The sentry's urgent cry pierced the camp's brief calm.
"YOUR MAJESTY!"
I turned, my expression as unreadable as stone, though the tension from my guards told me all I needed to know. The man was running, desperation in every stride.
"WHAT IS IT?" I demanded, my voice carrying the weight of command.
"IT'S THE WOLF TRIBE…" he panted, the dread in his words unmistakable.
I paused, letting the name settle in my mind. The Wolf Tribe. Their sudden arrival could complicate everything. Yet, a spark of anticipation—strange, but undeniable—flickered in my chest.
From the forest's edge, another voice rang out, carrying authority and familiarity:
"THEY'RE HERE!"
Three figures emerged, their armor catching the sunlight, glinting like blades. The man at the center—red hair blazing—was unmistakable. A rare, genuine smile curved my lips.
"LONG TIME NO SEE, HAKAN!" the red-haired warrior bellowed, a laugh rumbling through him.
"IT'S BEEN A WHILE, KARL," I replied, stepping forward. No tension, no threat—just the warmth of reunion. The sentry's worry had been unfounded; this was no attack.
A small, playful voice piped up, floating near Karl. "I heard you're head over heels for your wife and turning down all mercenary work…"
Karl flinched slightly, caught off-guard by the mention of his personal life. Even he couldn't hide the effect of the playful teasing.
I pressed on, curiosity sharpening my tone. "...WHAT MADE YOU ACCEPT OUR REQUEST FOR HELP?"
Karl's eyes met mine, serious and unwavering. "IF YOU WERE ANY OTHER TRIBE, I WOULD'VE REFUSED." He softened, a predator's smile flashing across his face. "But I can't just turn my back on the Tayar Tribe. AFTER ALL, ONE OF THEM IS A DEAR FRIEND OF MINE."
Satisfied with his loyalty, I shifted my focus back to the matter at hand. "Did you bring the items I requested?"
A white-haired member of the Wolf Tribe stepped forward, hauling a massive golden sack from the carriage. The light glimmering from within made my eyes narrow in calculated approval.
The playful voice appeared again. "BUT WHAT ARE THOSE?"
Karl glanced at the sack, momentarily caught in hesitation. "OH, THEY'RE—"
I cut him off with a confident smirk. "There's enough here to neutralize them." His eyes widened slightly as he took in the gold, the resources I had gathered with precision.
Karl whistled sharply. "THAT'S MORE THAN ENOUGH."
The Wolf Tribe's strength combined with my preparation—this was a turning point, and I could feel it.
Karl leaned closer, his long red hair brushing my ear as he whispered words that made my pulse tighten.
Pulling back, I raised an eyebrow. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
He nodded, feline eyes gleaming. "THERE'S NO WAY YOU'LL LOSE IF YOU HAVE THESE," he assured me, gesturing toward the treasure.
Then the ground rumbled—a low, steady thrum that grew into deafening hoofbeats.
"H-HUH?" a soldier in white armor stammered, confusion plain on his face.
The galloping intensified, then chaos erupted. A panicked shout cut through the camp:
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"
The cry was cut short by a swift, brutal stab. Metal clashed, cries of pain and rage filled the air. My warriors engaged the unarmored enemy with relentless ferocity.
I stepped forward, flanked by a loyal guard, ready to strike myself.
Amid the turmoil, a calmer voice broke through. "PLEASE WAIT."
A young man in silver and purple armor stepped forward, composed despite the slaughter around him. "I DON'T WANT ANY MORE POINTLESS FIGHTING."
I halted, appraising him with a long, careful gaze. My brow furrowed into a deep frown.
"IS THERE SOMETHING YOU WANT FROM US?" I asked, voice low, dangerous. "AND WHO ARE YOU?"
The young man held himself with the poise of royalty. "I'M THE PRINCE OF BRION KINGDOM. ARE YOU THE KING OF TAYAR KINGDOM?"
I inclined my head slowly, my mind racing at the sheer audacity. The pounding of my own pulse sounded in my ears: DU DUN. The nerve, the gall, the insolence of this prince trying to halt the flow of my war.
"…HOW DARE A MERE PRINCE OF BRION…" I thought, my voice unspoken, my glare enough to convey fury. "…TRY TO TELL THE KING OF TAYAR WHAT TO DO?"
---
The sheer audacity of the young man froze me into a brief, dangerous silence. My face darkened as my inner thoughts burned: HOW DARE A MERE PRINCE OF BRION… …TRY TO TELL THE KING OF TAYAR WHAT TO DO?
The Prince of Brion remained before me, standing tall, unbowed despite the obvious tension around him. After a long, tense pause, he spoke again, voice strained but firm.
"I know you wish to… eliminate the Slayers."
I noted the subtle slump in his shoulders, the way his posture betrayed his stress—a visible droop in a man who otherwise carried himself with the bearing of royalty.
Then came an unexpected proposal. "I'll draw them out, so please… stop attacking my men."
Suspicion tightened around my chest. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?" I demanded. The Tayar and Brion kingdoms were at war, yet here was this prince, offering to aid me in hunting the Slayers.
His hand clenched tightly, a subtle tremble running through his fist, betraying the weight of duty on his young shoulders. "THE PEOPLE OF BRION NEVER WANTED THIS WAR." His voice softened, tinged with resentment. "My father gave the order. We had no choice but to obey." Every word made it clear—the soldiers were pawns in his father's game, not actors of their own will.
Turan, my loyal guard, leaned close, his low voice a cautious whisper: "ARE YOU SURE WE CAN TRUST HIM?"
I studied the Prince, observing the unusual sincerity in his eyes. Despite being an enemy, he shared my goal. Sometimes, circumstance forged the most improbable alliances. I made my decision.
"Turan, go and tell our soldiers…" I commanded, voice steady and cold. "…TO STOP ATTACKING THE BRIONIAN SOLDIERS FOR NOW."
The sound of his armor shifting gave a soft CLUNK. He hesitated, unaccustomed to the pause between command and action. My gaze hardened.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" I demanded.
"Oh…!" Turan responded, snapping into action.
The Prince, sensing the ceasefire, wasted no time. He leaned forward, pointing toward a distant sector. "THEY'LL EMERGE FROM A DIFFERENT ENTRANCE." He paused, offering a critical warning: "THEY PLAN TO ATTACK FROM SOMEWHERE HIGH UP AGAIN, SO PREPARE FOR THAT."
His words were precise, tactical—exactly what I needed to counter the Slayers' next move. I gave a small nod, acknowledging his compliance and intelligence.
"HURRY UP AND BRING THE SLAYERS TO ME," I commanded, asserting my authority.
The Prince bowed slightly, showing respect even as an enemy. "THANK YOU VERY MUCH," he said. "I WILL NOT FORGET THIS ACT OF KINDNESS." With that, he departed to execute his plan.
A heavy SILENCE fell over the battlefield. The chaos had ceased, replaced by the tense anticipation of what was to come. I scanned the area, knowing the Slayers were watching, calculating. THERE'S NO WAY THEY'D RETREAT THIS QUICKLY… My instincts were sharp; the trap had only just begun.
From a hidden vantage point, the Slayers sensed the sudden change.
"HOLD ON," one muttered, stepping cautiously back. "SOMETHING DOESN'T FEEL RIGHT."
A moment later, a fine powder drifted down with the wind. A blinding FWOOOSH of dust enveloped one of the warriors.
"UGH!" The Slayer coughed violently, doubling over. "…BLACK HAWK POWDER!"
The poison took immediate effect. Another Slayer let out a pained GAH! as Karl, the red-haired Wolf Tribe warrior, struck with lethal precision, plunging a dagger into his back.
Karl's eyes blazed with a fierce delight. "IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I'VE LET OFF SOME STEAM!" His voice carried the thrill of the hunt.
I watched from above, noting the Slayers' suffering and the effectiveness of our preparation. "I can't believe how effective the BLACK HAWK POWDER is…" I mused, impressed by the precise timing.
Turan, standing beside me, added insight, his tone deep and resonant. "IT'S NOT JUST THE POWDER."
I revealed the final element of our plan. "The powder may undo their transformations, but it's the feathers that neutralize their powers." I held a dark feather aloft, letting its shadow fall across Turan's armored hand. "…These are the true key." I pressed one into his hand with a soft PLOP. "YOU SHOULD TAKE ONE TOO, TURAN."
He seized it quickly, his eyes betraying concern. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING ALL BY YOURSELF, YOUR MAJESTY?" he demanded, alarmed.
I looked toward the citadel, my expression cold, resolute. The final phase of my plan had begun. "IN ORDER TO END THIS WAR ONCE AND FOR ALL…" I stated, slipping free from his grasp. Risk was necessary—I had to face this myself.
Turan's hand shot out, gripping my arm with a desperate SWISH. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING ALL BY YOURSELF, YOUR MAJESTY?" His voice trembled, concern overtaking his disciplined deference.
I met his gaze, expression cold and unwavering, eyes burning with grim determination. "IN ORDER TO END THIS WAR ONCE AND FOR ALL…" I pulled my arm free with deliberate force. "…WE HAVE TO MAKE SURE NO SLAYERS ESCAPE."
Adjusting my armor, the metal sliding with a soft CLUNK against my shoulder, I left Turan behind. His presence was loyal, steadfast—but this was a task only I could execute. The battlefield had shifted; the final phase of the plan rested squarely on my shoulders.
A Few Days Later…
The war had escalated into something far more volatile.
Within the luxurious walls of Brion's citadel, a deafening BLAST! shattered the otherwise serene halls. The Brion King rose to his feet, hands trembling visibly, an uncharacteristic panic spreading across his features.
"WHY ARE THOSE BARBARIANS WORKING TOGETHER WITH THE SAVAGES FROM THE WOLF TRIBE...?!" His voice cracked, disbelief and fury mingling in a dangerous crescendo.
He turned his gaze toward a woman seated on an ornate sofa—beautiful, composed, yet radiating authority. Even in this chaos, her posture remained graceful, deliberate.
He whispered, almost to himself, revealing his deepest fears. "THIS IS WHY I DIDN'T WANT TO MAKE A MOVE… UNTIL THE SHIFTERS' WEAKNESSES HAD BEEN ELIMINATED." He exhaled, a resigned SIGH escaping his lips. "BUT I HAD NO CHOICE SINCE THAT CARDINAL GOT INVOLVED."
The woman's eyes, icy and assessing, met his. There was no immediate outward threat, only a calm, almost regal presence. The King rushed to her side, wrapping her in a desperate HUG, as though seeking comfort from someone he trusted more than his advisors or armies.
"YOUR MAJESTY! YOU'RE SCARING ME," she said softly, her large, glittering eyes filled with genuine worry.
"IS SOMETHING WRONG?" she pressed, concern layered over her composed exterior.
"It's nothing," he assured her, stroking her cheek in a comforting, repetitive motion—STROKE, STROKE—as if the physical gesture could suppress the reality of the situation. "It seems those barbarians have resorted to some petty tricks."
A small, alluring SMILE curved her lips. "HMM… BUT YOU'RE STILL GOING TO WIN THE WAR, RIGHT?"
The King drew himself up, chest puffed with the arrogance of authority, letting out a defiant SHOUT. "OF COURSE NOT! OF COURSE! JUST WAIT A LITTLE LONGER AND YOU'LL SEE!"
She closed her eyes briefly, tilting her head, savoring the confidence he radiated. "I SEE… I TRUST YOU, YOUR MAJESTY," she said, giving his hand a gentle RUB, outwardly expressing faith.
Yet behind the mask of concern, a darker intent simmered. Her eyes snapped open, sharp and calculating, the air around her crackling with dangerous energy.
"What a fool," she thought, a sinister GRIN spreading across her face. "I DON'T CARE WHETHER YOU WIN OR LOSE THIS WAR."
Her ambitions were clear, cold, and lethal. "I JUST NEED YOU TO SURVIVE…" her gaze hardened, gleaming with intent. "…UNTIL THE DAY THE TAYAR KINGDOM IS MINE."
The true threat did not come from me, the Tayar King, but from the treacherous woman at Brion's side—the one who smiled while plotting the fall of her own husband's kingdom.

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