Centuries later.
Ansel was taking her daily patrols Ever since the coronation of the new queen, they had to double their shifts.
We had suffered a handful number of attacks in villages, hunting grounds, camping sites; these bandits are getting bolder. When shall this madness end? Looking if the section was safe and clear.
Easing her regiment of troops to a halt. Letting them rest to regain their strength.
They were on a dusty path it was not yet paved in stone, the wind was calm and the sun high, the trees were swaying gently with the wind and the sounds of the forests were ever so calming, they can still see the wildlife peeking through the forest and hear the birds from above, a lovely day, Ansel taking in her surroundings.
It was morning and the sun was blaring. She was burning under the sun and being under all this armor - didn't help. How do people stand this heat? I think I'm gonna have a stroke any minute now.
Ansel was wearing a decorated steel breastplate with a mark of a dragon coiling around an orb, it was the crest of the royal family. The breastplate was polished and decorated with gold linings on the edge, the breastplate itself had a drawing of black vines creeping out from the sides coiling down to her waist also Her greaves and gauntlets were also made out of steel; it was plain compared to her breastplate but it shined with its own charm.
She had a one-handed sword - it was the Royal guard's sword - it was made out of steel, it had a jeweled pommel, its handle is mostly covered in leather straps - designed with vines, in addition, the cross guard was remarkably crafted it also had vines from the cross guard creeping into the blade. The blade itself was beautiful; it was a double sided blade, the vines creeping up till the end of the sword creating a crown in the middle and it was made from steel and sharpened to the point it could cut livestock without much force, She also had a large iron buckler decorated with the crest of the royal family in the center, it also had a knife attached to the buckler. Good ol' armor. The best of its kind as well.
The wind caressing her cheeks, blowing through her unbound hair. At least the wind is there to provide some comfort.
Ansel was beautiful despite her line of work, mainly due to her unblemished face. She had pale white skin with her deep blue eyes contrasting her hazelnut hair but the main eye catcher was her long sloped brow.
Ordering for the regiment to continue. Back the beaten path. Just a few more hours, then back to that hot warm bath.
She had 50 men under her command - all hand-picked - fine warriors, indeed.
Their job was to monitor any disturbances in the southern parts of the kingdom, where it was the worst.
All of her men were prepared to die for the kingdom, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't bring them home alive. The responsibilities that she assessed was bearing upon her, challenging her. Challenge accepted then, maybe I'll do even more.
A scout she assigned to report the villages' conditions came rushing back. The scout, panting, breathed "the village is under attack."
By Anora's bosom, that's the third attack this week. "Which village?"
"Kinsreed." The scout breathing heavily
"How far?"
"Around 2 kilometers." We'll be cutting it close.. Just hold out for another thirty minutes.
"Prepare to fall out," she ordered, waiting for them to fall into ranks. "Kinsreed needs help, let's make it quick." Eyeing them, assessing their mood, their composure, they're ready she thought. "Move," ordered Ansel
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ansel shouted orders to make a defensive circle at the crest of the hill. Shit, shit, shit. I didn't expect they were this sneaky.
They had successfully evacuated two-thirds of the village - the rest had been slaughtered. The bandits were now surrounding them, earlier the bandits were around 100 strong but now maybe around 50.
She had lost most of her regiment from the ambush in their flanks, while ten of her men were escorting the villagers to safety to their surprise Now only eleven of them remained, fighting desperately, hoping for reinforcements to come.
Arriving in the village, the place was small and it looked like it just had started its life, still settling in. The village was placed in a clearing of the forest there were small hills surrounding it and they had set up a farming site close to the lake.
When they arrived, everything was in utter chaos. The houses were burning, the villagers fleeing, bandits were looting and kidnapping even though Some villagers were trying their best to fend off the bandits but alas to no avail it did not work.
Excitement and battle lust ran through her. "Men! Our top priority is saving the villagers, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't down as many of these bastards as you can." The men roared in response. Lose yourselves in battle and win your glory.
"Now go!" ordered Ansel. The regiment was split into two groups: the first regiment larger than the second acted as a wall while the second regiment was to secure and escort the villagers.
They pushed the bandits long enough to evacuate the villagers but enemy reinforcements came from the woods attacking their flanks.
Ansel is trying to concoct a plan wherein they can get out alive, but they are battered and exhausted and their chances slim to none. May the gods have mercy upon us.
Her regiment, suffering heavy casualties, placed themselves on the crest of the hill. Creating a semi-circle to funnel the bandits outward. Great, now only if we could hold long enough for reinforcements to come. Even though with the advantageous position and tactics, they were still being defeated slowly because their advantage of number is far too great to overcome.
I have failed you, I was too weak to protect you. They fought down to the last moment, their courage unwavering even though all seemed lost.
A cloaked figure ran out from the undergrowth with a magnificent blade in one hand and a short sword in the other.
A few bandits rushed to meet him, but in mere moments they were dead. The cloaked figure dived into the ranks of the enemy, blood splaying everywhere. It was a terrifying sight to see for the cloaked man was moving with such grace and speed that he mowed them down as if they were just wheat. All of them fell under one swoop, one flick of his blade.
In mere minutes only the cloaked figure is standing before them, crimson red - covered in blood. This scene... It reminds me of something. I can't put my finger on it, but this situation feels eerily familiar.
Checking on her men, Ansel was filled with regret and despair only six of them remaining while the others laying dead on the floor. I have failed, her knees beginning to buckle, what have I done? Ansel almost collapsed.
Returning to the cloaked man even his features indiscernible in the shadows of his cloak. He wore leather pants and knee-high black boots. Weapons were already sheathed, lost under the cloak. His hands were wrapped with bandages continuing until the forearm. That would take weeks to remove the stains.
His presence was intimidating, threatening even. But even so the curiosity in Ansel was booming, "who are you?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lem heard the fighting from afar for he was hearing it with immortal ears. Seeing columns of billowing smoke rise up from the village nearby, Lem was disgusted in the world.
Every era, every kingdom, death is always predominantly present, accompanied by suffering and despair. All of this for what? Power? Dominance? Self- satisfaction? This madness, when does this all end? When will peace and tranquility be finally restored? Maybe I should just walk away all together, for I am also disgusted with myself. Lem pushed onwards with clouded thoughts.
Gazing down at the village, he saw the houses were ruined and burning. Blood was splattered all over the walls and the smell of death heavy in the air. The beauty of death. I'll mourn their end in the peak of Rafati or in the depths of Nictro.
Hearing the laughter of bandits and the agonizing shouts of the soldiers, but no children.
They have probably escaped, Lem leaving the scene.
Suddenly, the scream of a child erupted from the village. The cry was filled with agony and despair, sounding inhumane even. Hearing it Lem rushed back now peering from the undergrowth. Please, please, please.
He saw the bandits have slain the mother while raping her dead corpse. The child was forced to watch, screaming as they also wrung the life out of her body. The blood oozing out from their dead, lifeless bodies. A pang of regret had stung his heart but it was instantly replaced by pure undiluted rage and now soaring through his veins letting it consume him. Ending a life in itself is unforgivable, but ending it's potential....... Is something even mere words cannot explain.
Sprinting out from the undergrowth - his rage giving him unearthly vigor, empowering him while dispatching anyone who came near.
Leaping into the enemy ranks. Easing himself into a fighting position wherein his blade Zarat was in front of him, ready to intercept and thrust into incoming enemies and his short sword. Torah, at his back ready to slice and counter enemies.
Going through their ranks -- bodies, dodging attacks and making his own onto unsuspecting opponents. Lem was constantly moving -- gliding and weaving. Making sure of his opponents placing and footing.
Parrying an attack coming at him, making use of his short sword to counter a killing blow. If not he made sure they were left immobile.
Snaking past them further going into the core where he can stop moving and let them come to him. Lem, standing in the core of the enemy and his blades bloody and shining with a deadly gleam. Easing himself again, his feet wide but his blades now in juxtaposition.
Letting his rage take further reign, he killed and he killed, butchering anyone who came near, slaughtering them like livestock. An inhumane bloodlust now gnawing at him was threatening to lose control. Only getting glimpses of the battle as rage continued to wash over him.
About to kill again, when he saw a beautiful face and a band of soldiers bearing the Royal stigma.
Seeing them terrified at what they have witnessed - terrified of him. All of them were wary even prepared to attack.
Their numbers are only a few, are they the only ones left? Have I killed their comrades? How stupid am I to let my rage control me, Lem cursing himself.
Sensing the creeping cold, bitter, loathsome mood emanating from them. It was always the same, always, always the ones I save being terrified - petrified - of me. They always loathe what they don't know, alas the nature of humans. Except for one.
Comments (0)
See all