The air in Grey-Roses tasted of copper and ash. What had once been a vibrant market
square was now a butcher's yard of toppled stalls and bloodied flags.
Through the drifting smoke, the two sides were easy to distinguish: the disciplined,
polished steel of Leonhart's Elsem soul-soldiers pushing relentlessly against
the ragged, screaming desperation of the Grey-rose infantry.
At the center of the battle stood Leonhart. A pillar of calm amidst the slaughter,
his hands moving with the commanding grace of a conductor. In the air around
him, Runestrings were faintly visible — shimmering threads of light that
tethered him to the two monstrosities at his side. They were stone golems,
hulking giants of earth brought to life by Runecraft.
One acted as his vanguard, charging into enemy lines with the force of a landslide,
swatting armored men aside like bothersome insects. The other remained a defensive
sentinel, its massive form shielding Leonhart from arrows and desperate lunges
of enemies.
High on the execution platform, King Jahseh slumped in his bonds. His world reduced
to a dull, persistent ringing in his ears. The ongoing chaos, the screams of
his dying men — sounded miles away, muffled by the shock of his impending
death. He had already surrendered. He didn't even register the shorthaired
woman at his side until her fingers began tugging urgently at his
bindings.
"My husband is down there fighting for you!" Abigail hissed, her voice sharp, cutting
through the static in his head. "Do not waste it!".
Jahseh's head jerked up, a flicker of will finally sparked in his hollowed eyes as the
present reality crashed back in.
Below them, Leonhart still commanded the battle, controlling his golems like a
puppeteer.
One Grey-rose soldier, fueled by a final burst of valor, launched a spear with
deadly precision toward the Leonhart.
The closer golem didn't just block it; it reached down, seized a heavy, shattered
market stall, and hurled the entire structure back at the man.
The soldier didn't flee. He simply watched with a defeated chuckle as the massive
debris flew toward him with destructive force.
But the tide was about to turn.
An elderly man stepped from the shadows of a burning storefront. He wore no armor
and carried no sword; he was a plain figure who looked entirely wrong here.
With a lift of his finger, streaks of Runestrings manifested in air.
An arrow of pure, pulsing energy materialized. When he released it, the bolt
didn't fly true — it snaked. It wove through the melee with almost predatory
intelligence, slipping past Leonhart's defensive golem.
It slammed into Leonhart's chest, just below the heart.
The Great Runemaster staggered. His breath caught in a wet gasp as he dropped to
one knee. His golems shuddered, their movements turning sluggish in response to
his interrupted focus.
Leonhart swept his gaze across the crowd, teeth bared in a snarl of agony, but the
stranger was already gone — disappeared from the square like a ghost.