came from Arkin Blackflare, leader of the last rebellion, known as The Renaissance. He successfully conquered the eastern part of the continent and declared himself ruler. Other human factions united under his banner to fight against the Shialtian oppressors.

The collapse of the Shialtian Regiment plunged the world into a nightmarish era of death and despair. Natural disasters exacerbated the human suffering, leading to widespread belief in divine retribution. Humans branded the Shialtians as "white devils."

In the end, the reclusive elves and dwarves joined forces with the humans to defeat the oppressive Shialtians. Together, they drove out the tyrannical race that had dominated the continent for centuries. As a child, I was enthralled by these tales.

The Blakeflares' victory heralded a new era of peace and prosperity. They established a just kingdom where all races lived in harmony, including the once-secluded elves and dwarves.

However, human nature, often characterized by self-interest and selfishness, eventually led to internal strife. One ambitious emperor declared war against all other races, igniting the Great Divide, a cataclysmic conflict that became known as the continent's first holy war. In the end, humanity emerged victorious, forcing the elves and dwarves back into seclusion.

Many believe that the influence of the church played a significant role in the emperor's decision to declare the holy war. Others argue that the emperor believed it was a necessary step for human survival. Some even speculate that he had succumbed to madness.

"But..." I paused, unable to finish the thought. It was well-known that the Blakeflares, along with all other Truemages, had disappeared centuries prior. The subsequent Britannian dynasty proved incapable of preserving the empire's vast territories, resulting in its disintegration into numerous smaller empires and kingdoms.

Erikson stroked his beard, his eyes distant. "It is said that Emperor Luis Qi Britaenia III, in a desperate attempt to restore the empire's lost glory, experimented on his own bloodline. He believed they were the true heirs of the Blakeflares, destined to wield the black flame. But his dark ambitions were thwarted, or so we thought." His voice, a low rumble, carried the weight of centuries of secrets. A hush fell over the room as a dreadful truth emerged. "Now, the black flame burns once more."

Hera scoffed, "No way! Our enemy has somehow revived the power of a True Mage? Impossible! I felt its deadly, corrosive energy firsthand yesterday. It decimated our flank effortlessly, but it couldn't possibly be the true black flame."

"I never claimed it was the true black flame, Miss Rhadine. Perhaps it was a weaker variant or something else entirely. As you saw, the Spellbringer vanished shortly after. He could have annihilated the entire army if he were a true Truemage. So, we can assume that the power's corrosive nature, which even his body couldn't endure, limited his ability to use it for an extended period. Even the Blakeflares couldn't sustain their flames indefinitely", Erikson replied.

Valiyan leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "Should we try to burn him out during the battle? But we'd be risking our own lives as well."

"That's one way to do it, I suppose", Erikson replied with a mischievous tone.

I inquired,"So, what's your plan, Mr. Erik?"

Erikson's voice was barely a whisper, "An assassination." A wicked grin spread across his face. Assassination was a dishonorable act, but the Mumtaz were barbaric invaders who slaughtered our people without mercy. 'All's fair in love and war,' they say. And we are at war.

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I remained silent, so he continued, "My lord, I respect the honor code of the plain nobles. But a Spellbringer wielding black flames must be destroyed by any means necessary."

I glanced at Beaumont, unusually quiet for a man of his reputation. Perhaps even he was pondering the situation. Turning to Erikson, I asked, "But how can we assassinate their best warrior in their own camp?"

Erikson smirked, "That, my lord, will be handled by our own. Chief Beaumont here commands a battalion of highly skilled warriors." Even Beaumont couldn't hide a smirk. The decision was made.

"Very well, then. We shall proceed with this plan. Eliminate the Spellbringer for us."

My eyes fixed on the map, a vast expanse of parchment, was covered in intricate details. Sandcastle, a solitary fortress nestled amidst a palm forest in the desolate expanse of our county. Scattered settlements, now abandoned or claimed by the merciless Mumtaz, marred the landscape.

I'd been to Sandcastle as a child, a desolate and unforgiving place. The castle, a small fort and ancestral home of the Cohen family, was a relic of the great empire's past. The Mumtaz wouldn't cower behind those crumbling walls. But would he dare face a larger army in open battle? Or would he divide his forces? Maybe Pasha would even send reinforcements. The possibilities were endless.

The discussion dragged on, exploring every conceivable strategy to confront Mumtaz. My retainers were deeply engaged, debating the merits of various approaches, while the mountain people remained aloof, seemingly indifferent to the tactical intricacies.

I stood, addressing the gathering, "That concludes our discussion for today. Prepare your units; we may march as soon as our supplies arrive. Additional medics are also en route from Slacia. Beaumont, old friend, let's retire to my tent for a drink. Our retainers can continue their preparations undisturbed. And I've brought a fine collection of wine from the southern duchy."

"Well, I wouldn't turn down a fine wine," Beaumont chuckled, hefting his giant, bone-handled axe onto his back. His retinue followed suit, exiting the tent.

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Mehran Mumtaz

"My mohafez," my chief advisor sneered, his eyes narrowing. "They didn't dare pursue us. That Dreynoir, a coward, a fool. He won't be so lucky next time."

I savored my wine, my hand resting on the soft skin of an Elaecian pagan. Their women, like their wine, were undeniably alluring. Her Eastern heritage was evident in her milky skin, smooth as silk, glistened in the dim candlelight. Her eyes, filled with a mix of fear and desire, ignited a primal urge within me. I trailed my fingers along her neck, her breath catching in her throat. I lifted her from my thigh and directed her to my bed. Still under the influence of the drug, she obeyed like a slave.

Breaking her spirit was simple after killing her foolish husband, Rodrick Cohen. Such a man did not deserve a woman of her beauty. As they say, 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.' Indeed, the Sandcastle family, including his father Fredrik Cohen, were known for impulsiveness and lack of foresight.

When I sent him the severed heads of one hundred and twenty-one miners, along with a special gift—the naked, humiliated body of his own sister—he rashly charged with his meager army, eager to defend his honor. Such a waste! His sister possessed great potential. Being a neighbour I knew them very well.

Still, Rodrick Cohen was not without skill. He was adept at using sandhawks and poisoned arrows, which gave him an initial advantage. However, his inexperience was evident. I anticipated his every move. His small army was no match for my overwhelming force, regardless of his early tactical superiority. His defeat was inevitable. The look of despair on his face as I annihilated his army was truly satisfying.

I straightened my robe and settled back into my sofa.

"Inexperienced as he may be, he's no coward," I countered. "He won't be an easy target like Cohen. But the real problem isn't him. It's that goddamn mountain monkey. That stubborn, heathen bastard ruined my chance to claim the count's head." I slammed my fist down, shattering the wine glass in my hand. Blood mingled with the spilled wine, a crimson tide. My advisor flinched, startled by my outburst. A servant quickly arrived to clear the mess.

Instead of advancing on Slacia, I was forced to retreat. That sniveling little count should have been dirt beneath my boot by now. How frustrating! Everything was proceeding according to plan until an unexpected development forced me to withdraw. Despite my desire for a swift victory, caution was necessary. That mountain monkey.

"Any word from Mauf?" I inquired.

"We sent letters about potential reinforcements, but we haven't received a reply, mohafez," he answered with a somber tone.

Damn you! That sniveling, backstabbing Pasha! He's a snake, a goddamn viper! I trusted him, the fool! He promised to keep the path clear, but what does he do? He leaves me high and dry, bleeding and exposed!

I should have seen it coming. That slimy, two-faced son of a bitch would never let House Mehran gain the upper hand. It's par for the course for him to play both sides, manipulating both the geopolitics and internal affairs. I don't understand why Father agreed to his plan to take the lead in capturing northern Elaecia. Now I'm completely on my own.

"As planned, our forward unit had already arrived at Sandcastle. However, there's another matter..." He trailed off, deep in thought.

"Out with it!" I roared, my voice filled with irritation. This old man often irritated me to the point where I considered doing away with him. But for now, at least, he was useful.

"Mohafez, the settlements were completely deserted. Not a single living soul was to be found. Only the rotting, spiked corpses remained. It was like a ghost town," he replied, his voice trembling.

"That was to be expected. Did you tell Jainab to remove all the rotting bodies from my castle? I don't want the stench lingering where I sleep," I said, attempting to stand up. He simply nodded. The nausea was overwhelming. I'd drunk too much. I needed to get to bed. "Is that all?"

"Mohafez, there's something else," he said, his eyes filled with fear. What now?

" Are you testing my patience, you goddamn fool? You know how little patience I have, don't you?" I roared, startling my advisor who took a step back. Perhaps it was my voice or my bloodshot eyes that frightened him.

"The supplies we stored in the castle have all vanished. The guards were all murdered," he said, kneeling before me.

What? How could this happen? Ordinary people wouldn't dare to steal supplies. And there's no Elaecian force nearby. So who did it? Without supplies, my army will be at a major disadvantage.

"Jainab said it was the work of experts and that he's investigating," he added.

"Get out of here! Leave me alone!" I yelled, my voice filled with anger. The kneeling man trembled in fear, unable to meet my gaze. Guards from outside entered the tent. The man slowly exited, followed by the guards. I leaned on the sofa to steady myself. The tent was quiet.

Those supplies were my last resort, my backup plan for a retreat. Damn it all!

Was that the Count's doing? Does he have secret forces hidden in the deserts? No, he's not that capable. So who then? Pasha?