The capital of Astria roared with celebration.
Torches lined the streets, their flames flickering against the towering stone walls. Crowds gathered in the main square, eager to witness the spectacle.
The royal family of Eldoria had been conquered, erased, and now displayed for all to see.
The kingdom of Astria had won.
And now, the world would know.
---
THE HEADS OF KINGS
At the heart of the city, a massive iron stage had been erected.
At its center stood five pikes—each one bearing a severed head.
The King of Eldoria's face was frozen in horror, his lifeless eyes staring into the void.
His Queen's once-beautiful features were now twisted with agony.
His sons—mere boys—had not been spared.
The last was the princess, her delicate features now unrecognizable beneath dried blood.
The people gathered in silence, gazing at the remnants of a fallen dynasty.
Then—cheering erupted.
They screamed for their King.
They screamed for Astria's dominance.
They screamed for more blood.
And above them, seated on his massive throne at the top of the citadel—the King of Astria watched, unmoved.
His orange eyes burned like the fires of war.
---
A BRUTAL DECISION
The captured slaves were led into the square—hundreds of them, shackled and exhausted.
They stood before the King, awaiting their fate.
The crowd watched in anticipation.
Some wanted mercy. Others wanted vengeance.
The King slowly rose from his throne.
His massive frame cast a shadow over the city.
His voice rumbled like a storm.
"Eldoria is no more."
The crowd erupted.
"Their armies have been crushed."
"Their rulers are dead."
"And now, their people belong to us."
The captives shivered.
Then—he raised a hand.
"Half of them will be executed."
The city fell silent.
Even the Valkary stiffened.
The King's gaze swept over the square. "The rest will be enslaved."
A noble in the front stepped forward cautiously.
"Your Majesty, perhaps we could—"
The King's eyes flickered to him.
That was all it took.
The noble stumbled back, pale. He said nothing else.
The decision was final.
The blood would flow.
And Astria's dominance would be absolute.
---
MODRED AND THE PRINCESS
The city celebrated, but Modred remained indifferent.
He walked through the palace corridors, his boots echoing against the marble.
He had no interest in the politics. War was war. Rulers fell. Nothing changed.
Then—he stopped.
A familiar presence stood before him.
The princess.
She was alone, standing by the grand window, bathed in the dying light of the sun.
Her usual arrogance was gone.
She turned slightly, her orange eyes filled with something unreadable.
"You're back," she murmured.
Modred said nothing.
She hesitated, then exhaled. "I heard about the conquest."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—she smiled faintly.
"Did they scream?"
Modred's eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answers to."
She laughed softly. It wasn't mocking. It wasn't cruel.
It was just… tired.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, she turned fully toward him. "Do you regret it?"
Modred stared at her.
His voice was quiet. "No."
She searched his face. "You really don't feel anything, do you?"
He didn't answer.
She smiled again—soft, almost sad.
"Then why did you stop to talk to me?"
Modred's jaw tensed.
For the first time, he had no answer.
---
THE NEXT WAR BEGINS
That night, as the city celebrated in fire and blood, the Valkary gathered in the war room.
A massive map of the continent lay before them.
And the next kingdom was already marked.
The King's voice echoed in their minds.
"Burn them all."
The war was not over.
It was just beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED.