With the city's safety secured, the Sentinels shuffled back through the city gates, their bodies heavy with fatigue. The victory felt surreal, a strange, hazy dream after facing such certain annihilation. In King Nowick's arms, the infant slept soundly, his little face peaceful as he squirmed to find a cozier spot.
The people of the Main Defense Territory wept openly. Some cried for those they had lost—husbands, sons, brothers. Others wept with relief, grateful to have their loved ones return from a battle that should have seen them all perish.
King Nowick watched it all without a hint of emotion. He turned to the Grand Swordmaster, Siran, his voice calm and firm. "We don't have much time. The Orcs are reeling. Now is our chance. Tell the commanders of the 'Four Sentinels' to regroup immediately, assess their strength, and prepare to pursue the enemy."
Siran nodded, his face grim, and left to deliver the urgent command.
A noblewoman with golden hair and a crystal crown glided through the crowd, people bowing in silent respect as she passed. Clad in a deep blue gown, she was the picture of serene grace.
"Nowick!" she called out, hurrying to him. Only one person in the whole territory dared to call the King by his first name: Queen Elise Klaus Nowick.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her porcelain-white face etched with concern as she instinctively inspected his armor for damage.
"I'm fine," he said, his stern expression softening as he looked at his beloved wife. A rare, gentle smile touched his lips. "Thanks to him, most of our warriors survived."
He lifted his arm slightly, revealing the swaddled infant nestled in his cloak. Elise's elegant eyebrows drew together in confusion. She had never heard of a baby showing up in the middle of a warzone.
"It's like this…" Nowick began, his deep voice narrating the epic tale of the pod and the divine explosion. As he spoke, more people gathered, their incredulous eyes fixed on the miraculous child.
When he finished, Elise's lips parted, and her emerald eyes widened. She reached out and took the child from his arms, her voice a soft murmur. "Does he have a name yet?"
"Blazkowicz!" Nowick declared with a proud grin. "Blazkowicz 'Doom' Novick!"
"Son of Destruction," she whispered, kissing the child's forehead. "He's also the 'Miracle Child' who brings miracles."
Elise's face grew thoughtful. The tradition of the territory dictated that women educated the next generation. "How should I educate him?" she asked.
Nowick leaned in, his voice a low whisper for her ears alone. "Educate him for the future. He is a king. A Warrior King."
Elise's body stiffened. She looked from the baby in her arms to her own two sons, standing in the distance. Nowick gently squeezed her shoulder, his gaze unwavering. "Teach him all you can, to prevent him from straying."
With a heavy heart, Elise fell silent, her eyes lost in thought as she stared at the infant.
Nowick strode to a high spot, his voice a thunderous roar. "Sentinels! Opportunity comes only once!"
His gaze was fierce and serious as he swept it over the weary faces of his guards. "The Orc army is leaderless, fragmented! Our opportunity has come!"
"There is no time for sorrow! We must pursue them immediately, annihilate their forces, and prevent another siege!"
He held up three fingers. "Three minutes! You have three minutes to say goodbye, then regroup at the training ground. We depart now."
The order was brutal, nearly cruel. Three minutes to say goodbye to the loved ones they had just been reunited with. But not a single Sentinel complained. They simply raised a clenched fist to their chest in salute, a unified, metallic clang of armor meeting flesh.
They said their goodbyes with a simple embrace, then turned and marched to the training ground. In three minutes, they were lined up, ready to go.
"Elton Senna!" the King called, a name that signified the fastest speed.
A warrior in specialized armor stepped forward and knelt. "My King."
"You will depart immediately," Nowick commanded, his voice laced with anger. "Go and ask the Knights if they have forgotten their duty! Tell them if I don't see them in 48 hours, the Knights will be erased from the history of Argent Nur!"
"As you command," Senna said. He mounted his anti-gravity motorcycle, a quick thrum of its engine, and shot off into the distance at supersonic speed, a blur of motion carrying the King's decree.
Nowick's gaze swept over his men. "Leave a thousand to guard the city. The rest of you, depart. We will break into smaller groups for flexible pursuit, striking their remaining forces as much as we can." He grasped his sword and roared, "Depart! Fearless Sentinels!"
"We are Argent Nur's sharp blade! Used to slay all enemies!"
"We are Argent Nur's strong wall! We shall surely triumph!"
With those war cries, the Sentinels set off on their new mission, a relentless hunt for the remnants of the Orc army. They fought across the scorched wasteland and in the mountains, a bloody cleansing of their land.
Three months later, Nowick returned with a small detachment, met once again by Queen Elise. He sat, still in his blood-splattered armor, on a stone bench in the palace garden.
"Nowick," she began softly, a subtle fear in her trembling voice.
She knelt and rested her head on his thigh, a small comfort. "What happened?" he asked, reaching out to touch her hair but stopping as he saw the bloodstains on his gauntlet.
"That child," she said, taking his hand and pressing it to her cheek. "I'm afraid of him, Nowick. When I look at him, I feel a deep sense of dread."