In the west area, adjacent to Castle Salizia, stood a smaller castle entwined within the multi-layer defensive system protecting the main castle. This castle served as a rally point and command center, allowing the soldiers and generals to stay close to the fight without endangering the civilians and royalty who would be stationed in Castle Salizia.
Prince Hector looked out his window, seeing and hearing the storm rage outside like a crazed animal throwing itself against the stone walls. It had been years since a storm of this magnitude had assaulted the castle. Signing as the candlelight flickered, he closed his eyes for second to clear his strained vision, then turned back to reading the reports.
“Looks like Todo was able to close down the black market on drugs and human trafficking,” he mused aloud to himself as he continued reading the reports. “Too bad he was not able to arrest the leader.”
The flame in the lamp lazily danced about as the door to his study opened, a young maid with dark hair bringing his evening tea.
“Leave it here,” Hector motioned as he started to gather his reports in a pile, making room for the tea. “You can clean up tomorrow morning, you are dismissed for the night.”
“Yes, my lord.” The maid quickly curtsied and backed out of the unadorned room; the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight causing half of her face to become hidden to the light.
Without glancing up, Hector picked up the tea breathing in the rich aroma. Snow Tea was the only luxury he allowed himself. As the king's brother, he was entitled to a life of riches and pleasure, but he had pushed it aside. Duty, honor, tradition, and loyalty were the cornerstones of his belief, along with tea.
Taking a sip of his tea he looked back at the reports, frowning to himself. Did the maid steep the leaves too long? he wondered as he continued reading, the familiar taste of the tea somehow different. Placing his cup down he shifted slightly in his chair getting comfortable. He had till daylight to finish reading this pile of reports.
Five years ago, when the King’s illness had worsened to the point that he could no longer sit on the throne, Hector had been forced to take over his brother’s role. Sitting on the throne of Vanura, he had finally realized just how badly the kingdom had been managed; virtually all communication outside of the capital had been ignored. The outer lands only remembered when taxes were due. Horrified at the situation, he rapidly established an intelligence network. He had to know what was truly happening in the Kingdom!
The network Hector created had two primary goals: first, to monitor the activities of foreign kingdoms, and second, to keep an eye on the disgruntled lords within Vanura itself.
Vanura, the Kingdom founded over 7,000 years ago by house Salizia, and The Eight Great Houses, was formed in the shape of a wheel. The Eight Great Houses controlled the lands on the outer ring, while House Salizia controlled the center hub-the capital of the kingdom. Informally, some foreigners referred to Vanura as the Wheel Kingdom.
Sighing as he placed the report down, Hector started to massage his temples. According to the report he had just read, some of the Great Houses were no longer hiding the fact that they distrusted House Salizia and the King.
It was not that Hector could not understand the Lords, during the twelve years unofficially named “The Dark Times”, even he had left the kingdom due to his brother’s foolish decisions.
After the death of his second wife, King Alfred married Queen Kina, a commoner who resembled his late wife. This itself would not have been too terrible—the King’s previous and second wife was also a commoner, but the King had granted excessive power to Queen Kina’s father and brother, appeasing her while tossing his responsibilities to the side. Entranced by his new wife and afraid he would not cherish her in the fleeting time they had left, Alfred allowed the kingdom to be run by her family. Through sheer incompetence and disregard for the King’s advisors, Kina’s family had crippled the once flourishing kingdom in a matter of years.
Hector pinched the bridge of his nose as he remembered how at the end of the day, Queen Kina had been caught sleeping with the Captain of the Guards, her action leading to the execution of her and her family. When the dust had settled on the whole affair, the King lay poisoned, his body broken, the assailant unknown. Hector suspected that it was Kina’s father’s last-ditch effort to take over the kingdom but there was no real proof.
A headache started to form as Hector finished reading the reports, the small pile of documents was much more concerning than he had hoped for. For the last month or so he had lost all communication from his information network stationed on the eastern border of the kingdom, a total blackout of information, no word from any of his spies. Squinting as the headache started to get worse, he felt the throbbing anguish between his eyes start to beat irregularly. Did I drink enough water? he thought to himself as pain raced between his eyes. Something was wrong! The pain had come too quickly, he could feel his stomach starting to knot up, abdomen tightening dangerously. Poison!
Trusting his battle-sharpened instincts, Hector instantly upended the desk he was working at and threw himself behind it. The sound of the crashing desk was perfectly timed with the thunder. Papers, quills, and the teapot scattered around the room as he heard the dull sounds of knives embedding themselves deeply within the wooden desk he had just upended.
Drawing the Aether that surrounded him, Hector instantly felt relief as power flooded into his body, the Phoenix Crest on his neck drawing in the awesome energy. Rotating the Aether around his body in a specific and complex pattern, only known to his house, he felt his body explode with power, the raw energy pulsing in his muscles.
Without taking the time to enjoy the Aether coursing through him, Hector grabbed his two-handed saber that had been leaning against the wall behind him, drawing the imposing weapon. Turning to face his attackers he blinked in shock as he was hit with a fit of coughing, blood spilling from his mouth. The poison was much more deadly than he thought possible, his body was already starting to decay.
How could poison work so fast on an Arcane Master? he thought, using his saber to steady himself. Unable to get into a proper fighting stance, he turned, holding his saber vertically down his body, trying to cover his most vital organs with the weapon. The sharp sound of steel hitting steel filled the room as a knife struck the large saber he was using as a shield, clattering to the side. Before he could marvel at his luck, a second knife sank deeply into his left shoulder, hot pain blooming in his mind.
Suppressing the scream that threatened to fly out of his throat, Hector forced his throbbing body to raise his saber into a fighting stance: Stance of the Young Phoenix, First Form: Banking Flight.
Clenching his teeth as hard as he could, Hector swung his saber stepping forward with all his might. The breathtaking footwork that House Salizia was known for carried him forward, the momentum of the swing causing him to step in a circular pattern. Closing the distance between him and the group of assassins that had entered the room, Hector felt his saber hit a man cleaving him in two, the pieces of the man’s body falling to the floor. Without breaking form, the saber continued to move, large arcs of blood flying and splattering against the room’s interior as Hector fought the assassins that had entered his study.
In a split second, five assassins lay dead, their silent deaths unnerving to Hector, he had never fought men this silent in combat. Stopping and coughing up another mouthful of blood, he watched as the remaining assassins swiftly spread around him then stood still, none of them moving, almost as if they were waiting for a signal.
Breathing heavily Hector knew he was in trouble, the poison was causing his physical body to break down, but most troubling was that every time he circulated Aether around his body, it felt as if a layer of ink was brushed over his Crest, obstructing his Gate of Power. With the foul substance clogging his gate, he was having trouble drawing the Aether that surrounded him into his body.
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With the leftover energy in his body rapidly dwindling, Hector tried to stand his ground, but the tip of his saber kept dipping down; it was too heavy for him to hold upright. Desperately pulling at the Aether surrounding him, he groaned as nothing happened. The more he tried to draw in Aether, the faster the energy depleted from his body, the quicker the poison seemed to cover his gate, and the more rapidly his body broke down. He could neither replenish the energy he was using nor keep the poison from wreaking havoc on his body.
Wiping the blood that was dripping out of his mouth, Hector tried to keep calm, but he couldn’t stop from squinting in pain; the flash of lighting outside seemed brighter than ever before. Slow clapping came from the doorway as a man walked in, a threatening air about him despite his dark, wet robes. Struggling to keep his body from pitching forward, Hector observed the man that had entered his study, eyes narrowing.
The man was the first assailant that did not wear a mask, neat slicked-back, wet hair pressed flatly against his head, dark shadows on his chin and cheeks where an afternoon beard was growing. A long scar on his face that stretched wickedly as he smiled.
“My, my… how magnificent,” the man gloated, the smile on his face never quite reaching his dark eyes. “You truly live up to your title as the strongest warrior in Vanura.”
Hector grunted, trying in vain to steady his ragged breathing, the words from the man taking a moment to decipher through the pounding of blood in his ears.
“Did you know?” the man continued, “In some of the surrounding Kingdoms, your name is a type of taboo? They fear your military prowess.” The smile on his face finally reached his eyes, his mouth twisting into a grotesque grin. “And I have the honor of taking your life.”
“Coward,” Hector managed to spit out, lifting his lowered saber into a defensive stance, Stance of the Zephyr, Form Three: Sudden Breeze.
The Stance of the Zephyr was the most defensive stance he knew, the Third Form, one of countering the enemy’s attack. Hector knew his body and his House’s martial system eminently, and now his body was telling him that the poison coursing through his body was putting too much strain on body to utilize his House’s martial system for more than a few seconds. The only way for him to survive was to goad the assassin’s into attacking him and to counter.
“Judging from the masks and underhanded methods, you must be from one of the Assassin Guilds,” Hector taunted, trying to read the facial expression of his assailant. “Red Moon?” he guessed.
Hector watched as a small twitch moved the scar on the man's face, before vanishing, replaced by a sadistic smile.
“I am called Ferious, a captain of Red Moon, I am shocked that you know of us. I am impressed, your intelligence network is much more competent than I was led to believe.”
“Your organization is not that impressive,” Hector retorted, spitting the blood out of his mouth. “Weak animals with no real skill.”
The smile on Ferious’ face never wavered but Hector could tell that the glint had left the man’s eyes, replaced by a hollow void.
“Lord Hector,” Ferious responded. “We are merchants of death. We do not care for weaknesses such as honor.” Motioning with his hand, Ferious signaled the cloaked figures around Hector to position themselves into a killing formation, half of them holding knives above their heads, the other half stepping one pace closer to Hector, sword-tips pointed at him. “However, calling us incompetent is truly amusing, considering we are the ones that will kill you.”
“What’s amusing is believing a common peasant like you dares to try and kill me,” Hector declared, eyes tracking the assassins around him. “Come at me if you want to die!”
The sound of thunder acted as a signal as the assassins all moved towards Hector, jumping forward tightening the noose of the killing formation. Knives flew overhead as the group of assassins with the knives threw them at him, blades whistling through the air giving the other assassins cover as they rushed at Hector, swords extended.
Hector crouched down swinging his blade around him in a blur, the large saber striking down knives and assassins alike. Gripping his saber with all this might he barely noticed as his weapon bit into flesh, the assassin behind him dropping as his legs were severed, blood spraying out covering the floor in a dark pool.
Ignoring the fallen man, Hector let the weight of the blade carry him though the swing, Form Thirteen: Updraft, was chained into the Second Stance: Stance of the Storm. Holding his saber in a two-handed grip overhead, Hector slashed down splitting the man in front of him in half, Form Seven: Squall.
Hector’s vision started to go hazy as he started to stumble, the strain of battle overwhelming his determined mind. Keep moving! Keep Moving! Spots of black drifting across his vision as he fought his way out of the killing formation and into the hallway, his shoulder slamming into the wall. Leaning against the wall he had just hit, he knew that the narrow stone hallway was a blessing and a curse, the narrow hallway would only allow one or two assassins to fight him at the same time, but at the same time, it restricted the way House Salizia fought.
House Salizia’s martial system excelled in open battle, large powerful swings that chained one deadly move into the next, the previous move giving the practitioner the momentum needed to keep attacking. It was the ideal martial system for fighting in a chaotic battlefield, however in a narrow hallway it could become a liability.
Hacking up blood as he tried to take in deep breaths, Hector knew he was more deadly inside the room, but with the poison coursing through his body he had no choice but to fight in a choke point. He no longer had the strength to wield his saber, he was dying.
Ignoring the black spots floating across his vision that seemed to worsen when he tried to blink them away, Hector slowly counted the remaining assassins, his mind moving as if he were in afog. One, two, three… There were seven remaining assassins including Ferious, three of them injured, one of them crouching down trying stop the bleeding from his missing right hand. Ferious nursed a large wound starting from his left cheek diagonally running down his face ending at his right shoulder.
Leaning his right shoulder on the wall, Hector faced his opponents, blood trickling out of his mouth. He could no longer keep his saber level, the point resting on the cold stone floor.
“Who’s next?” he tried to say, ending up with more coughing than actual words.
Disregarding Hector’s words Ferious gingerly touched his face, wincing as he felt his blood covered face. “I will kill you for this,” he stammered, eyes wide with rage as he pushed an assassin out of his way. “You’re dead!”
Determination and pride kept Hector on his feet as he helplessly watched Ferious close the distance between them unable to do anything. If he was going to die, he would die standing, weapon in hand. He would not kneel in front of this common assassin like some honor-less peasant.
Taking a long-ragged breath he made up his mind. He would not defend the next attack. He would allow himself to be struck, but in exchange would look for a chance to kill Ferious. He was determined to trade lives with the man, a dead man’s last trade.
As Hector readied his last action, he heard running feet coming from behind him.
“Prince Hector!”
The sweet sound of Todo’s deep voice echoed down the hallway, his commanding voice reverberating off the stone walls, “Protect the Prince!”
Relief almost made Hector fall to the floor, Todo, his right-hand man, his most loyal general and the leader of the Royal Battalion had come. He was saved!