To eat the flesh of one's own kind was an abomination—a crime so vile that every faith across the known world, despite their ceaseless squabbling, agreed on its punishment.
The Fivefold Faith decreed that cannibals must burn, their ashes scattered to the wind so no trace of their corruption could taint the earth. In the Sultanate of Azania, the crimson-robed priests of the Scarlet God declared such sinners unworthy even as sacrificial offerings; instead, they buried them alive in the shifting sands , where the weight of the desert would crush their lungs grain by grain. And in sun-scorched Arlania, chained transgressors beneath the open sky, leaving them for the beaks of carrion birds—a feast repaid by feast.
Alpheo had seen it all.
It was his second year as a slave-soldier when the emperor's army laid siege to a fortress-city clinging to the eastern cliffs. The walls were too high for ladders, the gates too thick for rams, and the emperor, ever pragmatic, refused to waste lives on a frontal assault , and so his forces settled into a ring of steel and starvation.
Five months passed.
The city's defiance outlasted even the emperor's patience. By the time the autumn rains came, 30,000 souls had withered to 22,000, the garrison's ranks halved from 2,500 to 1,300. Yet still, no surrender came. When the gates finally buckled, the conquerors found hollow-eyed survivors shuffling through streets that reeked of smoke and something fouler—a greasy, metallic stench that clung to the back of the throat.
The truth emerged in fragments.
Interrogated in the shattered remains of their barracks, the garrison soldiers could only stare at their hands, their silence louder than any confession. Then the scouts discovered the bone pits—great trenches filled with femurs split for marrow, skulls cracked like eggshells, ribs scraped clean. The city had turned its dead into rations.
The emperor's priest, nearly tore his vestments in outrage. "Burn them!" he shrieked, spittle flying. "Every last one—purge the sin with fire!" But 22,000 pyres were impossible. The emperor needed a functioning city, not a graveyard. Taxes could not be wrung from ashes, nor soldiers conscripted from cinders.
A compromise was struck.
"The garrison led them to damnation," the emperor declared, his voice echoing across the occupied plaza. "Let their punishment be a lesson." The priest scowled but obeyed—though Alpheo noted how the man's robes grew heavier with each stake he lit, his belt pouch clinking with the weight of silence bought in silver.
And yet even cowards faced punishment. And even such a crime was to be witnessed by the young man in question. The recent war with the Prince of Oizen had ended just the month prior, resulting in a defeat for their employer near the border.
"Guilt of the cowards," were the words the Prince of Yarzat had said as he commanded the officers forward. The battle had initially gone well, until the center of their formation collapsed, leading to a rout. Eight hundred soldiers found themselves imprisoned and relegated to the dungeons while the prince deliberated their fate. Ultimately, they were sentenced to slavery in the mines. However, it seemed that for the officers Arkawatt had other plans.
"I can finally see some blood," Egil muttered as he draped his arms around Alpheo's shoulder, yet his deameanor remained sober
"Why the long face, Alph?" Egil questioned, noting Alpheo's stoic expression.
"Don't you understand?" Alpheo replied, his gaze shifting to the lines of prisoners being led toward the soft green ground.
"Understand what?" Egil pressed.
"This is more than just a punishment," Alpheo explained. "It's a message."
"Aye, and the sky is brown, while my shit is gold," Egil retorted sarcastically. "To whom would the message be? The worms, to tell them to wiggle a bit less?That will certainly do.And I suppose the birds are waiting eagerly for their copy too ?" "
Clio cackled at Egil's remark, while Jarza remained silent, gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before them. Finally, it was Jarza who spoke up.
"No, it's a message for us," he interjected.
Jarza's insight took aback Alpheo. It seemed that the gods had blessed the man not only with strength but also with a keen intellect.
"Are we supposed to be scared?Of few men diggin' the ground ?" Egil muttered as he sat on the ground . "Aye, I am wetting my pants."
But as the prisoners took up their shovels and began digging, Clio's eyes narrowed with focused intensity. Dirt flew from ahead of them, tossed aside . Meanwhile, the prince stood by, his hand resting on his good ear, wearing a bored expression.
Sir Robert, at his side, observed the scene with a hint of pride. 'Was this organized by that senile bastard?If they were going to kill them they could have given them to me...their alphabetism would have been great for us' Alpheo couldn't help but wonder.
With each passing moment, the hole grew deeper. Some of the prisoners paused to catch their breath, only to be urged on by the crack of whips. Twenty minutes later, the hole reached waist depth, and the digging came to a halt.
"What the hell are they doing?" Clio whispered, her voice laden with disbelief. "Are they trying to scare them? Are those holes meant to humiliate them?"
"No,I saw this many times " Jarza replied, tone grave. "That is their tomb."
As if on cue, words were vindicated. The guards wasted no time, thrusting their lances through the chests of the prisoners. Some fell to their knees, pleading for mercy, while others fought desperately to free themselves from the lethal grip of the weapons. Yet, regardless of their efforts, their fate remained inevitable.
"If they intended to kill them, they could have spared us this spectacle and gotten on with it," Egil remarked, his voice tinged with boredom.
"This spectacle is as much for us as it is for their new officers," Alpheo explained, his gaze fixed on the grim scene unfolding before ''Show cowardice and you die''. He watched as the guards wrested the shovels from the lifeless hands of the prisoners and began filling the holes they had dug. The court, silent and unmoving, observed the play with stony expressions.
Eventually, the prince seemed to grow weary of the spectacle, rising from his seat with his guards trailing behind him.
Suddendly Alpheo called his companions and went forward to the prince. As he stepped closer, the prince took notice of him , his bored eyes moved to Alpheo .
The mercenary leader bowed ''May I have a word with your grace?'' He asked
The prince's demeanor suggested annoyance, but he turned to Sir Robert, who stepped forward to address Alpheo. "You treat with me, mercenary," Robert declared.
Alpheo watched the prince , who just nodded as he walked forward
"Very well. I seek permission to recruit additional men within the city," he stated plainly, anticipating Robert's response.
"So that we may pay you more, you think us fools?" Robert retorted
"The terms we agreed upon previously will remain unchanged," Alpheo countered. "Eight silverii for each soldier of my 500 in the company. Any recruits beyond that will be outside of our contract and funded solely by me. Your coffers will not be burdened by their payment."
Robert grumbled,not seeing the catch "You should be paying us for such a right,recruiting in our own land" he insisted.
"These soldiers will fight for your prince," Alpheo reminded him calmly. "If you do not wish to grant us permission to recruit, then you shall simply have fewer free soldiers fighting for you. Hardly a loss for me.Can you afford that though?"
After a moment of consideration, Robert relented. "Very well, you may proceed with recruiting them. But do not come to us later asking for additional coins" he warned.
"I will not. Please convey my gratitude to your liege," Alpheo replied with another respectful bow. With that, he turned and rejoined his companions, leaving Robert to return to the royal entourage with a snort of disapproval.
Seems like our bows will soon have arms to hold them', He thought as he turned back to his group motioning them to follow. And as they passed their eyes moved to those of the man on the ground.Their head still sticking out from the dirt,in an open but silent scram of sorrow
All will one day be what they are now.
It may be in a silvery bed with their stomach full, or in the mud with a lance through their neck ,yet the end will be the same.Off to death everyone will go...