"My king, wake up. My king, WAKE UP! GEORGE!"
King George opened his eyes. Morning light filtered in. He sat up quickly.
"What happened, Kane? Are the enemies already here? Why wasn't I informed sooner?"
Commander Kane was panting and drenched in sweat. "My king, look at this report. Our informant monitoring enemy movements sent it before dawn."
King George snatched the report and read it in a single breath. His eyes widened with every line.
"Take me there."
Two hours later, the King arrived at the border on horseback, where preparations for battle had been underway. Without delay, they crossed into enemy territory. An hour passed before they reached the enemy's last known location. Makeshift war camps stood eerily quiet.
Then, they saw it—death.
Hundreds of bodies lay scattered, torn apart. Dismembered limbs, severed heads—gruesome sights in every direction. There was a heads stuck in a tree. Blood was all drained up since night. He looked closely in its eyes. Before death, the man must have been terrified.
The King turned away, only for a soldier to speak. "My king… he's inside this tent."
Inside the chamber—there he was.
Richard.
Dead.
A sword pierced through his heart.
King George didn't feel anything.
He had thought he would feel happiness. Relief. Satisfaction.
But as he stared at his greatest enemy lying lifeless before him, a storm brewed inside.
His emotions were in turmoil.
"My king, he's by the river… that direction."
"Dead?" George asked.
A brief pause. Then the answer he expected—
"Yes."
He walked slowly.
His steps heavy.
His mind blank.
By the river, he saw a figure clothed in black—resting against a stone.
Eyes closed.
Deathwhisper
A man he had never truly relied on.
It had only been three or four years since George had taken him in. He never saw his face. Didn't even know his real name.
But the man could fight. That much, everyone knew.
The times he had used him in battle—he could count on one hand.
George didn't feel sad.
Why would he? He barely knew the man.
But as he stood there…
He felt something else.
A small, aching regret.
I wish I could have fought beside him.
Maybe we could have shared a drink, once.
Curious, George bent down and gently removed the mask from the body's face.
My God! He doesn't look older than twenty…How could someone so young fight like this?
A whisper came from beside him. Others had arrived. They, too, stared in disbelief.
"Kane, can one man do all of this?
"Its really hard to believe my lord. I have seen many strongest people in the world but not like this".
A twenty-year-old man had single-handedly saved his kingdom.
He went alone, in the dead of night, fought thousands, and killed hundreds.
He slayed their king and forced the enemy to retreat.
A certain defeat had been turned into a glorious victory—by one man.
And the saddest part?
He barely even knew him.
Even his own father—whom he had respected immensely—felt smaller compared to this man.
He was just a boy younger than his own son. He removed his armor and set his sword aside.
Then he knelt.
"Thank you… Deathwhisper.
I wish I could have asked your real name.I wish I could have made you my friend. I thank you on behalf of my kingdom. Your life was always in the shadows...Yet you brought light to my kingdom. I will pray to God that, in your next life, your days will be long—and your life, the happiest it can be."
He knelt, a king bowing to an assassin, whose name would echo in the kingdom for generations.