The screams of dying men filled the air.
Blades clashed violently against armor, forging a brutal rhythm—
a war song sung in steel and blood.
In the background, the crowd roared—some cheering, others booing—as their favorite fighters took to arms. This wasn't just battle; it was spectacle.
I stood at the top of the arena, beside My Emperor and friend Caesar.
My eyes swept over the chaos below—watching warriors clash, scanning the crowd, searching for shadows in faces.
My fingers twitched.
My mind raced.
Impatience gnawed at me, but worry gnawed harder.
We had received word—there would be an attempt on the Emperor's life.
Despite my warnings, despite my preparations, he insisted on holding the tournament.
He had placed his life in my hands.
As his general—and his friend—I could not fail him.
"Relax a little, Andrew," Caesar said beside me, his voice calm. Almost amused.
"Relax?" I glanced at him, just for a second. "Your life is in danger."
For a long while, my eyes hadn't left the crowd.
But in that moment, I turned.
I looked at him.
That was a mistake.
The air hissed.
An arrow flew past me.
I stared in disbelief as it pierced straight through his chest.
He staggered.
His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Only blood.
"Shields!" Sirus, my vice commander, shouted.
Chaos erupted.
But I didn't move.
In that moment, everything slowed.
It felt like I'd been thrown into a void. My breath seized. My limbs froze. My mind rejected the truth.
I watched my friend—my Emperor—draw his last breath.
The light in his eyes faded… slowly… until there was nothing left.
"Commander!" Sirus nudged me. "We need to get the Emperor out of here!"
His voice barely reached me. It was like shouting into a storm.
Grief twisted inside me. But grief didn't last long.
It turned to something else.
Rage.
My eyes snapped toward the arena.
In seconds, I scanned every archer in the stands. Every shadowed figure. Every hand too still, every gaze too calm.
One of them had done this.
But who?
Then I saw them.
A figure gliding through the panicking crowd—too smooth, too swift to be innocent.
Beneath their cloak, I caught the glint of an arrowhead.
My heart surged.
Without hesitation, I leapt from the platform, my hand gripping the hilt of my sword.
"Commander! Commander!" Sirus called after me.
His voice faded behind me as I plunged into the chaos.
I pushed and shoved through the crowd, never losing sight of the figure. They hadn't noticed me. Not yet.
They veered toward the arena entrance, slipping through a gap in the crowd.
Then they bolted—toward the marketplace.
So did I.
My boots slammed against the stone, breath heavy but steady.
My vision narrowed.
This would be a mistake.
Rage had overtaken my mind, and I had forgotten the most important rule of all—
Be aware of everything around you.
A blade sliced through the air.
I halted—just in time.
It grazed my cheek, hot blood trailing down.
Instinct took over.
I leapt backward, drawing my sword as my feet hit the ground.
Then I heard it.
The world returned in pieces—
Sinister voices echoing from the alleyways, closing in like a tightening noose.
I had been so lost in the chase, I hadn't realized where I was.
Tartara.
The slums of Drakonia.
A pit of crime, blood, and broken men.
The assassin had lured me here.
"Well, well, well…"
A coarse voice boomed from the shadows.
"If it ain't the bloody Imperial Commander. All alone?"
A giant stepped forward.
Six foot four, built like a fortress of muscle and scars.
His eyes—cold, dead—locked onto mine, and every nerve in my body screamed warning.
"You know," he said, tilting his head, "when I was told you'd come, I laughed."
He grinned.
"But here you are."
My eyes darted around.
Men poured out of the shadows—creeping through every crack, every alley, each one with a purpose.
A clear goal.
Me.
"Out of my way," I snarled. "I don't have time for this."
The huge man's grin only widened.
Then, he dropped into a low stance—coiled like a beast.
He charged.
A massive punch flew toward me.
He was fast—too fast for his size.
I barely raised my sword in time. Reflex alone saved me, but I didn't walk away unscathed.
His blow crashed into me like a falling boulder.
I was launched down the street.
I stabbed my sword into the ground, trying to slow my momentum.
Sparks flew.
My heels scraped across the stone. I slid to a halt.
Then I heard it.
That breath.
Heavy. Animalistic.
He was already charging again.
I pulled my sword free, bracing for the next hit.
Too late.
Our eyes met.
Soulless. Cold. Endless.
Then—pain.
A brutal, burning stab tore through my gut.
My lungs emptied. My feet left the ground.
Before I could react—
CRACK.
Another fist smashed into my face.
I hit the ground with such force, the street fractured beneath me.
The world spun.
My armor shattered, the pieces clattering like broken glass.
My body failed me.
My mind fogged.
I choked on my own blood.
In that moment, I knew.
I was utterly defeated.
Another kick slammed into my side, flipping me onto my back.
He loomed over me, eclipsing the sun.
He wasn't a man.
He was a monster.
His grin split his face—hungry, cruel.
A flurry of punches rained down on me.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
My blood painted the walls and the street like art.
Then—just as he cocked his fist for the final blow—
A voice rang out.
"Boss! The bounty's been called off!"
The monster froze mid-swing.
The breeze from his halted punch brushed my face.
"…What?" he growled, turning his head slightly.
The men behind him froze—
Fear etched into their faces.
They stepped back, their bodies tense, bracing for his wrath.
He didn't move at first.
Then—
He let out a slow, heavy sigh.
His gaze shifted back to me.
Cold. Unreadable.
"Thank the gods for your life, Commander," he said, almost mockingly.
My vision blurred.
Colors faded.
Shapes dissolved.
The world tilted.
Darkness crept in like a slow, rising tide.
And then—
Silence.