Fivethousand and ninety-eight fully armored men saddled their horses. They slowly climbed on top and placed their leather booted feet firmly into their crafted iron stirrups. They rode slowly towards the city gate, with their eyes fixed on the ground. They all could foretell the outcome of this charge, for the enemy outmatched them twice in ranks.
They steadily trotted along the path of flowers, between the masses of women and children who exchanged glances with the ones they held dear. No laughter was to be heard, children pressed against their mothers dresses and the women lay their last, brief goodbye’s to the courageous men they loved, some barely the age of sixteen.
The great castle gate, covered in astounding carving of the kings of past had served the kingdom for many centuries. With a mighty clash its great steel doors flung open, and the proud ranks of horsemen assembled themselves in a massive arrowhead shaped formation.
A silence occurred. The enemy line situated about five-hundred meters directly ahead, over the great black field. The beautiful green meadow which had once laid there was nothing but a scorching battleground, soon to be dyed in red, the colour of war.
A deep horn was blown; it was time for the soldiers to prove their worth to their maker.
Long live the kingdom of Rielle!
Their war cry echoed loud as the hoard of horsemen burst into full gallop. They reached the enemy in a blink of an eye; each determined to take lives, each prepared to have their own claimed. Thunder roared across the sky as sword broke against shield, arrows whistled across the air and men piled up on the ground, never to move again.
The battle lasted for seven hours, until the last men with the banner of Rielle were barely standing.
Their numbers were now fewer than three-hundred. The enemy pressed its charge against their ranks as their cherished chestnut horses lay still on the ground. Men cried out in fear and despair, overwhelmed by the thousands of arrows that descended upon them.
The last soldier alive was lying face down against the ground, pierced through his shoulder and thigh he was unable to move. He raised his head, laying his last glance at the beautiful castle.
A heavy boot smashed on his back, pressing him against the ground.
“what’s this,” The general of Astar questioned. “Is this all that’s left of the mighty Rielle?”
The seemingly high ranking officer bent down to the level of the fallen soldier.
“Has your king deserted you, or is he cowering behind the walls of your pathetic castle?”
The soldier looked the general in the eyes and grinned painfully.
“Speak worm, or I’ll make sure your death will not be swift!”
“You clearly don’t know our king,” The soldier whispered. “He is a great and loved, and every soldier would gladly give their life for his sake”
The general burst out laughing.
“Where is your king now, soldier? He has clearly filled you all with false hope. What lies has he fed you to spill out words like that?”
The general’s laughter was cut short as a strong beam of light erupted from a distance.
Down the green marble steps of the castle stepped down a being glowing as if in blue flames. His long red hair swayed as he stopped at the bottom. In his right hand he carried a large blade, black as the night, embedded with blue runes that formed the edge and the hilt. In his right arm he carried the seal of Ouroboros, the symbol of re-creation, the sacred symbol of his kingdom. His armor glowed golden, and his glance was strong and determined. His long red cape twirled as he vanished.
The general of the Astar couldn’t say a word until he found the blade splitting through his throat to his chest.
“Si.li..os..:” The general gasped as blood gushed out of his mouth. He fell to the ground, lifeless.
The king turned to the soldier. His smile was warm and comforting.
“You did well,” the king spoke gently. "Once this is over I'll tend to your wounds, dont move"
The king turned to the enemy lines, and with an mighty voice he declared:
“Hear you all! I am Silios Ouroboros, king of Rielle! You have lost this battle. Give in, and your lives shall be spared!
The Astar soldiers were terrified and confused, they had lost their leader, but they had still over two-thousand men. They raised their weapons high and prepared for another assault.
“So it came to this…” The king said in a pitiful manner, clutching his sword behind his head, whispering incantations.
Lightning split across the black sky as the ground trembled.
With a mighty roar he swung his sword, releasing a blue wave that impacted against the enemy. Hundreds of men were sent spiraling across the air, and countless more were twitching on the ground, burning alive.
The remaining soldiers fled in terror, only to be caught by the burning blue flame.
The field was covered in scorched bodies, as Silios pushed his sword back to its black leather hilt on his back.
The lone king stood amidst the wasteland. Light broke between the clouds and the air was still.
The runes on his blade had dimmed, and his face reflected sorrow. Countless of lives had been sacrificed in vain. The blade on his back is the Blade of Amestis. It converts the souls of the dead into raw energy, increasing the wielders physical and mental capabilities. The blue flames it releases are inextinguishable, but at a cost.
He crashed against the ground, digging his fingers into the mud. His head felt as if it was about to rip open, and blood began slowly dripping out of his eyelids.
"UAAAH!" He screamed as he held his hands against his face, his blood was boiling, and his chest was pierced with pain.
The soldier dragged himself closer to the agonized king.
"My lord--!"
"Get away from me!" The king screamed, gasping for air. "I...dont want to....kill ...you!"
The soldier stopped in frightened confusion. His king was in clear pain, but he didn't seem like himself. The man raised himself on to the support of his left leg and started slowly to limp further away from the bellowing and thrashing man he praised as his lord.
His highness didn't move. In fact he was barely breathing. His eyelids were half open and his crystal blue pupils were scarlet.
The soldier fell to the ground; his strength was drained and he was unable to move. What had the king meant by not wanting to kill him?
Shouts were heard from a distance as the rest of the Rielle troops appeared from on top of the hills. The medics carried away the unconscious king, being the last sight the soldier witnessed, before everything turned to white.
[To be maybe continued, this is only a part of the intro, but the story will continue after 50 years of this event.]
