Alkaris walked across the once-flaming battlefield. The war against the Pharoti Kingdom had ended in absolute victory. Spadoria had extended its reach once more—and once again, he had helped make it happen.
Not once did he question his actions, nor that of the empire.
It was for the good of the realm. But most importantly, it was the emperor's command and that was absolute.
His heart, however, was weary.
Weary from the bloodshed.
His hands felt forever stained—no matter how many times he washed them, the stickiness lingered. The stench of rotting corpses seemed to follow him, no matter where he went.
He looked up at the moonless sky. The stars dazzled— but the night felt empty without the moon.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply.
In the distance, he heard the flapping of wings.
Opening his eyes, he spotted a hawk.
Reaching into his trouser pocket, he drew a small transparent vial filled with green liquid.
"Valos..." he muttered,
smashing it against the ground.
A glowing green sigil flared beneath him. He extended his arm as the hawk descended, landing gracefully.
Tied to one leg was a folded paper, bound with a thin red string. He unfastened it, letting the bird rest on his shoulder as he unfolded the message.
"There are weeds in your yard..."
It was coded, but the meaning was clear— 'spies among his own.'
He scoffed. Obvious.
"...they were planted by the Shepherd."
That line made him scowl. The Shepherd referred to the Pope.
'What was the Pope's intention?'
He considered letting it be. Spies were nothing new. His army had no weaknesses. And if anything, the information they leaked would only spread fear...true fear.
He paused.
Then again… the Pope was far from sane. A grin crept onto his face.
"This might actually be fun."
As Alkaris made his way back to camp, the crunch of metal against dirt echoed with every step . His armored boots sank slightly into the blood-warmed soil, now cooled by the night's air. His steps were steady, the faint clink of his sword brushing against his waist with each stride.
The camp spread across a gentle ridge overlooking the battlefield. Rows of dark tents fluttered faintly in the breeze, as scattered bonfires still flickered, casting dim halos of orange light across the camp. Some soldiers slept outside their tents, their weapons were still gripped in hand, as if expecting the battle to resume at any moment. Others snored while some stirred restlessly. A few sat in silence, too haunted to sleep, staring off into the distance. Either haunted by the memories of the blood they shared, or the desire to go home. In a corner, a small cluster exchanged muted laughter, the kind with no true joy behind it.
A lone wolf howled somewhere far off, yet no one flinched, neither did Alkaris pause.
He walked straight to the largest tent. Two knights in black chainmail guarded the entrance, they saluted wordlessly as he approached. Without a glance, he stepped inside.
The interior was lit brightly by several metal torchères that stood on the ground. Three men stood around a wide wooden table cluttered with war maps, stained glasses, and a half-burnt candle.
They turned to face him.
"Generals…" he greeted with a slight tilt of his head and a casual smile... maybe amused.
A broad man in full armor, well into his fifties, with amber colored hair and a rough face, scoffed.
"You're the only devil I know who smiles after massacring tens of thousands."
Alkaris' grin widened. "You give me too much credit, General Slavic, it was merely a few thousand."
"Merely a few?" cut in another general, his long, straight red hair hanging past his shoulders. Disgust was plain in his voice. He looked to be in his forties.
"That arrogance of yours will be your downfall."
Alkaris shrugged, still smiling. "It's not arrogance…" he gestured casually, "It's confidence, General Del Gamere."
"And pray tell..." General Slavic said with a scoff, "...what exactly is the difference?"
"Well, you see…" Alkaris tilted his head, glancing up at the tent's ceiling as he tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. His eyes glinted with child like mischieve. "...isn't arrogance just baseless confidence?"
Then, his tone dipped—cool, dark, and slightly menacing.
"What I have… is the confidence to kill two old fuggies in a second."
Silence fell. The two generals stared at him, as he responded with a calm smile.
"Hoohoo…" chuckled the third general, voice deep and amused. His long white hair was tied back, and his white armor bore the blazing star emblem of the Church. Despite his eighty-some years, he stood strong and unwavering.
"What's gotten into you, my boy? You don't usually get irritated so quickly."
"I'm just sad we'll be parting soon..." Alkaris said, his voice melodramatic, "...so I thought I'd leave a lasting impression."
"Mad man" Slavic muttered under his breath.
"Why thank you," Alkaris beamed.
"Although… your daughter thinks differently." He snickered.
Slavic lunged. In a flash, his hands clamped around Alkaris' neck.
"Say that again, and I'll rip your tongue out!" he roared.
The tent Was thrown into chaos as the knights rushed in, trying to pull the fuming general off the laughing commander. Del Gamere stood frozen in shock. Everyone knew of General Slavic's daughter, how she was hopelessly infatuated with Alkaris, to the point of scandal. Her repeated rejection of suitors had become court gossip. It was a sore wound, and Alkaris had just poured salt into it.
Amid the frenzy, the third general simply watched in silence.
"What's the matter?" Alkaris choked out through a grin, remaining unfazed. "I only spoke the truth."
He was clearly provoking Slavic on purpose, and it was working. More soldiers had gathered, drawn by the spectacle unraveling at the command tent.
"Enough!."
The word was low, but it echoed with weight. The old general's voice shifted, his canines elongated, and his once-blue eyes glowed white.
"It would be wise for both of you to conduct yourselves in a manner befitting your ranks."
Slavic growled, but released his grip and stepped back, his eyes still blazing with fury.
"...I think it's best if you left us, Alkaris," the old man continued, his fangs receding, eyes returning to their usual calm blue.
"You never did like following the decisions made in these meetings anyway."
"Okay, okay," Alkaris said with a shrug and a crooked smile, brushing off his collar as he turned to leave. "don't miss me when I'm gone."