Master Edward stood atop the hill as three captains faced him—Captain of House Vaelmont, Captain of House Frostvein, and from the Fourth Island, Captain of House Zavior. Behind them stood their generals, watching in silence.

  Edward regarded them with a mocking smile.“Three strong young men,” he said calmly, “to kill one measly old man.”

  Captain Vaelmont was famed across Ashvire as the most skilled swordsman alive, praised for cutting down hundreds single-handedly. The other captains lacked such refinement—yet Captain Zavior was feared for a different reason. He was known as the Angel of Death, cruel beyond measure, slaughtering men, women, and children alike, his body count said to exceed five hundred.

  The final captain—Frostvein—was known for one thing alone: honor. They called him Captain Nice Guy, and every island knew the tales of Master Edward—how he had slain armies with nothing but the jaw of an elk. Whether the stories were true mattered little. Fear still clung to his name.

  None of them moved. No one wished to strike first—because the first step could be the last.

  At last, Captain Frostvein spoke.“Master Edward… is it true? The tales say you killed an entire army with the jaw of an elk.”

  Edward smiled faintly.“Tales love to exaggerate. I did kill an army with an elk’s jaw—but not armies.”

  Frostvein nodded. “I see.”

  Captain Vaelmont raised his sword and pointed it at Edward.“How desperate are they,” he scoffed, “to drag a common old man onto the battlefield? Tales or not, you’re past your prime.”

  Edward met his gaze, his expression straight as an arrow.“Is that so? Then come and collect my head.”

  The captains advanced, blades held in the ochs stance. Edward stood in the Fool’s Guard, watching carefully—their footwork, their breathing, the slightest shifts of balance.

  Then they struck.

  Steel rang as all three engaged at once. Edward blocked each blow with practiced ease, but he knew the truth—if he did not separate them, he would fall.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  He retreated up the slope, parrying and deflecting, waiting.

  Then he saw it—an opening.

  Edward drove his blade outward, forcing the others back, and struck Frostvein low in the gut. The captain gasped and stumbled, clutching his wound as blood poured freely.

  The remaining captains pressed harder, rage sharpening their attacks. Zavior lunged in, catching Edward mid-block and kicking his legs out from beneath him. Edward hit the ground hard.

  Blades stabbed downward—but Edward rolled clear, rising again just in time.

  They are skilled, he thought. But removing one shifts the balance.

  Vaelmont surged forward. Edward moved to block—but at the last second, Vaelmont switched hands.

  Steel pierced Edward’s gut.

  His body jolted forward as Zavior struck, splitting his face open.

  So this is the end, Edward thought calmly. I fought well… foolish, perhaps, to face three captains alone. But I will see my family again—Elizabeth… Elbert…

  Peace washed over him.

  Vaelmont pulled his blade free and seized Edward by the face, forcing him to look up through blood-filled eyes.

  “You fought well, Master Edward,” Vaelmont said quietly. “War is ugly. I could not afford to take chances—even if I mocked you. I knew you would be a problem.”

  Edward smiled weakly.“As you said… war is ugly.”

  Haul was on the far side of the battlefield when he saw it.

  Edward fall.

  “No—”

  Haul rode hard, cutting down enemies in his path—but he was too late. He watched as Master Edward was struck down.

  Haul leapt from his horse and sprinted up the hill. The captains turned, seeing the fury in his eyes. They raised their guards—

  —but Haul was already upon them.

  His blade smashed into one, crushing bone and flesh. In a blur of motion, he ended them with ease.

  Haul rushed to Edward’s side and fell to his knees, cradling him.

  “Edward, stay with me,” Haul pleaded. “You can’t die. How will I win without you?”

  Edward smiled faintly.“Do not be sad, my lord. I will be with those I love. This is a time to rejoice—I fought for something great… you, King Blackmoor.”

  His breath hitched. His mouth opened once more—then fell still.

  Haul sat there, Edward’s body in his arms, tears streaming freely.

  “Why,” he cried, “must everyone die for my dreams?”

  Then Haul looked across the battlefield.

  He saw Eamon.

  His heart dropped.

  “Not you too… Eamon.”

  Haul remained there, kneeling in blood and ruin, as the screams of war echoed all around him.