Edgar and Tenzim, having left their faithful steeds at the edge of the Slumbering Forest, embarked on a journey into its heart. The forest, true to its name, slumbered in a dense, almost impenetrable silence, its thick canopy of leaves filtering the sun's rays into a muted twilight. The ground was a labyrinth of roots and fallen branches, each step a test of their resolve and agility.

This forest was not unfamiliar to Edgar. It was here, a decade ago, under the shadowed boughs and whispering leaves, that the wise magician Laryus had first spoken to him of the Lord of Demons. Memories of that foreboding encounter lingered in his mind as he followed Tenzim deeper into the woods. Questions swirled in his mind, chiefly among them, why Tenzim had chosen this enigmatic and ancient forest as their refuge.

Silence reigned between the two men, save for the soft rustling of their passage and the distant call of a lone bird. Tenzim, enigmatic as the forest itself, offered no explanation, his gaze fixed resolutely northward. Despite the growing weariness that gnawed at their limbs, neither suggested rest. For three arduous hours they navigated the tangled undergrowth, until finally, they arrived at a clearing that seemed to be their intended destination. Here, in this secluded heart of the Slumbering Forest, perhaps the answers Edgar sought would reveal themselves.

In the secluded heart of the Slumbering Forest, where the dense trees gave way to a clearing, Edgar and Tenzim discovered a hidden settlement. The space was skillfully carved out of the forest, a small community of wooden huts, a lively gathering place for meals, and a self-sufficient farm dotted with poultry and sheep. The forge, with its ceaseless clanging, hinted at the industrious nature of this secret haven, while a nearby barracks buzzed with the activity of people honing their skills in combat.

This enclave housed about a hundred souls – men, women, and children, all of whom bore the unmistakable mark of mercenaries. As Edgar observed, it became evident that these were not ordinary outlaws. They were fighters and their families, driven to seek sanctuary from the oppressive reach of King Ludrol, transforming this forest heart into a fortress of sorts.

Having secured their horses near the barracks, Edgar and Tenzim ventured deeper into the heart of the encampment. It was a bustling hub of activity, with plans being formulated and strategies discussed. Edgar was taken aback by the warm reception Tenzim received. It was clear that Tenzim was no stranger here; his arrival was met with respectful nods and inquiries into his welfare, indicating his high standing among these people.

They entered a room that seemed to be the strategic center of the camp. Here, three mercenaries, deep in discussion, stood around a table laden with maps and charts. The central figure, who commanded the room with an air of authority, was clearly the leader. He was intricately laying out a plan, his finger tracing routes and points on the maps, while the others listened intently. Edgar, standing on the threshold of this clandestine meeting, realized the depth and complexity of the world he had just stepped into – a world of exiles and rebels, united by their plight and their resolve to withstand the tyranny they had fled.

Edgar's attention was instantly drawn to a man who exuded authority and command, clearly the leader of the mercenaries. This man, with his long, unkempt black hair and piercing green eyes, carried an air of vigilance and determination. Standing slightly taller than Edgar, his presence was formidable and imposing.

Clad in a practical attire suited for both combat and survival in the wild, he wore his sword with an effortless ease at his waist, a reflection of his prowess and mastery in the art of warfare. On his back, a quiver brimming with wooden arrows, each tipped with gleaming steel, spoke of his proficiency as an archer. The bow he held, treated with reverence and pride, seemed to be more than just a weapon in his hands; it was a symbol of his commitment to justice and protection.

This man was not just a mere warrior; he had a history rich with ambition and skill. Once dreaming of becoming a great magician, his path had veered towards a deep understanding of herbalism, making him a resourceful healer. His talents had not gone unnoticed, and upon joining King Ludrol's army, he quickly ascended through the ranks, earning a reputation as a skilled leader and one of the king's most trusted advisors.

However, the turn of events had led him to this hidden refuge, where he now led a band of like-minded individuals. His journey from aspiring magician to a renowned leader in King Ludrol's army, and now to the head of a group of mercenaries, painted a portrait of a man of many talents, adaptable, and fiercely dedicated to the causes he believed in. His life wove a rich and intricate narrative of ambition, versatility, and unwavering determination, shaping him into the leader he was now - respected and followed by those who had found a safe haven in this secluded part of the Slumbering Forest.

Turalon, a figure of rare dexterity and sagacity, combined the seemingly contradictory roles of a masterful warrior and a skilled healer. His very being radiated an exceptional fusion of might and mercy, a singular amalgamation that marked his character. As Tenzim's elder brother, Turalon had always been a pillar of guidance and support. However, upon seeing his younger sibling unexpectedly, his brow furrowed with concern and confusion. Tenzim was meant to be in Tuzmad, fortifying the king's forces, not wandering in the dense woods of their concealed refuge. The sight of an unfamiliar face alongside his brother only added to his bewilderment. Their secluded haven, nestled away from prying eyes, was never intended to welcome strangers. This breach of secrecy unsettled Turalon, sparking a storm of questions in his mind about the intentions behind this unforeseen visit.

Tenzim shared everything with his brother. He revealed that King Ludrol wanted Edgar dead, explained Edgar's reason for returning, and how the king had eyes and ears all over Tuzmad, aware of everything happening. Turalon was astonished to realize that the man before him was Edgar, whom he hadn't heard from in a long time.

All those sought by the king were hiding here. Turalon too was among the wanted, as it was discovered he had joined the army to learn the king’s plans and relay them to Laryus.

There had been no word of the old magician Laryus for a while. Turalon last saw him two years ago. Laryus had advised Turalon that the Slumbering Forest was a good hiding place, reasoning that King Ludrol would never think to search his own lands for those he wanted dead. It seemed insane to hide from the king in his own territory, yet it proved to be a good idea. Turalon had managed to gather a small army of mercenaries, planning to conquer Tuzmad. Everyone shared this desire; they all wanted Ludrol dethroned. Tenzim played the part of the perfect captain, feigning loyalty to Ludrol, which led the king to trust him and see him as different from his brother.

"I can't believe how much you've changed," Turalon said to Edgar. "It seems like just yesterday you were a fourteen-year-old kid, and now you're a full-grown man."

"Spare me, Turalon! What are you trying to do here? Do you really think you can take over Tuzmad Castle with just a hundred men? If you want to commit suicide, that's fine, but don't drag these people down with you."

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?" Turalon retorted to Edgar. "Here, you have no power whatsoever. Maybe in The Kingdom of the Sun, you had Lockdar's men and resources at your disposal, but it's different here. Don't act like a leader in front of me, because you're not!"

"You're naive, Turalon! I don't know what you hope to achieve, but you won't succeed," Edgar responded.

"Both of you need to calm down!" Tenzim interjected, seeing the tension between the two was close to erupting into a fight.

Tenzim agreed with Edgar. It was pure suicide to attempt such a feat without a full army. Turalon realized they both had the same thought, but he remained silent. His plan couldn't fail. Besides, who said he intended to attack Tuzmad with just a hundred men?

He had a well-devised plan but needed Tenzim’s and even Edgar’s help. It was a good plan, and if successful, nothing could stand in his way, not even the castle walls or the king’s entire cavalry.

Turalon's voice was tinged with a mix of resolve and sorrow as he addressed the room. "You accuse me of harboring suicidal thoughts," he began, his gaze unwavering. "Yet, know this, each soul here, weary and resolute, would willingly lay down their life if it meant the end of King Ludrol's despotic reign." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing, "Recall, if you will, the grim spectacle a year past. A desperate, impoverished man, driven by the pangs of paternal duty, dared to steal an apple for his starving child. And what was Ludrol's decree? A merciless execution, carried out in full view of the man's terrified son. To add to this heartless act, the king, devoid of empathy, callously seized the apple, sinking his teeth into it, his face devoid of any trace of remorse or humanity. Such tyranny, such cruelty—it is against this that we all stand united, prepared to sacrifice everything." His words echoed in the silent room, reflecting the resolve and pain of a people oppressed.

Hearing this, Edgar was taken aback. He couldn't believe King Ludrol was capable of such an act. His uncle had once spoken of Ludrol as a wonderful man. What could have happened to turn him so? His uncle had once said that King Ludrol was the best king Tuzmad could ever have.

Edgar was willing to hear Turalon's plan because he figured Turalon must have one. He had his own strategy in mind, but wanted to listen to Turalon’s first.

"Listen and learn, smart guy!" Turalon said to Edgar. "In the Giant Mountains lies the main gold mine from which King Ludrol fills his coffers. Imagine, without this income source, Tuzmad would be defenseless."

"Exactly! The king won't be able to finance his army without money for weapons and provisions. They’ll fall like leaves in autumn," Tenzim added. "But there's a slight problem. Every three days, the king's cavalry arrives to collect the gold chests."

"I get your point," Turalon continued. "Tomorrow, we'll attack the mine in the Giant Mountains, and in the evening, when the cavalry comes for the gold, they'll find nothing but dust and debris... We will destroy the mine!"

Turalon's plan seemed very sound. If Ludrol were to lose his main gold mine, his power would be halved. Yet, they still wouldn't stand a chance of dethroning him without a full army on their side.

Upon being offered a modest chamber for rest, Edgar gracefully declined, his heart drawn instead to the forge's warm, familiar glow. The blacksmith's anvil called to him, a reminiscence of days spent under his uncle's tutelage, shaping steel into fine swords. Eager to lend his skills, he assisted the local smiths, his hammer strikes resonating with memories of his past.

As darkness enveloped the sky, Edgar found solace in a makeshift bed of hay within the forge, the day's heat lingering in the embers. The plan laid out for the morrow weighed heavily on his mind: a daring assault on King Ludrol's mine at dawn. The audacity of the scheme was not lost on him. Such an act, brimming with peril, risked igniting hostilities between kingdoms, a dire consequence he could not ignore. For the first time, Edgar found himself embroiled in a plot beyond his king, Lockdar's, counsel, treading a path fraught with uncertainty and potential dishonor.

The first light of dawn had yet to break the horizon when Edgar was roused from his makeshift bed by Tenzim and Turalon. Their mission was set, and time was of the essence. Alongside Edgar were Tenzim, Turalon, and two warriors renowned for their exceptional skills. The quintet moved with urgency, their steps echoing through the hushed corridors of the encampment as they made their way to the stables.

Under the cover of pre-dawn shadows, they mounted their steeds. The horses, sensing the urgency, pawed at the ground, ready to gallop into the unknown. With a swift, silent command, the group departed the Slumbering Forest, their figures melding with the dark tapestry of the night.

As they journeyed, the city of Tuzmad loomed in the distance, its sleeping silhouette a stark reminder of the delicate balance they tread. They skirted the city's outskirts, careful to maintain a safe berth to elude any unwanted eyes or ears. The prospect of drawing the attention of King Ludrol's cavalry was a risk too grave to entertain.

Upon reaching the Dul'Zare bridge, a momentary pause punctuated their journey. The bridge, an old sentinel of wood and stone, stood guard over the river Dul'Zare, its waters whispering secrets of ages past. Once across, they spurred their mounts onwards, the looming silhouette of the Giant Mountains beckoning them forward, a silent witness to the unfolding tale of courage and resolve.

Riding across the verdant plains, Edgar was swept into a sea of memories. These were the fields where he had roamed freely in his youth, under the watchful eyes of his beloved uncle. The landscape remained untouched by time, a sprawling canvas of flowers painting the earth in vibrant hues, their fragrance a bittersweet reminder of a simpler past.

A solitary tear traced its way down Edgar's cheek, born of longing and nostalgia. He yearned for those halcyon days of his youth, for the comforting presence of his uncle, for the modest house nestled at the mountain's base, for the innocent laughter that once echoed through the air.

Since his arrival in Tuzmad, Edgar's life had taken a turn towards the somber and complex. Here, he had faced the harsh reality of his uncle's death, a poignant lesson that not all hearts harbored kindness. Tuzmad had shown him the stark truth – that life was a relentless barter, where even friendships came at a price, and joy was often overshadowed by the weight of responsibility and the inevitability of loss.

As dawn broke over the horizon, the sun emerged halfway, casting its ethereal glow across the sky. It was a sunrise unlike any other, a celestial spectacle that captivated the senses. Nowhere in the world was there a view more beautiful than here. Initially, the sun's rays took on shades of purple, violet, yellow, and orange, which then blended together, offering an unparalleled sense of calm. Once the sun fully rose, the colors dispersed into the air, leaving one hypnotized by the natural display.

An hour later, the five warriors stood before the Giant Mountains, their peaks proudly touching the clouds. Tenzim, Turalon, and the other two mercenaries had never seen such majestic mountains before. Now, they could do nothing but wait for Ludrol's envoys to return for the gold.

They were clueless about the mine's location, so they planned to follow the king's messengers to the spot. Turalon explained his well-crafted plan to everyone, ensuring they couldn't fail.

"Alright! Let's recap," Turalon said. "There will be about eight individuals. Edgar and I will follow them to the mine, while you three will hide behind those rocks until the king's envoys return." Turalon pointed out the rocks he was talking about. Tenzim and the two mercenaries didn't quite grasp their role, so they asked Turalon for clarification.

"Your role is to wait for the eight of them. They'll have chests full of gold. You'll attack them from the front, and we from the back. It's not strictly necessary to leave them alive," Turalon said.

"Have you lost your mind? There are at least eight of them, and we're only five. They'll kill us," Tenzim protested.

"That's right," Edgar intervened. "Sometimes, you have to be cunning, not just strong. I doubt they all know you've betrayed the king, so when they return, you'll confront them, claiming Ludrol sent you to help transport the gold," Edgar suggested with a smile.

"Exactly!" Turalon exclaimed. "You're still the captain of the army; they will trust you. By the time they return, I'll use the explosive powder I bought from a magician to seal the mine."

"Perfect! Let's hide then, I see something ahead," Edgar said.

They weren't eight as they expected, but about twenty of Ludrol's men. "Even if there were a hundred," they thought to themselves, "they would still listen to Tenzim."

The twenty riders passed by them like the wind. After a little distance, Turalon and Edgar followed them. Tenzim and the two mercenaries remained hidden among the rocks, waiting for their return.

Edgar and Tenzim followed the twenty riders for half an hour, and they eventually stopped between two giant rocks. Near the right rock was a dark, vast cave, and ten of the king's riders lit torches and entered the dark cave, leaving the others outside to keep watch.

With no choice but to wait for the riders to leave the mine before destroying it, Edgar hoped Turalon knew how to use the explosive magic powder. Such an act was bound to infuriate King Ludrol. Edgar still couldn't believe that a handful of men were about to wage war against one of the mightiest kings.

Turalon and Edgar, hidden in a crevice near the mine, grew incredibly bored waiting for the riders to depart. They couldn't fathom what was taking them so long inside. Loading the already-filled chests should have taken but moments.

On the other side, Tenzim lost patience and rode furiously towards the mine, the horse tracks growing fresher as he approached. Turalon convinced Edgar that they needed to enter the mine, quickly forming a plan to distract the guards outside, allowing Edgar to slip into the mine unnoticed.

As Edgar and Turalon decided to emerge from their hiding spot, they unexpectedly bumped into Tenzim and the two mercenaries. All five were startled, but Captain Tenzim tried to appear unscared, expecting to find the pair there.

"I can't believe you get scared so easily," Tenzim mocked. "How will you react when you face Ludrol's men?"

"We are five, they are ten. What do you think our chances are?" Edgar asked.

"Watch and learn, novice," Tenzim said, stepping out of hiding towards the ten riders.

They exchanged a glance, then drew their swords and pointed them at their former captain, Tenzim. King Ludrol had ordered posters with Tenzim's face all over Tuzmad, offering a reward of a hundred gold coins for his head.

"Swords back in sheaths, soldiers!" Tenzim commanded. "It's me, your captain. Don't you recognize me?"

"Yes, we do recognize you. There are posters with your face all over the kingdom," one rider replied. "Not to mention the hundred gold coins for your head, dead or alive."

In the blink of an eye, Edgar, Turalon, and the two mercenaries leapt to Tenzim's aid. The king's ten knights were now even happier, their bounty increased to four hundred gold coins—a small fortune.

Suddenly, Turalon began chanting in an ancient language, known only to him and Edgar. The others watched, trying to figure out what he intended. Clearly, he was attempting a spell, but to Turalon's surprise, nothing happened.

"Darn it! They should have all fallen unconscious," Turalon exclaimed, frustrated by his failed spell. "Where did I go wrong?"

"Xal'las aldun en' somniculosus!" Edgar declared loudly in an ancient tongue. To Turalon's astonishment, the ten knights collapsed onto the cold ground, rendered unconscious by Edgar's correct incantation.

"How? Where did you learn the ancient language?" Turalon asked in disbelief.

"Lockdar insisted I learn it, telling me it would come in handy one day. Let's head into the mine. Be cautious, I have a strange feeling about this gold mine," Edgar warned.

The quintet cautiously made their way into the mine nestled at the mountain's foot, with only a single torch, salvaged from the entrance, to light their path. The overwhelming darkness of the mine's interior quickly swallowed the meager light of their torch, turning their journey into a treacherous descent into shadow. Down they went, tracing the ancient stone steps carved into the earth's heart, their senses alert for any hint of danger or discovery.

Oddly enough, the deeper they ventured, the more evident it became that this mine bore no trace of gold extraction. It was eerily quiet, devoid of the expected signs of labor or the echo of tools against rock. As they progressed, their sole torch waned, its flame flickering feebly against the encompassing dark.

After what seemed an age, they stumbled upon a vast chamber, startlingly alight with dozens of torches. The sudden illumination revealed an unexpected sight – a clandestine lair, far removed from the guise of a simple gold mine. This hidden sanctuary, evidently belonging to King Ludrol, was steeped in secrecy. The chamber, despite its size, had no other apparent entrances or exits, save for the path they had taken. The fate of other knights rumored to have ventured into these depths was shrouded in mystery, adding to the chamber's enigmatic aura. The five intruders stood at the threshold of this underground enigma, pondering the purpose of such a place and the secrets it might conceal.

A sense of fear enveloped the group, feeling like mice trapped in a snare. Suddenly, a secret passage opened before them, and a tall figure in a black robe emerged. His face was concealed by a hood, only revealing his ominous red eyes.

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"I was expecting you," the figure spoke in a deep, menacing voice, echoing through the chamber. "I am the Black Sorcerer, one of the three Bringers of Death."

"The Bringers of Death? I've heard of you," Edgar responded. "Servants of the occult with forbidden powers, dabbling in black magic and strange rituals."

"Scary enough without your description," Tenzim interjected.

Edgar had been preparing for this moment. Lockdar suspected these Bringers of Death were behind his family's murder. His thirst for vengeance led him to study white magic and forbidden arts, including black magic and secret magic. Though Edgar focused more on his fighting skills, as his magical inclination was minimal. He studied black magic to know what he was up against. Sometimes, to fight fire, one must use fire. Secret magic, the most potent, was practiced only by those who mastered both white and black magic. Edgar knew that the more one used it, the more they craved its power.

In a moment of brash courage, two of the mercenaries sprang forward, intent on tackling the Black Sorcerer. Their movements were swift and determined, but tragically misguided. They had failed to grasp the full extent of the dark magic at the Sorcerer's command, a perilous oversight that soon became apparent.

With a casual, almost dismissive flick of his finger, the Black Sorcerer unleashed a torrent of searing flames upon the duo. In an instant, they were engulfed in a fiery inferno, their cries of agony echoing through the air. The flames danced violently around their forms, reducing them to mere silhouettes against the blazing light.

The remaining three mercenaries could only stand in horrified paralysis, witnessing the gruesome fate of their comrades. The reality of the Sorcerer's power had struck them with a chilling clarity. There was no possibility of intervention, no hope of rescue. The flames devoured everything, leaving only the charred remnants of the brave but foolhardy souls who had dared to challenge the Black Sorcerer.

"I, along with my two comrades, killed your family years ago," the Sorcerer revealed to Edgar. "You would have shared their fate if it weren't for Laryus and Marcus. Those two cursed souls will suffer when I encounter them again."

"Marcus and Laryus saved me? Why did you kill my parents?" Edgar shouted, struggling to contain his rage and avoid any reckless actions that might endanger the brothers.

"My master commanded it. He now signals that it's time for your death as well."

"Who is your master?" Edgar demanded. "I want to know the name of the one who will die in agony, obviously after you."

"Brave words for a young man with little time left," the Black Sorcerer sneered. "I shall kill you and your friends."

"Leave this place," Edgar urged the brothers.

"Are you kidding? We can't leave you alone with this monster," Tenzim protested.

"This battle is between him and me. Please, honor this wish! I've been prepared for this moment all my life, by both my uncle and Lockdar."

Turalon, perceiving the unwavering determination in Edgar's eyes, knew he could not sway his resolve. Edgar was driven by a deep-seated desire for vengeance, a yearning to confront the Sorcerer who had wrought such devastation upon his family. The thirst for retribution burned fiercely within him, fueling his bold intent to face the Sorcerer in solitary combat.

With heavy hearts, Turalon and his brother retreated from the accursed cavern, each step weighed down by a sense of foreboding. Yet, as they distanced themselves, a gnawing realization took hold – perhaps they should not abandon Edgar to his perilous fate.

But before they could act on this impulse, the mountain itself seemed to roar in protest. A violent trembling shook the very foundations of the earth, as if the mountain itself was enraged or in agony. Massive boulders dislodged from above, thundering down with unstoppable force, sealing the entrance to the chamber with a finality that was both literal and symbolic.

Trapped inside was Edgar, alone in his confrontation with the Sorcerer, and outside, Turalon and his brother faced the grim reality that they could no longer reach him. The sealed entrance stood as a barrier not just of stone, but of fate, leaving them to grapple with their decision and its irrevocable consequences.

As the mountain's very core trembled under the might of the Black Sorcerer's unleashed power, Edgar stood in awe and dread. He could scarcely believe the sheer magnitude of the force that the Sorcerer commanded, capable of making the mountain convulse as if it were a mere plaything. The chamber, once a secret enclave, now became a collapsing tomb.

Around them, the very fabric of the cavern began to disintegrate. Cracks snaked across the ancient walls like lightning, while the pillars that had stood for ages groaned and crumbled, succumbing to the relentless assault. Huge chunks of rock fell from the ceiling, each impact a thunderous proclamation of the Sorcerer's fearsome power.

In this chaos, Edgar found himself dodging debris, the air thick with dust and the sound of destruction. The chamber, which had once harbored dark secrets and silent whispers, was now an arena of a cataclysmic battle between the unyielding will of a young warrior and the ancient, malevolent force of the Black Sorcerer. As the world around him seemed to end, Edgar's resolve only hardened, his every step a defiance against the overwhelming power that sought to crush him.

"It seems this will be your tomb, Edgar Argyle! My mission will be complete with the death of the last heir."

"I don't know what nonsense you're spouting, but you'll be the one dying," Edgar retorted.

"No, Edgar, it is you who will die!"

With a final, sinister utterance, the Black Sorcerer dissolved into the shadows, leaving nothing but a swirling vortex of black smoke in his wake. Edgar, recognizing the signs of this ancient and elusive technique, stood transfixed. This was the art of apparition, a form of teleportation mastered only by the most adept of magicians, those who had unlocked the secrets of the celestial bodies and harnessed the power of enigmatic magical stones.

This was no mere trick; it was a profound mastery over the arcane, a skill Edgar himself had delved into under the tutelage of his mentor, Marcus. Such knowledge was seldom shared, kept hidden within the folds of forbidden lore. At the behest of King Lockdar, Edgar had studied these obscure arts, including this particular form of disappearance – astral teleportation. It required not only the utterance of words in the ancient tongue but also the use of a specific magical stone, etched with the sigil of a star, as a conduit for the spell.

Edgar understood the complexity and the immense power behind such a feat. The Sorcerer's vanishing act was a stark reminder of the vast and dark depths of magic, a realm where power and knowledge danced in a perilous balance.

"You escaped this time, Black Sorcerer, but next time you won't be so lucky," Edgar muttered through clenched teeth. "Adul Ka'dun!"

After uttering these words, Edgar was enveloped in a shining aura and then vanished just as a piece of rock was about to crash down on him.

He tried to teleport to the Slumbering Forest, but as he had been taught, one could never teleport exactly to the desired location, always somewhere close. So, he found himself near the city of Tuzmad. He needed to reach the hideout in the forest, but how? He didn't even have a single coin to buy a horse to travel to his destination.

As Edgar entered the bustling city, the air buzzed with excitement and anticipation for the imminent Tournament of the Ten Knights. This prestigious event drew renowned knights from across the world, all eager to showcase their martial skill in a grand spectacle of combat. The streets were alive with the fervor of preparations, as banners were hoisted and stands erected for the eager spectators.

Winding his way through the throngs, Edgar found himself in the heart of the city's market, a place where merchants, savvy and shrewd, amassed fortunes. He observed these traders with a discerning eye, noting how they adeptly turned modest acquisitions into sizable profits. They were, in his view, the craftiest of opportunists, playing the market's ebb and flow to their advantage.

Settling before one such merchant, Edgar observed the man's diverse array of goods. The vendor, a middle-aged man dressed in finery that spoke of his success, offered an assortment of items. His stall was a treasure trove of sorts, displaying an array of weapons and armors, alongside more mundane items like exotic drinks, succulent lamb meat, and freshly baked bread. Edgar watched as a steady stream of customers flowed to and from the stall, each leaving a little poorer but seemingly satisfied with their purchases.

"Tell me what you want to buy, young knight! I have a sword here said to be magical, and whoever wields it shall never be defeated."

"I'm not interested in buying anything, rather I'd like to sell something," Edgar said, pulling out something from a leather pouch he kept close to his chest.

It appeared to be a very important and valuable item, a blue stone about the size of a child's fist. It seemed like an ordinary stone, possibly painted, with a specific symbol drawn on it.

The merchant quickly realized what it was - a magical stone. If one knew how to use it, it allowed the user to move from one place to another in just a few moments. Almost every magician had one, but one didn't have to be a magician to use such a stone, just know the ancient language words that activated the stone's power.

"I can't use it without the magic words," the merchant said.

"Adul Ka'dun," Edgar stated. "Now, how much will you offer for it?"

"Ten gold coins," the merchant replied, extending a pouch containing the coins.

"Are you joking? That’s not even enough to buy a pony, let alone a horse?"

"Bad luck, boy, because if you don't accept my offer, I will alert the king's guards that Edgar Argyle is in town."

Before Edgar could even ask how the merchant recognized him, the man showed him his portrait on a wanted poster, stating he was sought, dead or alive, with a reward of three hundred gold coins.

"Incredible, how much I'm worth!" Edgar remarked proudly.

With no other choice, he had to accept the merchant's offer and handed over the magical stone. What puzzled the young man was why the merchant hadn't already alerted the king's men. Were there still honest merchants out there? Who knew?

Head down to avoid further recognition, he walked away from the merchant, only to hear him shout moments later: "Guards! It’s Edgar Argyle!"

No sooner had Edgar paused to contemplate his surroundings than a sudden commotion broke his reverie. From the shadows emerged around fifteen castle guards, their approach swift and coordinated. In the blink of an eye, they encircled Edgar, their swords unsheathed and gleaming menacingly in the dim light, each blade a silent promise of peril.

With deft movements born of training and discipline, the guards disarmed Edgar, his own sword clattering to the cobblestones with a resonant echo that seemed to mark the gravity of the moment. Before he could react, his wrists and ankles were swiftly shackled, the cold metal biting into his skin, a stark reminder of his sudden shift from observer to captive.

The guards, grim-faced and unyielding, then escorted Edgar through the meandering streets towards the formidable structure of the castle. The path to the dungeons was a descent into darkness, each step taking Edgar further from the world he knew and deeper into the bowels of the fortress. The air grew colder and damper as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors, the only sound the clanking of the chains that bound him and the measured steps of his captors. This abrupt turn of events left Edgar grappling with a myriad of questions, the most pressing of which was what fate awaited him in the depths of the castle's dungeons.

Destiny had reserved a grim twist for Edgar. Unlike the common fate of criminals consigned to languish in the dungeons before their trial, his path was markedly different. Edgar was to be immediately brought before the court, a move that was as unusual as it was foreboding.

In the castle's grand courtroom, a place where justice was often swift and merciless, Edgar was to stand trial. The usual delay afforded to others, a brief respite in the gloom of the dungeons to contemplate their fate, was conspicuously absent in his case. The very immediacy of this trial suggested a verdict already looming in the shadows - a sentence that could range from the finality of death to the endless drudgery of hard labor.

The courtroom, a vast hall with towering ceilings and walls that whispered of judgments past, stood as a stark symbol of the ruling power's formidable strength and unyielding command. Here, Edgar was to face his accusers, his fate hanging precariously in the balance. As he was ushered into this imposing chamber, the gravity of his situation weighed heavily upon him, the eyes of the court cold and calculating, ready to seal his fate.

Edgar was ushered into a seat, his chains clinking ominously with each movement. The courtroom, steeped in a heavy silence, waited in anticipation. Moments later, the stern-faced judge made his entrance, his robe trailing behind him like a dark cloud. Close on his heels was King Ludrol, his presence commanding immediate attention. Edgar's heart pounded against his ribcage; he was all too aware of the gravity of his situation. The wanted poster's accusations echoed in his mind, painting a grim picture of his potential fate. He cast a resigned glance towards the judge, knowing well that the verdict would be a mere echo of King Ludrol's wishes. Hope, it seemed, was a luxury Edgar could ill afford in the shadow of the throne's influence.

The courtroom erupted into chaos before the judge could even utter a word. Shouts demanding Edgar's execution reverberated off the ancient stone walls, creating a tumultuous cacophony. Perplexed by this sudden outburst of hostility, Edgar scanned the crowd. Their eyes, filled with feigned rage, betrayed the truth he quickly surmised: these were not voices of justice but of manipulation. It dawned on him that these people, likely coerced or compensated by King Ludrol, were there to create an illusion of public outrage. This orchestrated clamor was not a call for justice but a puppet show, with the strings being pulled by the king himself. Edgar’s heart sank as he realized the extent of the king's influence and his own dwindling chances for a fair trial.

"Edgar Argyle, you are accused of espionage, treason, witchcraft, and murder of the people of Tuzmad. You were seen by ten knights in the Giant Mountains using a deadly spell."

"Deadly? Ha, if sleep is considered deadly, then yes, I plead guilty!"

"You are found guilty of all these charges," declared the judge. "You are sentenced to death by hanging. The execution will take place tomorrow, early in the morning."

Edgar found himself unceremoniously ejected from the courtroom, words of protest dying in his throat, and was summarily cast into the depths of a grim dungeon. He landed hard on the unyielding, frigid stone floor, the impact reverberating through his bones. The cell, devoid of even the most meager comforts such as a straw bed, was shrouded in an oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow the feeble light filtering in from a tiny, barred window.

In this lightless void, Edgar could sense rather than see the scuttling of rats, their claws scraping against stone, an unnerving soundtrack to his imprisonment. The air was damp and fetid, clinging to him like a second skin. As he lay there, a sense of helplessness washed over him. The bars of his cell, thick and unyielding, laughed in the face of any thought of escape.

His mind churned, piecing together the events that led to this rapid judgment and incarceration. King Ludrol’s actions were precipitous, indicating a fear or urgency Edgar couldn't immediately comprehend. Was there more to Ludrol's vendetta than simply a suspicion of espionage? Edgar pondered, his thoughts turning like the gears of a clock. The king's determination to silence him hinted at deeper, darker machinations – secrets that Edgar might unknowingly hold, secrets that were a threat to Ludrol's reign. In the stillness of the dungeon, Edgar's resolve hardened; he would not let this be his end. There were truths to uncover, and he vowed to unearth them, whatever it might take.

In the oppressive confines of his cell, Edgar's mind raced, grappling with his predicament. His only sliver of hope lay with King Lockdar, his mentor and ally. If Lockdar were to learn of his dire circumstances, Edgar was certain the king would not rest until he had devised a plan for his rescue. However, the swiftness of his impending execution posed a formidable obstacle. The prospect of Lockdar discovering his plight in time seemed increasingly remote, a grim reality that weighed heavily on Edgar's heart.

The notion of meeting his end in such a demeaning manner was anathema to him. Throughout his life, he had envisioned a warrior's death – valiant and honorable, on the battlefield, not a shameful demise in the shadowy depths of a dungeon, branded a criminal. His thoughts then turned to Turalon and Tenzim. If only they were aware of his predicament, if only they knew he had survived the sorcerer's catastrophic spell that caused the cave to crumble. But as far as they were concerned, Edgar perished beneath the mountain, a victim of the wizard's wrathful quake.

Lying in the dank darkness, Edgar felt a profound sense of isolation. The walls of his cell seemed to close in on him, a tangible reminder of his helplessness. Yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of determination remained. Edgar refused to accept this ignoble end. He clung to the hope that somehow, against all odds, word of his fate would reach Lockdar or his comrades. In that hope lay his resilience, a defiance that no dungeon could extinguish.

Stripped of his treasured possessions by the king's soldiers, Edgar sat in the bleak solitude of his cell. His once mighty Phoenix sword, the resplendent armor bestowed upon him by King Lockdar, and the enchanted stone – all confiscated, leaving him powerless. These were not just tools of war but symbols of his identity, each with its own story, now fallen into the hands of his captors. Bereft of these artifacts, Edgar felt as though a part of himself had been taken. In mere moments, he could have wielded their power to secure his freedom, but now, he was as helpless as a common prisoner.

As the hours in confinement wore on, a torrent of memories surged through his mind. His life, with its triumphs and tribulations, replayed in vivid detail. Amidst this reflection, Edgar experienced an unfamiliar sensation – a gnawing fear of death. The imminence of his end brought a stark realization of all that he had yet to accomplish, the promises unfulfilled, and the dreams unrealized.

As dusk enveloped the world outside, a guard's heavy footsteps echoed through the dungeon. A flicker of light emerged as he lit a torch, casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls. He approached Edgar's cell and slid a tray with a meager offering of food – a bowl of soup and a piece of bread – through the bars. Edgar's stomach rumbled at the sight, but his first sip of the soup was a harsh jolt to his senses. It was vile, an assault on his taste buds. With disgust, he spat it out, turning his attention to the bread. It was no better – stale, hard, and speckled with mold. Hunger gnawed at him, yet even the thought of consuming such fare was revolting. The dungeon rats, scurrying in the shadows, suddenly seemed a more appealing option than the king's 'hospitality'.

In the oppressive gloom of the dungeon, Edgar's thoughts spiraled into despair. The absence of his Phoenix sword, usually a source of strength and protection, now left him feeling vulnerable and powerless. The ignominious fate that awaited him seemed unbearable. He found himself contemplating a swift end to evade the dishonor of a public execution. Yet, even in his darkest hour, Edgar sought a glimmer of hope. The prospect of a quick death, though grim, offered a small solace – it meant escaping the wretched confines and the incessant scurrying of rats that plagued his cell.

Lying down on the cold, hard floor, Edgar yearned for the escape of sleep, a brief respite from the torment of his situation. But the dungeon, with its stifling silence, was suddenly pierced by an unexpected sound – a sneeze. Startled, Edgar realized he wasn't alone; someone else was imprisoned nearby. Curiosity piqued, he called out into the darkness, seeking to identify his unseen fellow captive. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. In this place of despair, the possibility of human contact, even with a stranger, brought a faint flicker of hope to Edgar's heavy heart.

"And you, who are you? A criminal or a thief?" a soft female voice responded.

"Neither. I'm just someone the king doesn't hold dear," Edgar replied.

"Sure! If you're going to die, at least tell the truth. I won't tell anyone, as I'll be decapitated at dawn."

Edgar carefully lifted the flickering torch from its sconce, its light casting dancing shadows on the damp walls as he moved towards the source of the sneeze. Nearing the adjacent cell, he glimpsed a figure in the dim light. There, in the confines of the cramped space, sat a young woman. She appeared to be about his age, yet it was not her age that captivated Edgar but her striking appearance.

Her hair, a cascade of blonde waves, flowed down her shoulders, glimmering like spun gold in the torchlight. It was unusually long, almost ethereal in its beauty, contrasting starkly with the grimness of her surroundings. Her eyes, large and expressive, sparkled with an intensity that seemed to defy the hopelessness of the dungeon. They were a vivid blue, reminiscent of the clearest sky or the deepest part of the ocean, full of depth and mystery.

Edgar was momentarily taken aback by her presence. In a place as desolate as the dungeon, her semblance appeared almost out of place, like a rare flower blooming in barren soil. Her beauty was not just in her appearance but in the resilience and strength that shone through her eyes, a stark reminder of the human spirit's indomitable will, even in the darkest of times.

"Why would Ludrol want you dead? You don't seem too dangerous," Edgar inquired.

"I and my brother Darr have caused many troubles for Ludrol and his allies. I've taken down more of the king's men than you've probably killed insects. So don’t say I don’t seem dangerous. I can kill in over fifty different ways."

"Aha! You must be Valleria. I've heard of you, the daughter of Queen Anastasia. After your father's death, your mother remarried the king of the barbarians, Iliann. This union formed an even more powerful realm."

Before him was a princess. From the rumors Edgar had heard, the siblings did not hold King Iliann in high regard, so they fled their lands, gathering a small army to fight against bandits and barbarians. But what business did they have with Ludrol?

"You're right," she confirmed. "But you’re mistaken about the powerful kingdom. A year ago, our realm was invaded by the army of the one who calls himself the Lord of Demons. Iliann and my mother were killed by this Lord."

"Damn it! He's already started attacking kingdoms? Soon his power will grow, and his army will be ready in less than a year if Laryus is right..."

"What do you mean? This is just the beginning? Who are you? How do you know so much?" the puzzled young princess asked.

"My name is Edgar Argyle."

"Edgar Argyle? The hero of The Kingdom of the Sun? The right hand of King Lockdar Menums? Now I understand why King Ludrol wants to get rid of you."

Valleria hinted that she knew the real reason behind his imminent execution. But how could someone unknown be aware of something even he had no clue about? Suddenly, Edgar recalled the words of the Black Wizard: "My mission will be fulfilled with the death of the last heir." What did that mean? Surely Ludrol had another motive, but the wizard implied that his goal was to kill Edgar.

"For someone about to be beheaded, you don’t seem scared at all."

"Unlike you, I will not die. My brother won't allow it," the princess said, her voice trembling, not sounding very confident.

Throughout the long, restless night, Edgar lay awake, his mind churning with thoughts and fears. No slumber came to his eyes as he grappled with the grim reality of his impending fate. As the first light of dawn began to seep through the small, barred window of his cell, it brought no solace, only the harrowing reminder of what the day held.

Suddenly, the heavy sound of boots echoed in the corridor, growing louder until two guards burst into his cell. Without a word, they roughly grabbed Edgar, hauling him up from the cold, stone floor. As they dragged him through the corridors of the dungeon, the dim torchlight flickered on the walls, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance mockingly.

They emerged into the crisp morning air of Tuzmad, where the ancient Tree of the Condemned stood. This gnarled, old tree had borne witness to countless executions, its formidable presence a somber somber symbol of finality. A noose, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze, hung from one of its sturdy branches.

A crowd had already gathered, a sea of faces, some curious, some solemn, all there to witness the grim spectacle. Among them, King Ludrol arrived, flanked by the judge and a retinue of heavily armed guards, his regal presence adding a solemn gravity to the event.

Edgar was led to a high stool placed under the tree. His heart raced as a guard slipped the noose around his neck, the coarse rope chafing against his skin. As he stood there, the reality of his situation hitting him with full force, Edgar looked out over the crowd. He saw faces filled with a mix of emotions - anticipation, fear, and even a few that showed a hint of sympathy.

In that moment, Edgar's mind raced with thoughts of his life, of choices made and paths taken. The unfairness of it all weighed heavily on him, and yet, a part of him refused to believe that this was truly the end. He couldn’t help but hope for a miracle, for some twist of fate that would save him from the noose's final embrace.

In a cruel twist of fate, the judge raised his hand, signaling the executioner. With a swift, heartless yank, the stool was pulled from beneath Edgar's feet, leaving him dangling helplessly from the ancient Tree of the Condemned. The rope, rough and unyielding, cinched tightly around his neck, throttling the very breath from his lungs. The world began to blur at the edges, a tunnel of darkness narrowing his vision.

As he hung there, suspended between life and death, Edgar's eyes met King Ludrol's. In them, he saw a chilling satisfaction that sent a final shiver of horror through his fading consciousness. The crowd's gasps and murmurs faded into a distant echo, the faces blurring into indistinct shapes.

In those fleeting moments, Edgar's thoughts spiraled, a tumultuous cascade of memories and unfulfilled dreams. He made no attempt to struggle against the inevitable, his body growing limp as the life was mercilessly squeezed from him. The world grew dimmer, sounds muffled, and time seemed to stretch and warp.

With his eyes slowly closing, Edgar braced for the end. The cold embrace of death loomed near, a dark void ready to claim him.