A wineglass arced through the air, catching the torchlight as it spun—then shattered against the soldier’s forehead with a sharp crack. Crimson streaked down his temple as slivers of glass scattered at his feet. He stood rigid, unmoving, not daring to flinch under his king’s wrath.
Reuben’s voice tore through the chamber, raw and manic. "What did you just say? How could they escape? Were there not guards posted everywhere? I entrusted the transfer to Luki precisely because they were forr generals and he is a forr bandit leader!" His breath ca in ragged bursts as he staggered forward, rage distorting his face.
The wounded soldier answered through gritted teeth, his posture still stiff with discipline. "Your Highness, they were... rescued. We believe it was General Odin’s children—with aid from the banished prince, Prince Alaric."
Reuben snarled. In a flash, he kicked the leg of the nearby table, sending it rocking violently. A teacup trembled on the surface, rattling like a warning bell.
"Alaric! Damn him!" He shouted in frustration. "So what now?" he growled, his voice edged with madness.
"Luki and his n pursued them. He... he should return with good news soon," the bloodied soldier replied, barely lifting his eyes.
...
anwhile, deep within the royal palace of Zura...
Golden light flickered from chandeliers as General Turik lounged in the king’s private chamber, a half-empty wineglass twirling between his fingers. With a flourish, he downed the rest in one gulp and grinned wickedly.
"I have great news, Your Majesty. The idiot one who sits on Northem’s throne finally made the gravest mistake in his life." Turik said with a sly grin on his face.
The towering King Roman leaned back into his ornate chair, his thick fingers cradling a goblet of wine. He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And what mistake would that be, General Turik?"
He heard that Heimdal, his adversary, had been ill for a long ti now, and his second son, who was the crown prince, was in command of the kingdom.
Turik’s laughter rang out like a victorious war drum. "He imprisoned General Odin and his sons—accused them of negligence! Can you imagine? The very man who secured his kingdom again and again, humiliated in public and cast out like common filth. He banished them to the cursed Island of Fengsel. I never imagined that the only man I feared would have an ending like that. Laughable."
Roman chuckled, intrigued. "And Odin’s sons?"
"His son, Asael was accused of colluding with Estalis and plotting rebellion. How stupid can that prince be?"
Another round of laughter echoed between the marble pillars.
The king’s eyes narrowed as he studied his trusted general. There was a gleam behind Turik’s eyes that was too bright and too sharp. He was holding sothing back.
"Spill it." He said as he sipped his wine.
Turik leaned forward, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "It is a ti for us to move, Your Majesty. First, we take out Estalis. They were greatly weakened. Besides, the Princess has already bewitched the crown prince there and infiltrated the king’s harem. It is just easy for her to eliminate the king."
Roman nodded slowly, gesturing for him to go on.
"Once the crown prince succeeds the throne, then Estalis can ally with us to attack Northem. We will take the territories on the borders first, and then we will directly take the capital while the morale of their soldiers is in shambles because of the exile of their war heros and so of their brave generals." Turik’s black eyes glinted with greed as he smiled slyly.
"Then, do as you see fit." The king said in a good mood. "When you succeed, I will reward you greatly, and you can choose from any of my daughters to be your wife."
Turik’s grin grew wider, the edge of his lips almost reaching his ears. He had set his eyes on the third princess for a long ti, so young and so beautiful, worthy to be his wife.
"Then I will set off to Estalis tomorrow morning, Your Majesty. I am requesting your permission to dispatch one hundred thousand soldiers to et us in Carles within seven days. By that ti, Carles is already in our hands." Turik said with arrogant confidence.
King Roman’s dark eyes glinted with amusent and greed. "You sound confident. Seven days? That short? Haven’t we been trying to snatch that from both Estalis and Northem in the last four years?" King Roman asked, doubt crossed his eyes.
Turik smirked. "It is different this ti, Your Majesty. Now they don’t have the cunning General Odin and his sons, and also those annoying young commanders by Odin’s side."
"Aren’t there qualified generals aside from the Odin?" King Roman asked.
"Of course, there are. But they aren’t as good at strategy as Odin. Besides, I am better than them. I can outwit them. I can play ntal gas, and they wouldn’t know how to fight back."
"If you say so, you have my blessings." The king took out the commander’s seal from a small chest and handed it to General Turik. "I am giving you authority to command the Zuran soldiers. I look forward to our victory." King Roman raised his glass to toast General Turik.
Turik felt so proud and honored. To be toasted by the king... who in Zura experienced that? Only he—General Turik.
"I depart at dawn, Your Majesty. Expect our banner flying over Carles within the week."
He left the king’s chamber in high spirits and entered his own quarters. When he entered the door, the heavy doors creaking shut behind him. Across the room, nailed to the wooden wall above his bed, was a weathered portrait of General Odin—battle-hardened, grim, noble.
He used that as target for throwing darts and knives.
Turik crossed the room and poured himself another glass of the king’s finest wine. He lifted it toward the portrait, mockery playing at the corners of his lips.
"I always feared the day we’d et in battle. You would’ve crushed —outmaneuvered , outmatched in every way."
He took a sip, eyes never leaving the painting.
"But now... I don’t have to fight you at all."
Turik raised his glass one final ti in a toast, his voice a quiet, mocking murmur.
"To a life of hell in Fengsel."
Reviews
All reviews (0)