A twenty-eight-year-old man with white hair, crimson eyes, and olive skin rode his black horse through a sprawl of tents and endless ranks of soldiers. From a distance they looked like an army of ants covering the earth. Jeffrey pushed through the crowd until he reached the front, where the real view opened before him.
Hundreds of tall poles rose like giant torches, burning with a dull, hungry flame. On one of them, ten to fifteen people were tightly bound, their bodies stiff and charred. But when he looked more closely he realized that was not an isolated case. Every pole that stretched as far as the eye could see was an execution post.
It was a ghastly sight, yet Jeffrey only glanced at it before spurring his horse forward. Along the way his eyes caught a fresh pole being hoisted upright.
Ahead, civilians and prisoners were being herded with their hands bound. One by one soldiers lashed them to the posts without hesitation. The captives' faces were empty, drained of hope, as if their souls had already died before the fire could claim their flesh.
Jeffrey did not stop to watch.
He kept riding until he reached the heart of the vast camp. There stood a figure impossible to mistake: a man with black hair, golden eyes, a solid build, and an authority that made anyone's spine bow.
Lysander Xan Taurum.
The mad tyrant king. The man who had unleashed this brutal war of conquest and nearly brought the whole continent under his heel.
And Jeffrey… he was the king's rabid hound, the one who had helped make all this cruelty possible.
He reined in his horse, dismounted with steady movements, and walked forward. His gaze burned, sharp as a blade waiting to strike.
Lysander turned as Jeffrey approached, face open like a host greeting an old guest. His voice was calm, warm to the point of being false. "You came at the right moment. I really need you now."
Jeffrey stared at him for several seconds, cold and silent. "Word about what you're doing has spread," he said. "Do you think burning commoners alive will gain you anything?"
Lysander paused, eyes shifting toward the flaming posts. He studied Jeffrey as if weighing something, then said, "Are you angry, Jeff? That's not like you." The tone carried a trace of mockery, or maybe surprise.
Jeffrey said nothing. Old memories surfaced instead. He saw again a younger man with black hair and golden eyes, voice steady and full of conviction. "Jeffrey," the youth had asked back then, "why has this land suffered war and misery for centuries?"
Young Jeffrey had only shaken his head.
"Because we're divided," the youth continued. "Every kingdom has its own king, its own laws, its own grudges. Peace will never exist while there are too many borders, too many flags. As long as we see each other as strangers worth fighting."
He paused, then spoke with certainty. "So I will unite them all. I'll conquer every kingdom on this continent. I'll tear down every banner and raise one standard. When no other kingdom remains, there will be no reason for war. I will bring peace to this land."
Jeffrey remembered how shocked he'd been. The young man's golden eyes had locked on his, unwavering. "Will you help me, Jeffrey?"
Now that same man stood before him as a tyrant king. The words of the past still echoed clearly, but what Jeffrey saw was someone entirely different. The ruler who once spoke of peace was ordering civilians burned alive.
Maybe it was inevitable. War was a field of death, tragedy, and betrayal. No one stayed the same in a place like this.
Jeffrey remained silent, his quiet heavier than any reply. Lysander's faint smile slowly faded, leaving a hint of bitterness.
"I have no other choice," Lysander said at last. He drew in a deep breath, as if the next words hurt. "I must seize this fortress quickly. Once the war ends I can legitimize my rule and sweep out the rats before they gather strength against me."
His voice was steady, as if laying out an undeniable argument. Jeffrey's face stayed hard, granting no space for Lysander's pathetic defense.
The king seemed not to expect an answer. He only whistled, and a magnificent white horse trotted from the side of the tent. With practiced ease he mounted, then glanced back at Jeffrey. "You're ready, aren't you? Come on. Let's finish this war."
Jeffrey studied him for a long moment, then climbed back onto his black horse without a word. Side by side they moved forward, one astride a calm white steed, the other on a dark, grim companion.
They rode past ranks of soldiers bowing low, heading the same way. Dust swirled around them, the sound of thousands of boots marching behind.
Ahead, a giant of stone filled the horizon. The fortress soared nearly three hundred meters high, its walls massive and grand, framed by two hills standing like eternal sentinels.
Figures shifted along the battlements. Guards held their posts, archers kept bows drawn, mages stood with staffs raised, and engines of war gleamed in the sunlight.
Jeffrey took a long breath. He knew how impossible it would be to break the stronghold from outside. Beside him the king he had once believed in sat tall on his white horse, eyes fixed forward, confidence unshaken.
Jeffrey, silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was flat, carrying a weariness he couldn't hide.
"When this war is over, don't ever drag me into your rotten schemes again, Your Majesty. And remember the favor I asked of you back then."
Lysander looked over, a thin smile playing at his lips. "Of course. I could never forget."
His tone was light, almost playful, but something cold flickered behind his eyes.
"So you really want to retire?" he went on, with a laugh that sounded more like ridicule. "The tyrant king's mad dog wants to quit. I can just imagine the uproar across the kingdoms. Hmmm... Maybe I should start calling it an empire."
Jeffrey held his tongue.
"Don't worry," Lysander said, his voice soft but sly, like a serpent. "After I proclaim myself Emperor I won't summon you again. I'll even give you an extraordinary gift. Promise you'll accept it."
Jeffrey snorted under his breath.
"No, thank you. I know whatever you give me will only be trouble."
Lysander put on an exaggerated look of offense.
"Promise you'll take it, Jeff. It's my way of thanking you. Or maybe I'll keep pestering you."
Jeffrey rolled his eyes lazily.
"You already swore, Majesty, not to bother me."
Lysander's smile widened into something truly dangerous.
"I only promised to free you from duty forever. Not from me."
Jeffrey's heart growled though his lips stayed shut. In his head a bitter thought rang clear: Maybe... I should just kill this crazy king right now.
Soon after, their horses stopped directly before the towering stone fortress. The horses' hooves echoed and faded, replaced by the cold whistle of wind coming off the massive walls.
Lysander's expression changed instantly. His smile vanished, his eyes dimmed and went cold like a starless night. He drew his sword slightly from its sheath. The polished metal caught the pale light of the late sun.