Chapter 188: The Kingdom in Terror

Chapter 188: The Kingdom in Terror

Chapter 188

The Kingdom in Terror

A tale sprung like the snowstorm in the middle of a Cold Snap--it travelled like thunder from far north deeper and deeper south with each passing day. At first, the tale was told merely in whispers--secrets shared almost silently, begging to be hidden. Then, as days passed, the whispers grew louder, and soon it was only the ignorant that dared claim they were in the dark.

It was a fascinating tale, indeed, for it spoke of a dead man rising from the ashes, ushering an army under his banner, and marching from the destitute and frozen north, claiming world itself as he went. At first, few believed the tales, taking them as mere bard songs of wistful lips in want of better times. But when it is not just a few lips, but hundreds and thousands that sing the same song, to disbelieve is to be a fool willfully.

The Forsaken Prince, the Unfortunate Child, the Sacrificed One... all those titles seemed to fade over night, for the Prince was neither sacrificed nor forsaken. He was alive, armed with men and women of legends, it seemed, and on his way south. He raised the banner of rebellion, though never called it such. He never burned the villages, never killed the civilians, and even accepted those who surrendered into his ranks.

His army grew like the river descending, and whispers spoke even louder of a few figures that seemed fantastical. They would take the front and charge, dismantling the few who dared stand in the Princes way.

While the stories were pretty, the reality was not so; in the end, the Prince ushered a rebellion, and the many Nobles gathered under the banner of Justice, demanding the Princes head to cull the uprising. Soon, the hastily-gathered forces of the far-northern counties were no more, and a proper army was raised and conscription was fully in place.

There were no choke points to hold, only open fields of the Midland that were perfectly suited for a massive battle. Everyone knew, even the mud-laden peasants, that the two armies would face there, and while it may not be a deciding battle, it would show to the rest of the Kingdom just what the Princes army was made of.

Whether the Prince could make any waves would be determined by that very battle and, as such, many eyes were focused on the field of choice--Crysters Plains was the ground the two armies inevitably met at. It was a vast, open plain with nary a hill, almost entirely flat, perfectly suited for a massive battle.

Sylas stood at the top of the recently-built tower overlooking the vast plain, taking in the sight. It was early in the morning, with the suns rays slowly burning through and gracing the grass. The weather truly was completely different--even though it was winter here, too, and the temperatures were quite low, there was barely any snow, and at least the days werent spent in overcast darkness.

On the far other end of the plain, he saw red-lined tents, thousands of them, housing tens of thousands of soldiers. As he suspected, inevitably, their tactic of rushing through would have to come to an end. The Kingdom was quite vast and there was no way to get from the far north to the Capital before the many Nobles could put together a proper army to fight them.

While Sylas wasnt worried, that wasnt the case for the rest, especially Valen. Even if they did grab a proper Commander at the Martyrs Pass--whose name Sylas already forgot as he simply called the boy Boy--the differences were, to put it generously, vast.

Uh... w-why?

Just give me an estimate.

If we worked non-stop, considering our success rate... maybe around 5,000? Exclusively combat-related ones with enough firepower to do damage, that is, Ryne replied, though quite confused why he asked her that.

Thats good to know.

There was little else to plan for--they hardly had the time, even, as the midday came soon, and the opposing army blew its trumpets and beat its drums, the mass flooding the plain as they marched forward. Though the 30,000 men stood brave and defiant, charging ahead, even the blind could see.

Heads rolled swiftly and the blood pooled. Even if they claimed two lives for each life lost, it wasnt enough. Nowhere near enough. Soon, the force was overwhelmed, and the massive army stood afoot the encampment where only the senior staff remained. Valen stepped out in front, helped up by Derrek so that he would not be sitting.

The enemy Commander was a fifty-something Knight donning silver, plate armor and a crimson cape. Dismounting, he stepped forward and scoffed at the sight in front of him.

A cripple dares dream? You should have stayed in the frost, boy, the man said. Now the weight of all those dead men is on you. Grab the Prince, kill the rest. His order was cold, but Sylas expected it. In fact, while everyone was standing, drawing their weapons--even Ryne--he was still sitting, sipping wine. He had no plans on doing anything, but hearing the old mans tone pissed him off slightly. These days, however, even slightly was a cause for celebration.

Just as the few Knights started moving forward to complete their order, Sylas threw the bottle of wine and completely obliterated one of the Knights heads. It exploded into the shower of blood and gore, shocking everyone around. Before they could process what happened, Sylas appeared by the old mans side and grabbed him by the throat, dragging him back. Shouts and yelps of alarm rang out, but he ignored them, bringing him in front of Valen and pushing the man to his knees.

Its the King you spat on, he spoke. Do you think you can just leave after?

How dare--AAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Sylas cleaved the mans arm off even through armor.

Men far greater than you would scurry like mice beneath him, Sylas continued. Your balls must be the size of the fuckin moons, no? One of these loops, your head will be hanging old man, and Ill be pissing into its gaping mouth.

With a swift stomp, the old mans head exploded into another shower of blood and gore. Silence reigned for a moment as Sylas grabbed the nearby bottle of wine, sat down, and started drinking. It was one of those sights that, could it be remembered, would become a defiant myth that would survive until the end of time. Alas, as many things in life... it was not meant to be.