"A traveler?" Jeriko asked listening to the bewildering request.
"No, my lord. He's not moving. Standing in the middle of the path. Said he won't let us pass unless he speaks to the Vicorras."
That got all three of them looking.
"Description?" Caesor asked sharply.
"You should take a look yourself, my lords."
Caesor hesitated for a second but eventually nodded. A column of space opened for three of them as they arrived at the front.
A lone figure stood ahead.
He was unlike any traveler Jeriko had seen.
He wore an uneven high-collared tunic that looked foreign—maybe southern, maybe eastern. Hard to tell. Half his head was shaved and marked with symbols Jeriko didn't recognize, while the other side carried a single tight braid. One shoulder was bare despite the cold, showing thin scars above a bone cuff that definitely wasn't from any kingdom Jeriko knew.
Everything about the man's appearance screamed danger. The backward-hung blade, the pale horn mask, even the way he stood—perfectly still, perfectly balanced.
This wasn't some desperate bandit or confused traveler.
This was a killer.
The three Vicorras halted a few paces from the man. The soldiers tightened their ranks behind them, hands shifting toward weapons without drawing steel.
"Who are you?" Caesor's voice carried over the brittle air, even and sharp.
The man tilted his head slightly, as though considering whether the question was worth answering. When he finally spoke, the words came in the pure Reais tongue.
"Si los tres ofren sus cabezas," he said, each syllable clipped and deliberate, "perdonaré a vuestros soldados."
If you three offer your heads, I will spare your soldiers.
Jeriko's eyes narrowed. He answered in the same language, his voice cold.
"What insolence."
He stepped his horse forward. "Who are you?"
"I am… following my orders," the man said after a pause.
The stillness snapped the moment the stranger's hand moved to his hilt. Jeriko swung down from his horse, boots crunching against the frozen ground. He stepped ahead of Caesor, raising his blade. The man drew in the same instant, steel flashing free with practiced speed.
Jeriko held his ground, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the stance before him. The weight in the air was real. This was no duel of honor, no skirmish with a common soldier. Whoever this man was, he had come here to kill.
The stranger struck first. The speed of it forced Jeriko's arms into motion. Steel met steel with a sharp crack that rattled through his bones. He braced and shoved forward, testing for weight, but the man hardly shifted. Cold ran along Jeriko's spine. The strength behind that strike wasn't normal.
A second swing came low and fast. Jeriko read the angle and brought his blade around to intercept. For a heartbeat, he thought he had it. Then his guard split apart as if it were nothing. The enemy's blade tore through and cut deep into his side. His lungs seized, breath tearing out in a ragged gasp.
Jeriko's eyes snapped to the man's face. The sclera of his eyes had turned black. The truth landed with a heavy certainty that froze Jeriko where he stood.
Arkspren.
Jeriko steadied himself, knees bent, blade raised. Pain burned hot along his ribs, but he forced it aside. He had faced stronger men before. If the first cut had slipped through, he would not let the second.
The stranger advanced without hurry, eyes fixed. Jeriko's gut tightened.
Another strike came, angled at his shoulder. Jeriko pivoted, steel flashing upward to meet it. The force slammed down, heavy enough to shake his grip. His arms quivered from the strain. He pushed back, but again the man gave no ground.
The return came quick, faster than his eyes could follow. A reverse cut swept across his ribs, smashing the air out of his lungs. Jeriko staggered, teeth clenched against the surge of pain. His sword slipped lower in his grip.
He tried to reset his stance, but the enemy was already there. The blade carved in at his shoulder again, biting deeper this time. His own steel moved to block, but it passed through like smoke. The cut landed clean, hot and brutal, ripping through muscle. His knees dipped.
Jeriko gasped, struggling to force his arms to rise again. The weight of his blade was no longer his to command.
He looked up—and saw those eyes again. Eyes void of any trace of humanity. The recognition hit harder than the wound itself. Arkspren. A monster in the shape of a man.
His heart hammered in his chest. He had trained, fought, bled, but against this, nothing mattered. His body was finished before his mind could accept it.
The sword fell from his hand. His legs buckled. The stranger had already moved on, walking past him as if he were nothing more than an obstacle.
Jeriko dropped to his knees. The ground was cold, the sound of soldiers rushing past him dulled in his ears. He tried to turn, to shout, but his body refused him. His vision swam, narrowing until only one shape remained.
The lone figure cut forward, driving into the soldiers around Caesor and Moses. Steel clashed. Voices cried out. Jeriko's breath rattled in his throat as darkness pressed in at the edges.
The last thing he saw was the masked man pushing through the line, the soldiers collapsing before him. Then his sight closed.
What came after would be remembered as the most brutal massacre ever inflicted on a noble family's guard. No one who stood there lived to tell it.
---
Far away, in a chamber untouched by blood or snow, another game was already underway.
The room was quiet except for the sound of dice clattering across a wooden board. The figure sat hunched forward, eyes fixed on the pieces as he shifted one with care. A thin candle burned at the center of the table, its light struggling against the thick shadows that pressed from every side.
The flame swayed each time he moved, throwing his silhouette against the curtain behind him. The shadow looked taller and stretched, a figure larger than the man himself.
Beside his chair rested a lute. The instrument leaned awkwardly against the leg of the chair.
He reached for the dice again. The pieces rolled across the board, bouncing lightly before settling into place. He studied them in silence, lips tightening before his hand swept another piece forward.
"Your Excellency," a man said from the other side of the curtain. "Bloodgarde has returned from the task you had given him."
"Well done."
The figure's voice carried easily through the curtain, smooth, and pleasant in a way that pulled the ear closer. There was something almost innocent in it.
"Funny thing, fate," he said, voice light, almost amused. "You can wrestle with it, change the path here and there, but in the end a man falls where he was always meant to." He moved one of the pieces on the board with his finger. "Take the Vicorras. They were supposed to fall under Montaro. That didn't happen. Still, they met death. One way or another."
He picked the dice up again, letting them pass from one hand to the other as he went on. "And if you ask me, that's a kind of mercy. Better to be ended by an assassin's blade than to carry the stain of traitor on your name until the end."
The messenger on the other side of the curtain shifted before speaking. "Bloodgarde wished to confirm, Excellency. Vencian Vicorra's name was on the list. Are you still certain he is to be excluded?"
He let the dice fall again. They rattled across the board and stopped, the numbers plain to see. He smiled faintly.
"You kill someone who is alive," he said.
The messenger hesitated. "He is alive."
His hand slid another piece forward on the board. His tone didn't change. "Is he? My pieces tell me otherwise. He is gone. That much is certain."
The messenger bowed his head.
"Tell him the task is done," the figure said, leaning back in his chair. "Bloodgarde can rest. If fate wants Vencian Vicorra, it will claim him in its own time."
He leaned back in his chair, satisfied that the pieces had fallen exactly where they belonged.
End of the Prologue
---
Author's Note (Placing it here since I'm not sure how many of you read the one at the bottom):
Honestly, it took me longer than I expected to finish the first arc. Looking back, I feel I could have written it better, but since this is my first work, I wasn't able to handle everything as well as I'd hoped.
As we move into the second arc, the fantasy elements will take center stage, with a stronger focus on action and mystery. Don't worry—politics will still remain an important part of the story, just not the main focus this time.
I'm doing my best to keep improving my writing so I can deliver the best version of the story that I have in mind.
Also, keep voting and interacting so I get the motivation to write. 💢💢
Discord: https://discord.gg/K4q2Bsx2hv