The Night Bleeds
Midnight cloaked Varantis in silence. The city, now buzzing with preparations for war by day, was still under the moonlight. Watchtowers glowed faintly with torchlight, and patrols moved in predictable rotations.
But unseen by all, death crept between the stones.
The Crimson Guard had arrived.
Clad in dark red cloaks and enchanted armor that muffled even breath, the Empire's elite assassins slipped through sewer grates, shadows, and narrow alleyways.
Inquisitor Malek led them, his presence as quiet as a whisper and as deadly as poison.
"We strike at the heart," he had told them earlier. "Kill the guards. Kill his advisors. But Leon Blackwood must die by my blade."
One by one, the guards atop the walls fell without a sound, throats slit or arrows embedded in their eyes.
They moved swiftly toward the central keep, the seat of Leon's rule.
And inside that very keep—
A Sense of Unease
Leon stood before the war table again, Kael and Elara beside him. The fire crackled, casting a glow over the battle maps.
Elara narrowed her eyes. "The night feels wrong."
Kael's instincts agreed. He glanced toward the window. "The patrols haven't passed by in a while."
Leon's hand moved subtly to the hilt of his sword. His senses, honed through battle and system training, were on high alert.
Suddenly—
A scream cut through the night.
Not of pain—but of warning.
Leon's head snapped up. "To arms. They're here."
Assassins in the Hall
The doors of the war room burst open. Three assassins darted inside like shadows given form.
Kael reacted instantly, daggers flashing in both hands as he intercepted one mid-air. The assassin's blade never touched the ground—Kael severed the man's wrist with a swift strike, then drove a dagger into his throat.
Elara ducked a spinning blade and countered with a burst of wind magic, slamming her attacker against the stone wall with a crack.
Leon faced the third, a hooded killer wielding dual curved swords.
They clashed in a flurry of sparks—Leon's strength and precision meeting the assassin's speed and finesse.
But Leon was more than a warrior.
He was a king with a system.
He activated Battle Instinct (Level 4)—and his reflexes sharpened like blades.
A heartbeat later, his sword pierced the assassin's chest.
More footsteps. More assassins.
Leon turned to Kael. "Protect the keep. Elara, get to the mages. Raise the wards!"
Kael grinned. "Let's paint the walls red."
Malek's Approach
Inquisitor Malek moved through the outer halls, his steps silent. He could feel the presence of his men dying one by one, but it didn't bother him.
They were expendable.
Only the target mattered.
Leon Blackwood.
He entered the throne room, now empty, but his senses were sharp.
He paused, just as a hidden blade slashed toward his throat.
Malek spun, catching the blade mid-air.
Kael's eyes met his—a grin playing on the rogue's lips.
"You're a big one. Let's see if you bleed like the others."
Malek smiled under his helmet.
"Let's."
And the throne room exploded into battle.
---
Duel in the Throne Room
Kael vs. Inquisitor Malek
The throne room echoed with the sound of steel meeting steel. Kael's twin daggers danced like lightning, each strike aimed at a lethal point.
Inquisitor Malek met him blow for blow, his larger blade carving arcs through the air with ruthless precision. He was fast—unnaturally fast for someone in heavy armor.
Kael gritted his teeth. "You don't move like a man. You move like a monster."
Malek's eyes burned behind his helmet. "I'm both."
He struck again—a horizontal slash that Kael barely ducked. The blade grazed his shoulder, drawing blood.
Kael rolled, flipped over a broken pillar, and came down with both daggers poised for Malek's spine.
But the Inquisitor twisted unnaturally, catching Kael by the throat in mid-air and slamming him into the throne itself.
The impact cracked the stone.
Kael coughed blood but twisted in Malek's grip, stabbing a dagger deep into the man's arm.
Malek didn't even flinch.
"You think pain matters to me?" he hissed.
Then a voice rang out—calm, cold, and commanding.
"Step away from my throne."
Leon stood at the entrance, cloaked in shadow, his golden eyes glowing. Blood from earlier battles still stained his armor, but he looked untouched. Unbroken. Unyielding.
Malek released Kael and turned to face him. "So. The boy-king himself."
Leon walked forward slowly, drawing his blade. "You've come a long way to die in my hall."
Malek's grin widened. "You think your little System makes you a match for me?"
Leon tilted his head. "No."
Then the System voice echoed in his mind:
> [Skill Activated: Sovereign's Domain (Level 2)]
All enemies within 20 meters suffer -25% agility and strength. Allies gain +15% reaction time. Duration: 2 minutes. Cooldown: 1 hour.
The air shifted. Malek's grin vanished.
Kael felt the strength return to his limbs. He stood beside Leon, blood dripping from his mouth. "Round two?"
Leon nodded. "We end him together."
Two Against One
Malek roared and charged.
But this time, he was slower.
Leon moved like a blur, parrying and countering with brutal efficiency. Kael circled like a phantom, striking from blind angles.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew. Blood sprayed across the marble floor.
Malek was powerful—but not invincible.
Kael slashed across the back of his knee, and Malek stumbled.
Leon drove his sword through the gap in his chest plate.
Malek gasped, but before he could recover—Kael's dagger found his neck.
The Inquisitor collapsed, his blood pooling around the shattered throne.
Silence fell.
Aftermath
Leon knelt beside the corpse and yanked off the helmet. Malek's face was human—but twisted, scarred by dark alchemy and inhuman rage.
Elara rushed into the room, her robes scorched. "The wards are up. No more of them will enter tonight."
Leon looked to her, to Kael, to the fallen soldiers.
"This wasn't an assassination attempt," he said. "It was a warning."
Kael spat. "They wanted to show us they could reach us anywhere."
Leon stood tall, blood dripping from his blade.
"Then it's time we show them the cost of stepping into our domain."
He turned to his generals.
"Prepare the armies. The Empire wants war? We'll give them hell."
---
The Warhorns of Vengeance
One Voice, One Army
The sun rose blood-red over Varantis. Smoke still lingered in the air from the failed assassination attempt. Citizens whispered of shadows that crept through the streets, of ghosts in red cloaks and guards slain in silence.
But what the people remembered most was this: Leon Blackwood still lived.
And now, he was angry.
In the central plaza, a massive platform had been raised. Soldiers, nobles, mercenaries, and commoners alike gathered as the war drums boomed, each beat echoing through the city like a declaration.
Leon stood at the top, flanked by Kael, Elara, and Darius. His armor gleamed, freshly polished, the blood of assassins long cleaned but not forgotten.
He raised his sword to the crowd.
"The Empire sent its finest to kill me in the dark." His voice rang out over the silence. "They failed."
The crowd stirred.
"They want to see us break. To see us kneel. To remind us we are beneath them."
He let the silence hang, tension building like lightning in the sky.
Then, he lowered his sword and shouted:
"But we are not broken. And I do not kneel!"
The crowd erupted into roars.
"I am Leon Blackwood. And I will bring fire to their gates!"
His voice was fury, resolve, and power woven into one.
"Let the Empire come. Let them send their legions and their kings. I will bury them all and raise my banner over their ashes!"
The crowd chanted his name.
"LEON! LEON! LEON!"
That day, the people no longer saw a usurper.
They saw a conqueror.
They saw an Emperor in the making.
---
Mobilization
Later, in the war chamber, Leon stood over the map of the continent. The Imperial banners were spreading toward the borderlands. Two legions—possibly more—were now days from launching a full siege.
Elara traced one of the red markers with her fingertip. "They're gathering near the River of Veils. If they cross it unopposed, they'll surround Varantis within weeks."
Kael folded his arms. "Then we hit them before they're ready. Same as before—disrupt, divide, and destroy."
Leon nodded. "Darius, begin preparations. We move the elite units to the eastern front. I want sabotage squads sent to every bridge and food route near the river."
Darius grinned. "Finally. I was getting bored."
"And Kael," Leon added, "I want you in the shadows. No more assassins make it into this city again. Raise the Red Veil."
Kael blinked, then smiled slowly.
"The Red Veil? You're serious."
Leon's expression didn't change. "It's time we play the Empire's game—better than they ever did."
---
A Final Message
As the commanders departed, Leon remained alone in the chamber. He stepped to the balcony overlooking the city.
His people were preparing for war. His soldiers trained harder than ever. The banners of Varantis had been replaced by his sigil—the Black Crown beneath a rising flame.
He whispered into the wind:
"Let the Emperor watch. Let his nobles whisper. Let his legions march."
"I will show them all—"
"—that the age of Blackwood has begun."
And across the Empire, in cities far and wide…
The warhorns of vengeance began to sound.