The next day, King Rudrek hosted an exclusive dinner in the grand hall of the palace. The room, adorned with ornate chandeliers and long crimson drapes. At the head of the table stood the king himself. To his right sat Lady Kirith, his daughter, whose steely composure suggested she was prepared for what lay ahead. At the far end of the table sat the invited guests: Silas, Nick, Elira, Renn, Talon the assassin, and a red-haired man who sat directly across from Silas. The room was flanked by vigilant guards.
The table was a feast of abundance, laden with meats, exotic fruits, and vegetables. Many of the dishes were foreign to Nick, who cautiously stuck to the cuts of meat placed directly in front of him. Despite the grandeur, the air was heavy with tension. It was clear to everyone why they were here.
King Rudrek spoke first, his voice calm but authoritative. "As you all know, Ironclad will soon declare war and launch an attack. I took this opportunity to invite you here for a meal, and more importantly, to plan. Kirith, you may continue."
No one appeared surprised by this announcement; they had already been briefed by Silas. Lady Kirith rose from her seat, her measured tone commanding the room's attention.
"Hello, everyone. Tonight, I will discuss our strategy for the impending attack," she began. "Ironclad's army is composed of highly skilled warriors, many of whom come from other nations. We must remain cautious at all times. To ensure efficiency, I've assigned roles for each of you."
She turned her gaze to Elira, Nick, and Talon. "You three will operate as assassins. Your task is to defend our positions and eliminate as many of their soldiers as possible. If the opportunity arises, ambush their commanders, but I advise you to avoid unnecessary risks."
Nick shifted uneasily in his chair, the weight of his assignment pressing down like a physical burden. The thought of taking lives, of ending someone else's existence left his stomach churning. His mind kept drifting back to the man he had stabbed with a pen, the life he had taken without intention but with devastating consequence. That headline from the newspaper 'Man Succumbs to Pen Stab Wounds' had been seared into his brain. Sleep had eluded him since.
He had acted to save Vera, driven by a primal urgency in that moment. But now, with time to reflect, he couldn't help but wonder:
Had I made the wrong choice? The war brewing around us was because of her, wasn't it? If she had died that day, perhaps none of this would have come to pass. And yet, how could I regret saving a life, even if it led to chaos?
His thoughts spiraled, guilt mixing with fear.
Was this what it meant to be a soldier? To kill, to save, and to question which of those actions made him more monstrous?
Deep down, he didn't know if he could handle it. But one thing was clear: there was no turning back now.
Talon's sharp voice broke through Nick's thoughts. "What weapons will we use? Our own, or have you provided something new?"
Rudrek gestured to one of the guards, who approached the table with a collection of swords. "For those without weapons, we have provided new ones," Kirith explained.
"I'll keep my own," Talon said.
Nick and Silas accepted the swords handed to them, while Elira unsheathed her blade. "I'll stick with this one," she said confidently. The red-haired man merely raised a hand, declining the offer.
Once the guards resumed their posts, Kirith continued. "Next, we have Silas and Dante. You will serve as our trump cards, taking on anyone above the rank of soldier."
Silas and red-haired Dante exchanged glances, each sizing up the other. Their silent exchange was clear: Is this man as strong as me? They both smirked and looked back at Kirith.
"Silas, you will defend the west side of the Crimson Citadel. Dante, you will defend the east. You are both entrusted with holding your positions against any threats."
The two men chuckled. It was a heavy responsibility, but they welcomed the challenge.
"Renn," Kirith said, "you will accompany Elira and Nick. Your knowledge of the kingdom will be invaluable to them."
Renn nodded, though he said nothing.
Dante leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "What about Ironclad's allies? They could send reinforcements, making their numbers overwhelming."
Kirith sighed and produced a document from beneath the table. "We received this contract from Ironclad earlier today. It states that they will not involve their allies if we agree not to involve ours." She handed the paper to Rudrek. "I highly recommend signing it, Father."
Without hesitation, Rudrek picked up a pen and signed the document. He summoned a guard. "Deliver this to Ikaris immediately."
The guard bowed and left the room. Kirith's eyes glinted as she continued. "Speaking of Ikaris, there's something you should know. He is a leader who fights alongside his troops. If you encounter him, be extremely cautious. He's tall, with piercing blue eyes, and wears a demon-shaped metal mask with horns."
Silas and Dante exchanged another look. I'll find him first, their gazes seemed to say.
"Let's finish our meal and get a good night's rest," Rudrek said. "Tomorrow, we take our positions."
The group lingered at the table, their conversations flowing freely now that the tension had momentarily eased.
"You think you can hold the east on your own?" Silas said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.
"Easily," Dante shot back. "The real question is whether you can handle the west without embarrassing yourself."
"Embarrass myself?" Silas raised a brow. "I don't need to prove anything to you. But I'll enjoy hearing about how you barely scraped by."
"Careful, or I might just come over to the west side to help you out," Dante teased.
The others at the table laughed, their tensions easing. Nick, trying to keep up with the banter, added, "As long as you two don't blow the whole operation trying to outdo each other, we might stand a chance."
Elira smirked. "Maybe we should assign someone to babysit you both. Any volunteers?"
Talon leaned forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'll pass. I have better things to do than watch two overgrown kids flex their egos."
"Kids?" Silas shot back, feigning offense. "I think you're just scared to see what real warriors look like in action."
"I think we'll all see soon enough," Renn said quietly, breaking his usual silence. "The battlefield has a way of humbling even the most confident."
The group fell quiet for a moment, the weight of Renn's words settling over them. Nick broke the silence first, his voice tentative. "You know, for all our planning, none of us has really talked about what it's like… to kill someone. Does it get easier?"
Elira glanced at him, her expression softening. "No, it doesn't. At least, not for me. But you learn to live with it."
Talon smirked, his tone sharp. "You don't have to live with it if you stop thinking about it. They're just obstacles in the way of survival."
"Easy for you to say," Nick muttered, but before the tension could thicken, Dante interjected.
"Well, when it's all over, let's see who has the most stories to tell. Loser buys the drinks." His grin cut through the heaviness, drawing a chuckle from the group.
"Deal," Silas replied, raising his glass with Dante's. "But those stories better be real, no made-up heroics."
Elira smirked, lifting her glass as well. "Then I hope you two are ready to lose, because I'll have the most."
Talon leaned back with a dry laugh. "You all talk like you've already won. We'll see who's still standing before we count stories."
The laughter that followed was muted but genuine, a fleeting moment of normalcy amidst the weight of the war ahead.
As the evening waned and dinner concluded, the group bid each other goodnight and retired to their chambers. Yet, sleep eluded Silas and Dante. Long after the castle had gone quiet, the two men remained awake, their minds consumed by thoughts of the war ahead.
Dante, leaning against the windowsill, glanced at Silas, his voice low. "You ever wonder if we're on the right side of this?"
Silas, lying on his back with one arm behind his head, stared at the ceiling. "I stopped asking that question a long time ago. Right or wrong doesn't matter when you're in the middle of it. You do what you have to, or you don't survive."
Dante let out a humorless laugh, crossing his arms. "Spoken like someone who's seen too much. But I still wonder if there's a version of all this where we aren't just pawns in someone else's game."
Silas turned his head to look at him. "We're all pawns. Doesn't matter whose side you're on. The only thing that counts is who's still standing at the end."
A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the night. Finally, Dante spoke again, his voice quieter. "I'm indebted to Lady Kirith. I owe her everything. That's why I'm here. That's why I'll do anything she asks."
Silas's gaze softened, but his voice remained guarded. "Everyone's got their reasons. Mine's not as noble. Let's just say I didn't have much of a choice."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "You got blackmailed?"
Silas hesitated. "Yeah. But that's all I'm saying."
Dante didn't push, sensing the weight behind Silas's words. Instead, he smirked, leaning back against the window. "Guess that makes us a couple of reluctant warriors."
Silas chuckled, a rare sound. "Reluctant or not, we'll have to make it work. There's no room for hesitation tomorrow."
Dante nodded. "Agreed. But let's make one thing clear, if either of us finds Ikaris first, we're not holding back."
Silas smirked, a spark of competitive camaraderie lighting his expression. "Deal. But don't trip over your own feet trying to get there first."
Dante laughed, the tension in the room easing a little. "I'll see you on the battlefield, Silas."
As the castle remained still, the two men exchanged a final nod, a quiet understanding passing between them. Whatever their reasons, whatever their pasts, they were bound by the same fate now. And tomorrow, they would fight not just for survival, but for something deeper, even if neither of them could put it into words.
At dawn, the pounding of boots shattered the stillness. A soldier threw open the doors, his voice sharp and urgent.
"Ikaris has declared war! King Rudrek commands you to take your positions!"
The city alarm blared moments later, its deafening cry reverberating through the palace walls and the streets beyond. Nick stumbled out of his room, still groggy, the weight of the day already pressing down on him. The halls teemed with movement. Guards shouting orders, nobles fleeing to safety.
Outside, chaos reigned. The palace gates swarmed with rich civilians seeking refuge, their fear palpable as they pushed and shoved for entry. Nick fought through the crowd, finally spotting Elira, Renn, and Talon waiting at the exit door. Relief mixed with urgency as he approached.
"Finally," Talon said, his voice clipped but steady. "Rudrek's orders: I head north, you head south." He paused, glancing at each of them. "Good luck. Stay alive." He clapped Nick on the shoulder, his grip firm but fleeting, before turning and sprinting toward the northern gates.
Nick, Elira, and Renn exchanged a brief glance before heading south. The streets were unnervingly pristine despite the panic. At the edge of the wealthy district, they reached the defensive line, a formation of soldiers in crimson armor, their spears at the ready, archers lined up in the rear. Beyond them, the cries of the poor echoed, begging to be let inside. Guards shoved them back, their orders clear: protect the elite, leave the rest.
Nick hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground. The scene gnawed at him. Is this the right choice? Am I fighting for monsters? Doubt coiled in his chest, but one thought pushed it back: Silas. Silas had chosen this side. Nick trusted him. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to move forward.
"This isn't about right or wrong," he muttered under his breath. "It's about the least terrible side."
The uneasy calm shattered with a distant rumble, a sound that grew louder with each passing second. They froze, their heads snapping toward the source. An army was approaching, its footsteps a steady, menacing drumbeat. The Ironclad soldiers marched in perfect formation. The front lines were armed with swords, their armor gleaming under the morning sun, while archers trailed behind, their bows taut and ready.
Their masks came into view. Horned, metallic and grotesque. Their design both intricate and haunting. Each soldier's piercing blue eyes glinted through the slits, a chilling uniformity that made Nick's stomach churn. The sight was uncanny, their collective gaze almost unnatural. The army came to an abrupt halt beyond the crimson line, their silence heavier than the march that preceded it.
A lone figure stepped forward from the sea of masked soldiers, his movements slow, deliberate, commanding, the blue glow of his eyes almost alive. For a moment, Nick thought he saw malice flicker behind the mask.
"Hello, fuckers! Time to pay for what you deserve."
The words hung in the air. Renn, his voice unsteady but defiant, called out, "Who are you?"
The figure chuckled darkly. "I am Ikaris of Ironclad! And we will demolish your kingdom."
The declaration sent a ripple of unease through the crimson soldiers. Nick felt his breath hitch, his hands clenching into fists. This was the man they'd been warned about, the leader, the monster.
Elira moved. Her body surged forward, driven by something primal, something she couldn't name. Her sword caught the light as she raised it high, her focus narrowing to the glowing blue eyes before her.
"No!" Nick's shout tore through the air, but it was already too late.
Ikaris turned sharply toward her, the piercing blue glow of his eyes locking onto hers. His hand twitched, instinctively reaching for his blade as his body shifted to evade. But Elira was faster. Her sword descended in a brilliant arc, the force behind it like a storm breaking against the earth. Steel screamed against steel in a clash that seemed to shake the air itself. Sparks erupted, before the blade tore through the defenses.
The impact cracked his horned mask, a jagged line splitting it down the middle. His glowing eyes widened, a mix of fury and disbelief flickering in their unnatural light. For a single, excruciating moment, everything seemed to freeze. The battlefield fell silent as if the world held its breath.
With a final sickening crunch, her blade finished its path. His head tipped forward, the fractured mask slipping free to reveal a pale, young face, almost too young for the carnage surrounding him. The head tumbled to the ground, landing with a dull thud that seemed to echo endlessly. His body stood for a heartbeat longer, swaying unnaturally, before collapsing into the dirt with a heavy, lifeless thud.
Elira's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the motionless form, her hands trembling around the hilt of her sword. The glow in his eyes faded, snuffed out like a candle in a storm. The weight of what she had done crashed into her, leaving her breathless. She staggered back, her gaze fixed on the lifeless body, unable to comprehend the enormity of the moment.
It's… it's over?