Fire rages like a storm. Wooden buildings begin to collapse one by one. Screams and shouting can be heard from every corner. The paths of this village are run by men in red armour, who carry their blades and spears openly, setting several thatched houses to the torch. They wear the banner of the Vapia, symbolised on their shoulderplates. But they don’t strike unresisted. In the centre of the village, many farmers, workers and even older sons or women have armed themselves with whatever they could find, resisting the oppression.

  A man overlooks the injustice atop a nearby hill. He pulls the reins of his horse, and they spring into action. His two closest men follow him on either side, rushing down the hill.

  The wind strikes them hard on their descent. The Prince, in the centre, with his short blue hair, fluttering red cape and royal armour. In his palm, he holds the greatest Lance of the Kingdom, the Reginleif. He carries a look of absolute will.

  To his left, Forde, the blond, red-armoured first Cavalier, carrying an enthusiastic smile.

  To his right, Kyle, the green-haired and armoured second Cavalier, holding a focused and stoic demeanour.

  Behind them, a force of at least six dozen of Zeral's finest remaining Knights and Warriors.

  Their thunderous descent alerts the village and its attackers. They gather in the streets, lances and spears at the ready. But they are unorganised.

  Forde raises his spear as a rally and cries, “FOR ZERAL!”

  The Soldiers cry out in unison. They storm the streets, making the earth shake beneath the pillagers.

  Ephiram at the front charges, spinning his lance into the first soldier. Like silk, his weapon pierces all resistance before him, sparks fly off like fireworks, the metals grinding together. He and his men charge through anyone who dares be in the first line of defence. Blood spirts and the clash ensues. Completely enveloping the first group, they crash into the second defence and are forced to slow. Stabbing, slicing and piercing continue. The three at the front fight as one. Sift, without hesitation and with complete might.

  “On your right sire!” Kyle calls. Ephriam swipes his lance without even looking, full faith in his men and instincts.

  “Watch your left Kyle!” Forde yells.

  “Focus on the centre!” Ephiram commands.

  Men fall like nuts off a tree. Every attack leaves at least one down and another two ready to finish off. The Vapians, thought to be invincible, unbeatable over their domination of Zeral, waver at the show of utter might and their revealed vulnerability. The third and fourth groups of attackers, handling the villagers, but seeing the coming attack, scatter, escaping the village from all sides. But they are met with the Knights of Zeral, the smaller force having surrounded the village and begun closing in. The enemy, taken dozens of casualties for none, break ranks and turn heel. The Zeralians on horseback have no trouble hunting them down in the streets. No mercy is spared for the pillagers. None for their actions, nor can they afford to.

  Minute by minute, hour by hour, the intensity dies down. Immediately after the shattering of resistance, Ephiram commanded all men to search the wells and nearby areas for water to recover what’s left of the burning village. However, with good fortune following their victory, big dark clouds cover the sky and begin to pour down rain. A heavy storm has arrived. Those few enemies who managed to escape will tell the tale of Ephiram, the Crown Prince, bringer of vengeance and thunderous storm.

  Later, the villagers, having praised the Prince and his royal force, attempt to house the soldiers as best they can. But little room is left to spare. Ephiram wanders the outskirts of the village, trying to think of their next move. The wind threatens to knock him off his feet. His armour and cape do their best to protect him from the pouring rain. Everyone else is back in town, trying to find shelter or at least accommodate themselves. He prefers to stay out, letting himself get drenched and pushed. He believes that tense environments allow him to bring out his best ideas.

  “Sire. I’m not one to give my Prince orders, but you must have really gone mad”

  Forde approaches, initially struggling to reach his liege, but pushing through the wind.

  “Forde? Hah- Of my two most loyal and trusted, I expected you to be the one seeking warmth and rest”

  “You’re half right. I’m sure Kyle would’ve come if he weren’t trying to organise the men some comfort”

  They speak in loud voices just to be heard.

  “I assume he is not leaving himself any space?”

  Forde arrives at his Prince’s side.

  “He takes his job too seriously”

  “And you, not seriously enough”

  “I’m wounded Sire! Did I not rally and fight with you bravely?”

  “Please, Forde, we both know you could do with a bit less resting and a bit more focus”

  “And we both know that I am your best soldier, barring yourself”

  “I guess there is a cost for that”

  “Yup. But seriously, you can’t stay out here. I know you like to show off and all, but for god’s sake, if you get sick-”

  “What would you have us do, Forde?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Ephiram takes a moment before asking again.

  “If I gave you complete command over the men. What would you do?”

  “Sire… It’s not my place to-”

  “I’m asking you Forde, not as a soldier, but as my friend”

  “... yes, Ephiram. Well…”

  He thinks for a while, running down the options in his head.

  “I know you don’t like risks, Forde. But no one else is as enthused in battle as you. Would you have me continue this risk? Fighting endlessly behind the front lines, away from our loved ones and taking the chance of failure every single waking moment? Where failure means our absolute destruction? Or would you tell me to accept our gains and losses so far and break out to the north, defend the last parts of the Kingdom, or even leave it to join the Barmor in their defence?”

  “Ephiram. This might be surprising to you, but Kyle and I have discussed it many times-”

  “I know. All the men have. It's been months of this, and they are getting tired of it. I can hear it in their voices. I feel it in their fighting. They are tired and that is beyond understandable”

  “Kyle believes we should break north, my lord, to defend what remains. It is the logical move. We are the greatest assets of the Kingdom, and yet we fight by abandoning our heaviest and strongest weapons to stay nimble. We crush the lowest-ranking soldiers and brigands when we could be taking on Vapia's finest…”

  “... yes Forde, he is correct-”

  “-but. I think he’s wrong, Ephiram. We are hailed not because we wear the best equipment or fight the biggest armies. We are hailed for our courage, endless endurance and ability to do our best at any time. Right now, disturbing and disrupting Vapia from within is the most dangerous and most effective strategy. If we perish, then we will perish in battle on our homeland, fighting to reclaim it as aggressors”

  “...”

  Ephiram puts his hand on his second man's shoulder.

  “It is truly honourable, Forde. You have a younger brother waiting for you in the North, don’t you?”

  “He is strong, and he believes in me. I am in no hurry”

  Thunder strikes in the distance. Trees begin to fall, being ripped from their roots.

  “The storm will endanger the villagers if we stay,” The Prince states.

  “I think so. There are too many people,” Forde confirms.

  “Where is the closest village?”

  “From here? A bit North-East. Under regular conditions, we could make it in a few hours, but in this storm-”

  “-If we hurry and with only half the men?”

  “Not sure, Sire, Kyle can estimate better than I”

  “Bring me to him then”

  The two struggle back to the village, trying to gauge the growing intensity of the weather.

  “You asked about my brother, but you have a sister waiting as well, right?”

  “I’m unsure. I haven’t heard from her since the war began. She was at the capital at the time, with father”

  “Oh.. right..” Forde doesn’t continue the topic, better to leave the heavy discussions for calmer situations.

  In the village centre, Kyle is standing on wooden crates, pointing and commanding the men and women on how to sort themselves and which buildings are safe and stable enough to use.

  “Over there! Throw the furniture out, we need to make room! Keep the supplies indoors!”

  Ephiram and Forde approach him. Kyle bows to his Prince.

  “My lord, glad Forde finally convinced you to come back, we must get ready for-”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “The village North-East of here. Forde says under normal conditions, a couple hours journey. Half the men at our fastest pace in this storm. How long, Kyle?”

  Taken aback, with a stunned look, he begins to make calculations and assumptions in his head. He responds quickly.

  “I’d say 3 or 4 hours Sire, but we’d be powerless against attack and with a split force… the next day could be dangerous”

  “I reckon no enemy force or army is going anywhere if we wouldn’t”

  “It’s not that-” Forde steps in, “-there’s been sightings of the undead and dark monsters nearby. They don’t care for environments”

  “The route to the village must lead through the Za’ha woods, perfect territory for a beastly ambush,” Kyle adds, “And to add on to Forde's statement, the sightings weren’t just your basic zombie and skeleton, but also a couple Mauthes”

  “Mauthes… the demon dogs,” Ephiram repeats, taking the new information into account. Not much more needs to be said; all soldiers know the terror of the Mauthes.

  “They react to large numbers, light and noise, correct? We only fill one criteria,” He argues.

  “Chances are lower, yes… however, the number of monsters has been growing rapidly, and if we do get caught, it would be a disaster in our current condition”

  “Better to take the risk to endanger our lives getting to safety rather than risk the villagers and ourselves with overcapacity in this growing disaster”

  “I do think the men would have approved without a doubt three months ago. But now?” Kyle asks.

  “You question the Zeralians’ loyalty to their Prince? Don’t be a moron Kyle” Forde suddenly interrupts in an angry and even disgusted tone.

  The Prince gestures for them to calm down, looking back at Kyle.

  “I want you to stay here, keep things organised and return to us at first light”

  “Understood Sire!” he salutes, no hint of disobedience. That was never in question for the most loyal Knight in Zeral.

  Ephiram stands up next to him on his crate, calling out to his army.

  “Men, each group splits into their better half of riders and those who believe they have energy to spare, we ride North-East through the thunder! You have an hour to prepare!”

  The soldiers raise their fists in unison. “For Zeral!” They scream and get to work.

  The journey is nothing but simple. The weather gets worse with each passing hour. At certain times, the only way to see the path is when lightning strikes across the sky, illuminating the area.

  Ephiram and Forde ride at the head of the little army. Horses, while exhausted, are still being pushed past their limits to try and make good pace. Yet it’s even worse than expected. The rain has muddied the ground to such a state that even the basic pace is almost impossible. Their estimations were made with speed, yet this is anything but.

  Some might question if they’ll even make it through Za’ha, much less the next village. They ride on. To the commanders’ admiration, the soldiers seem to fight the weather without disruption. Truly, a world-class group of followers. They struggle together, finally reaching the Za’ha woods. The woods are dense and only traversable through a thin and narrow path. The line of soldiers is spread long. Visibility and communication are at their lowest.

  And to top it off, to Ephiram's dismay, a single glance at Forde nets him the visual of his second man attempting to lie comfortably on his horse, the saddle being custom-made for easy rest, and seemingly succeeding in falling asleep.

  “Forde”

  …

  “Forde!”

  …

  “FORDE!”

  “Huh? Wazzit?” He jostles.

  “How do you even manage to-?! Seriously!”

  “Sire, with all due respect. I’m tired as Hell”

  “I need you on guard!”

  “Relax, in tense situations it’s important to keep calm”

  “Sleeping on the job is not what I’d call calm”

  “I’m not sleeping, I’m resting… recovering my stamina. Besides, I can be awake at any moment, sharp as ever”

  “I called your name three times”

  “Sounds like you weren’t inspirational enough, my lord”

  “You think so?”

  “You always say I’m the expert of enthusiasm. Take my word for it”

  “So why is my expert sleeping instead of inspiring?”

  “There are many secrets to the fine arts of inspiration. One is a healthy sleep schedule”

  “No more naps, Forde”

  “As you command, my Lord”

  Without warning, a distant yell can be heard somewhere in the centre of the army. Many of the men stop. At the front, it's difficult to see or hear what’s happening down the line.

  “..Forde”

  “On it”

  Forde quickly turns his steed around as Ephiram commands a halt. Forde rides out of his Prince's sight. Commotion in the centre. More yelling and now, even screeching can be heard. Ephiram instinctively looks to the forest line. Not long after, red dots that pierce the bushes become visible, the eyes of the dead. Simultaneously, horns blare from the back of the line, the signal of an attack. Beasts spring from the bushes, traversing the muddy ground and heavy weather with ease. Animated corpses and bones, zombies and skeletons. Monsters of unholy status rush the soldiers.

  The zombies, corpses of people imbued with dark magic. People from the same era. Their skin rots, stench with lethal potential. Their growls, horrifying the common person with their torn vocal cords being strung with the essence of dark mysticism.

  The skeletons, walking ancient bones from older times. They stand and run like puppets on a string, being held together by pure magic. Their bones have decayed to the point that they easily fall to dust under external pressure.

  “DISMOUNT AND FORM A LINE! BOTH SIDES!” The Prince commands.

  The Zeralians follow orders as swiftly as they can. Very quickly, their feet get bogged down in the mud. The defence is somewhat crude. The first of the undead approaches. “LANCES!”

  Ephiram grips the Reginleif tightly, waiting tactfully for his first victim to get into range. Zombies and Skeletons, when unarmed, are known to jump and leap at their targets without any concern for self-preservation when they get close enough. The Reginleif has been specially designed with this in mind, being just long enough to catch such attackers at their perfect distance. He strikes, aiming for their heads as weak points. Each man follows a similar strategy. The structure of the dead is fragile. A single hit is enough to split their faces open into dust. The beginning is easy. Skull after skull, mindless drones break apart into ashes. Yet, with access to only light shields, armour and weapons and also having very little stamina and movement, the Zeralians are stuck, trapped and growing weaker by the moment.

  The Prince can hear it. A man screams. A body falls. A horse panics and gets out of control. To his right, a Skeleton throws itself at a soldier whose weapon is occupied. He raises his shield. The monster grapples onto it, pushing it aside with impressive strength. They claw and swipe at their light armour. While they might be fragile monsters, their strength is terrifying, as are their claws.

  Another scream. Another falls.

  Ephiram spins his lance around. He tries to cover more and more area by himself. He takes two heavy steps foreward out of formation, drawing more danger to himself.

  He spins, thrusts and slices. When two charge him at once he uses the butt of his lance to push them back. The waves seem endless. Then, the howling begins.

  The horrific growls and roars of the Mauthes, bloodthirsty demonic wolves, almost the size of horses. They dash from the forest in packs and jump over the line into the centre of the defence. Ephiram watches as a pack of four rush his side. They leap.

  He swipes at one who dared dive over him, opening its belly and making its organs and blood pour down onto him. The others make it over and bite at the heads and necks of his fellow warriors from behind. The Prince turns his back to thrust his weapon through a Mauthes head as it rips out the gullet of a Knight. Its brother catches him by surprise and bites through the Lord's hand, then quickly at his arm, trying to pull him into the mud. He yells in agony as a fellow soldier stabs through its back, making it roll over.

  Ephiram, having left himself open, allows a zombie to swipe at his back, cutting deep and across his spine, right through his cape and light armour. His own blood seeps from his body, mixing with that of the monsters. Frantically, he turns back and cuts its head off, but another has gotten close and grapples him, trying to pry his lance from his bleeding hands. Another charges as he struggles. The two men to his left and right both take action, cutting the first one’s arms off and smashing the other in the head.

  Ephiram looks around in shock. The pressure isn’t wavering. Forde’s horn blares in the distance. The sound of retreat. Ephiram tries to gather a few of his closest riders and call on them to saddle. He takes his own horn and makes the call to push foreward, to continue through the woods.