CHAPTER 26

THE GENERAL

The sun blazed mercilessly as the army trudged across the endless grassy field. At the head of the march, the cavalry galloped forward, their banners flapping in the hot wind. Tied to Captain Qin Yang’s horse, Mark stumbled behind, forced to run to keep up. Sweat poured down his face, his chest heaving as exhaustion clawed at him. His legs burned with every step, and when he tripped over uneven ground, the horse dragged him mercilessly through the grass, pain shooting through his battered body.

“Keep up,” Qin Yang barked, his tone ice-cold. “You earned my respect as the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. That’s why I kept you alive. But if you act like a whimpering bitch, I have no use for you.”

Mark clenched his teeth, fury and pain blending into one. Gritting through the agony, he scrambled to his feet, forcing his legs to keep up with the galloping horse.

“Good,” Qin Yang said with a sharp laugh. “That’s more like it.”

Mark didn’t respond. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, desperate to keep moving. He couldn’t help but wonder how far they were from the battlefield. How much longer until this torment ended?

Two grueling hours passed before the army came to a halt. Ahead, a sea of red-armored soldiers spread across the horizon—the forces of Archon Innokentios. The battlefield was set, with both armies numbering in the thousands.

Qin Yang turned in his saddle to glare down at Mark. “This is the end of the road for you.” He gestured for one of his men. “Take him to the camp.”

The soldier stepped forward, drawing his sword for added caution. Before untying the leash, he gave Mark a warning glare. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

Mark silently followed as the soldier led him past the lines of troops to the rear, where servants were busily setting up tents. This was where supplies would be stored and where the command staff would remain while the fighting raged on.

The soldier shoved Mark into one of the freshly pitched tents and threw him to the ground. “Time to tie you up, dog,” he sneered, stepping closer.

Despite the screaming protests of his exhausted body, Mark’s survival instincts flared. Summoning every ounce of strength, he lunged at the soldier, slamming into him with all his weight. The man hit the ground hard, his sword clattering free. Before he could react, Mark grabbed the blade and, in one swift motion, slit his throat. The soldier let out a choked gasp, blood gushing from the wound as his body convulsed and went still.

Breathing heavily, Mark stared at the lifeless form before him, the sword trembling in his grip. Pain wracked his body, but his mind was sharp now, focused. He had to make an escape.

Mark darted out of the tent, moving fast. A servant spotted him, but before he could shout, Mark slashed across his chest with his sword, killing him instantly. He hated that it had to be like this—his white horse, gone. His armor, gone. His prized spirit sword, gone. The book of spells Vivian had given him, gone. But he had no choice. This was his one shot at freedom.

Another servant screamed as soon as he saw Mark. Three guards charged toward him. He was shirtless, wearing only pants, while they were fully armored. The first guard swung down at him, and Mark met the blow with his own sword. The clash of metal rang out. Mark drove a knee into the guard's groin, and when the man grunted in pain, Mark thrust his sword into his forehead.

As he pulled the sword free, blood dripping from the blade, he barely had time to block a strike from the second guard. At the same time, the third guard’s sword slashed across his back, drawing blood. Mark quickly backed off, trying to create some space between him and the attackers.

The second guard lunged again, and Mark sidestepped, slamming his sword deep into the man’s leg. The guard fell to the ground with a cry, and Mark wasted no time beheading him. He turned just in time to block a swing from the third guard. His body was aching, but his focus was razor-sharp. He was determined to survive.

The third guard swung again, and Mark blocked the strike. The guard went for another blow, but this time Mark sliced through both his wrists, sending the hands—and the sword—crashing to the ground. He then kicked the man to the ground, before sprinting away. But as he ran, ten more guards appeared in front of him. He quickly spun around, only to see five more behind him. There was no way out.

Suddenly, a man stepped out from one of the tents. He was in his fifties but still had a handsome look about him. His skin was smooth, and his hazel eyes gleamed under his well-kept beard and mustache. He wore shining blue armor. “What’s all this noise about?” he demanded.

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“General!” the men greeted him. So, this was General Liao Cheng, Mark thought.

“A prisoner escaped,” one of the soldiers explained.

“A prisoner? And he killed how many guards?” the general asked, his voice sharp.

“Three,” came the reply.

“Actually, four,” Mark chimed in with a grin.

“Who is this man?” the general asked, clearly intrigued.

One of the soldiers quickly filled him in on Mark’s story—how he had been captured by Captain Qin Yang, how he fought in and won the tournament, how he was tied to Qin Yang’s horse, and how he had managed to escape.

“What a man!” the general finally shouted. “No wonder Captain Qin values him so much. Get him back to his tent, tie him up, and make sure he doesn’t escape again. I’ve got a battle to win, and I’ll deal with him once it’s over.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldiers responded in unison. They took Mark back to his tent, one of the guards dragging the dead soldier’s body out of the tent. The others quickly tied Mark’s hands and feet with tight knots, making sure he couldn’t break free again. Then they left him alone.

Mark sat there, waiting. He could hear the sounds of galloping hooves, screams, and the clash of swords—there was a battle raging outside, but he was stuck behind the lines in the camp, locked in a tent. He had nothing to do but wait. After what felt like an hour and a half, two soldiers entered the tent. They wore blue armor, the colors of Archon Hanying’s forces, which meant General Liao Cheng’s side had won.

They took him into the general’s spacious tent. His legs were untied, but his hands were still bound—just in case. Captain Qin Yang was there too.

“It’s your lucky day,” Captain Qin said. “The general bought you from me with the spoils we took from the enemy camp after we wiped out Archon Innokentios’ forces.”

“So now I’m your servant?” Mark said, looking at the general with a mix of indifference and irritation.

Qin Yang punched him hard in the back, sending Mark crashing to his knees. “Show some respect to the general!” he barked.

“It’s alright,” Liao Cheng said with a calm, measured tone. “I admire boldness in a man. Yes, you’ll serve me from now on. Stay loyal, and you’ll be treated fairly, with dignity and respect. As a gesture of goodwill, your horse and possessions will be returned to you. I hear you have a book of spells and a spirit sword—rare items for any ordinary man. I considered keeping them, but I’ve decided they’ll be yours again. Earn my trust, and I’ll keep my word.”

Mark nodded slowly. “Thank you. You’re an honorable man.”

Liao Cheng signaled to four guards. “Take him back to his tent. He doesn’t need to be tied, but I want him guarded at all times. Make sure he’s fed well.”

The guards led Mark back to his tent. Shortly after, one brought him a plate of rice and chicken along with fresh clothes. Grateful, Mark quickly changed and devoured the meal—the best food he’d had since his capture. With his hunger sated and his body finally at rest, he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

The next morning, a guard shook Mark awake and escorted him back to Liao Cheng’s tent.

“You should learn proper manners,” the general said with a faint smirk. “It’s customary for a servant to bow before his master.”

Mark groaned but held his tongue.

“Regardless,” Liao Cheng continued, brushing the matter aside, “I summoned you to let you know we’re leaving.”

“The army’s moving out?” Mark asked.

“No,” the general replied. “Just us. A messenger arrived at dawn. I’ve been summoned back to the court of Archon Hanying.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “But you were victorious.”

Liao Cheng nodded with a faint, sardonic smile. “Too victorious. For over a year and a half, Duke Alexandros Karamitsios has brilliantly defended Archon Innokentios’ lands against every other Archon’s armies. I’m the only one who’s managed to break through his defenses, deal him defeats, and seize territory. Naturally, that’s made me a bit of a legend back at court.”

“So, they’re calling you back to celebrate?” Mark asked, skeptical.

“Nominally, yes,” Liao Cheng said with a grim chuckle. “But the truth is far less flattering. My political enemies fear I’ve grown too popular. They want me sidelined, even if it weakens our chances in the war. Archon Hanying is wise, but even he has been swayed by their scheming.”

Mark frowned. “This will only prolong the war.”

Liao Cheng’s expression hardened. “Indeed, and that’s bad. This war isn’t just a contest of armies—it’s a race against time. We must defeat Innokentios before his mages and scholars unlock the powers of the Dragon Emperor’s artifact. Removing me, the only general who’s made progress against Innokentios, just buys him more time. And if he unlocks the artifact’s powers…” He let the thought hang in the air. “We’re all doomed.”

“Who’s behind this recall?”

“Chancellor Han Fen,” Liao Cheng said bitterly. “He’s never liked me. But he’s a fool if he thinks politics will matter once Innokentios has the powers of the artifact in his hands.” He paused for a brief moment. “Put on your armor. You’ll ride your own horse. It’s a fine animal—better than any in my stables.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going to risk putting me on horseback, fully armed and armored, and expect me not to try and escape?”

Liao Cheng chuckled. “I’m no fool. We won’t be traveling alone. There’ll be forty horsemen riding with us and a hundred infantry soldiers and servants following behind. Even with your skills, I doubt you could outrun or outfight all that. Besides, you’ll ride in the middle of the column, surrounded on all sides. Earn my trust, and maybe you’ll earn a little more freedom.”

Mark nodded, hiding his annoyance. At least he’d get his belongings back—his armor, his book of spells, his spirit sword, his regular sword, and, most importantly, his trusted white horse. Serving this general wasn’t ideal, but Liao Cheng seemed like a man of honor, far better than Qin Yang’s cruelty.

Escorted by guards, Mark returned to his tent. They helped him don his armor as he carefully checked his gear. Once ready, he stepped outside, his horse waiting for him. The familiar sight of the majestic white animal brought a fleeting moment of comfort.

Mounting the horse, he rode to his assigned position in the column: the dead center, flanked on all sides by armored riders. The group began their march, the steady clatter of hooves and boots marking the start of their journey to the realm of Archon Hanying.