Spear in hand. Protecting someone. All the feelings from the military came surging back. Jules spun and twirled the spear in hand masterfully. All felt right with the world now that he held his special weapon again. On the ground next to him was the bow, which Verona didn’t even pick up.

  He was done letting her fight. He was going to take over this battle from now on. The stab wound was still on his shoulder, blood still flowing. But it didn’t matter. If he could end the fight quickly, then he would be able to get the help he needed.

  He had a reason to fight with the spear again, a something to protect.

  He dashed for Lord Demarian, all the training and skill he’s acquired returning back to him. A stab here a stab there. Lord Demarian couldn’t keep up, and before long, he found the Minister going on the defensive.

  Jules couldn’t help but crack a smile. He thought visions of the Battle for Rathalin would come surging back to his mind, of him almost plunging his spear down and killing Guenevir. Of days in the army where he’d kill for Lord De’Shai. None of it came to him, and all he could think about were the people he fought for.

  With those thoughts in mind, he stabbed, lurched, stabbed some more, trying to find any opening in Demarian’s defensive maneuvers.

  Lord Demarian tried to break free of the cycle and move in to close the gaps, similar to what he did to Verona.

  Jules had much more experience, however. With each step forward that Lord Demarian took, Jules took a step in the opposite direction, maintaining the distance. He used the spear to its maximum potential, dodging left and right as Demarian tried to come closer.

  It’s true that Jules isn’t a Dragikiri like Galvin, Morwin, or Darius. It’s true his abilities were limited in a fight, and his life could end any second. But the stark contrast between him and those three was his experience. His years training, grueling with sweat and blood, being knocked to the ground many times.

  The experience with his weapon that he’s acquired didn’t fade with time. Sure, he forgot some things about it, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.

  Lord Demarian had a surprised look on his face while Jules maintained the advantage. He did not let him get close at all.

  Lord Demarian grew desperate, and Jules could see that. The Minister of Labor resorted to attacking at Jules’s spear instead, attempting to slice the weapon in two.

  An aching sensation took over Jules’s shoulder and he realized the adrenaline was starting to die down. He ignored the pain and push forward.

  Jules moved the weapon left and right to avoid it getting sliced in half, taking several stabs at Lord Demarian.

  He’d witnessed Lord Demarian in Jovin City, in action. This was not the same man. That level of skill, where even Galvin had trouble besting him, wasn’t present. Here, he appeared to be an ordinary man in comparison.

  Jules and Verona came at the right time: him leaving the pub, drunken. The best moment to attack a terrifying man such as Lord Demarian.

  Jules sidestepped one of his blows and stabbed his spear forward, sending the tip of it straight into Lord Demarian’s flesh. A sound similar to a paper’s quick tear rang out in the still night.

  Lord Demarian let out a grunt of pain and took a step back, blood dripping from his abdominal wound, blood dripping to the cobblestone ground from Jules’s spear.

  He didn’t give Lord Demarian time to recover. More stabs, more attacks.

  Lord Demarian’s movements were getting slower, but Jules was only getting started. The wound in his shoulder screamed at him, burning his muscles, but he ignored it all. He needed to keep attacking.

  Something changed about Jules. Verona sat on the ground, watching as a master of the spear worked his art. Every single movement seemed so meticulously calculated and graceful. Verona could never hope to attain the level Jules was on.

  She watched as he moved, ducked, dodged, and stabbed. Even with the stab wound in his shoulder, he kept on fighting. The ground had splotches of red along it from their battle, already starting to dry up.

  Verona noticed Jules no longer fought desperately to win. He fought to protect. Protect what, she didn’t know. For some reason, he wanted to hold the spear again, the weapon that tormented him of his past. And he’s let go, channeling that torment into something beautiful, something to push against the tormentors.

  Verona watched a whirlwind before her eyes, watching as her teacher fought with techniques he never taught her.

  If only she could help somehow, grab a gemstone or dagger and jump into the fight. But she knew better than that. If she tried to lend aid, she’d only get in the way. It was best to let these men fight it out, with her on the sidelines, powerless to do much but watch.

  Verona wondered how the man kept going, after receiving such a wound. He seemed to shake it off, focused on only one thing.

  More stabs, more dodges, more sword swings. The two men continued fighting.

  Verona watched as Jules landed a spear into the side of Lord Demarian.

  Lord Demarian coughed up blood, his eyes full of hatred.

  Jules yanked the tip of the spear out, blood dripping to the ground. Neither of them ceased their fighting.

  Lord Demarian raised a sword high above and brought it down, which Jules easily sidestepped, seeing as how he was out of range of it. Another stab came, through Lord Demarian’s thigh. A cry of pain rang out.

  Jules removed the tip again, continuing to circle around Lord Demarian.

  More strikes came from Demarian, which were easy enough to dodge. Then a spear thrust, inflicting another wound on the man. Then another, and another.

  Verona couldn’t believe it. Jules was actually winning. Their quest of vengeance would be over. She wouldn’t have to live, walking in fear, turning her head at every corner. Lord Demarian would actually be killed.

  More stabs came. More wounds inflicted. More blood spilled.

  As the fight continued on, Lord Demarian’s movements began to grow sluggish. Where his sword swings were precise and on point, he now swung it in desperation, doing anything to prevent his enemy from inflicting another wound on him.

  Yet Jules did. With each stab of his spear now, more blood spilled, and more blood curling screams rang out.

  Lord Demarian’s army wasn’t in this city anymore. No one was going to come to this man’s aid. Verona and Jules had won.

  One final spear stab through the abdomen, and Lord Demarian collapsed completely.

  Verona let out a victorious yell and ran up to Jules’s arms, wrapping her arm around him.

  “You did it,” she whispered. “You won.”

  “I know,” Jules replied, his voice weak. He collapsed on the ground, breathing in and out. The blood in his shoulder wound already dried up. Beside them, Lord Demarian lie, face down, his body bloody.

  He twitched. Then he opened his eyes and began crawling, dragging his blood along the cobblestone ground.

  Verona was surprised by his resilience.

  “He’s not going to get far with those wounds,” Jules assured her. “It’s only a matter of time until he’s dead.”

  Verona smiled. “You should have used the spear sooner,” she said. “We could have won a lot quicker.”

  Jules smile weakly. “I know,” he said. He let out a grown of pain, moving a hand to clutch at his wound. The older man frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me your name was Verona?” he said.

  Verona chuckled. “I don’t see why that matters now,” she replied. “I was on the run. Lord Demarian knew who I was and I had wanted posters of me up. I couldn’t risk being found by giving out my real name. So I went by Jocie.”

  A single tear rolled down her face. Why was she crying? Was it joy? Happiness? No, it was relief. Relief that Demarian could no longer take away any of the people she cares about. Her family. Her friends. Some slaves she’s grown on over the years. The ex-slaves in the den who died protecting her. She wouldn’t have to constantly look over her shoulders anymore.

  “Understandable,” Jules replied, closing his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, breathing out the cool air. Verona could tell he was exhausted. If only she had an amethyst handy so she could revitalize him. But he wasn’t in any danger of bleeding out. The reality of them winning slowly settled on her, and she too, breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Look out!” Jules suddenly exclaimed.

  He pushed her out of the way and propelled himself forwards just as an arrow found its mark on his back.

  Verona rolled along the ground, realizing what had happened. Lord Demarian made his way over to the bow on the ground and fired a desperate shot, hoping to kill one of them.

  After everything they’ve done, no way Jules was going to die to this arrow, right?

  A couple paces away, after firing the shot, Lord Demarian collapsed on the ground, his body still. Dead.

  Verona rushed over to Jules, helping him up.

  His eyes were still open, albeit barely.

  “Why did you do that?” Verona said, tears in her eyes. “You didn’t have to save me.”

  “Verona,” Jules said, a hand moving to her face. “How could I not have realized it before? You look just like your mother.” His voice sounded weak. Oh no. Panic settled in and Verona knew where this was going. She’d seen it happen before. She didn’t want to see it happen again.

  With his last breath, Lord Demarian has taken someone else she cares about. No, no, no!

  “Shut up, let’s get you some help,” Verona said, trying to force Jules to his feet. He was too heavy and barely cooperated.

  She collapsed on the ground, burying her face in her hands. An amethyst, anywhere! Please! She could use its power to heal him up.

  She thought back to the beginning of this adventure, when she dropped the amethyst and picked up a ruby in its place. She was so foolish! Why didn’t she just keep both? What was she thinking?

  “Verona, please…,” Jules said, his voice growing softer and weaker. “Don’t use my last moments to fight against death. Just… sit,” he said.

  Verona didn’t want to believe it. “We can get you some help, it’s all going to be okay!” Verona exclaimed. She grabbed his hand and kept trying to pull him up, force him on his feet.

  But with one look at his eyes, and Verona could tell it’d be futile. Behind those brown pupils, she could see light fading from them.

  “I didn’t know… you were still alive…,” Jules began. “The past ten years… of my life… has been agonizing… Saving Guenevir… watching my family turned into slaves… it was all too much for me to bear. I never… regretted saving that kid… who became an adopted daughter for me… I promise, I never did!

  “But at the end of my life… I’m thankful you came in it. Verona, don’t you… understand? You’re my-,” and then his hand went limp. His eyes rolled into his head, and he went to sleep. Forever.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Verona, with tears flowing freely down her face, knew what he was about to say. All this time, she thought he family had been taken from her inexplicably. Hatred of Lord Demarian brought them together. Two people, whose families were torn apart. A father, losing his wife and child, and a child, losing his father and mother. Such a cruel mistress fate can be.

  Jules didn’t have to finish that sentence for her to know what he was going to say. Verona, you’re my daughter.

  Darius relaxed. His arrows probably missed his mark, but so be it. In hindsight, he probably could have Absorbed in topaz and it could give him wisdom beyond belief, wisdom to wield a bow properly. But where’s the fun in that?

  He sat on the rocky and arid ground, looking to the heavens. The king, in all his years of evil rule, is finally dead.

  He remembered why he joined Justicar. He’d forgotten for so long because the fight was the only thing he saw. His mother, taken from him. She had the same abilities he had. She hid him when the men came and took her. He never saw that woman again. He was only five years old when it happened.

  Ever since then, he’s harbored nothing but pure hatred for the king and his men. He wanted the kingdom to burn.

  He found out about his abilities as a Dragikiri, grew them proficiently, and trained to become stronger. All to watch this kingdom burn. The hatred he felt in his heart… it’s still there. Nothing changed with the death of the king. The pain he felt and vengeance he had, it wasn’t satiated. He felt like he needed more. He wanted more.

  Lord De’Shai next. Then Lord Demarian. Then Lord Var. He’d go after all of them. After all, they were King Rai’Shal’s accomplices.

  He brooded while the other people standing with him cheered. Bows dropped, high fives exchanged, and laughing among the tormented people.

  With the victory cheers going around, Darius just sat there. Why were they cheering? And loudly at that. The fight wasn’t over. The king must have a son with the queen somewhere, somewhere in the palace, hidden away. They’d be the next targets. And what of the other Ministers? In the absence of an heir, would they rise up and claim power?

  No, the battle was far from over, so he didn’t know why these people cheered. So… loud. He wanted them to quiet, give him peace within his own mind to think. But he couldn’t even do that.

  Darius looked up to the center, where King Rai’Shal was, kneeling on the ground. Galvin got close to the man and whispered something. A prayer to Agnius for that vile man? No, he deserved none of that.

  Then Galvin stepped back suddenly.

  Darius perked up and saw what he was afraid he’d see. King Rai’Shal, with hundreds of arrows stuck in him, blood flowing freely, had his eyes open.

  Oh no. Was there no end to this man?

  Darius froze in place for a moment. Suddenly, dark chains sprouted around from the king, chains which writhed and moved in accordance to the king’s command.

  Galvin, do something! Darius thought forcefully, but the leader of Justicar simply remained there.

  The chains shot up into the air and descended, finding its mark on its first victim. A cry rang out and a body dropped to the floor. Then another dead. And another. Screams echoed and the archers dropped their weapons, running away.

  More and more of them felled, their blood staining the dried up ground. Red and death all around him. He could help save them. After all, he still had the Igians inside his pockets. He could use diamonds and save someone. Save at least one person.

  But he remained frozen.

  Why? Why didn’t he move? Why didn’t he help as members of Justicar fell like flies? Was it anger? Hatred? Fear? No, he couldn’t move a muscle, no matter how much he tried. Was it the king’s doing?

  One by one, people dropped all around him, and before long, thirty corpses littered the ground. Some of them further away then others.

  Darius could see that Galvin was frozen too. Were they simply just… giving up?

  No, they had to keep fighting. If Galvin didn’t want to, then Darius would. He Absorbed in diamonds and focused on Spatial, teleporting into the battle with his dagger drawn, prepared to fight.

  Galvin couldn’t believe it. All their hard work, and months of planning. Gone, in just the blink of an eye. How could the king survive something like that? The amethyst, no matter how powerful of a Dragikiri someone is, didn’t grant them immortality.

  Yet, here he was, alive, with many arrows stuck to him. It didn’t even seem to phase him at all. King Rai’Shal smiled gleefully at the slaughter proceeded, killing all of their men.

  All but one.

  Darius.

  He jumped into action and fought, swinging his dagger with precision. But the king was still better than him. Better than Darius, the most skilled fighter in all of Justicar.

  Galvin should help. He should stand up and do something. He still had some essences swirling inside his gemstones.

  But he remained there. They’d lost. If that many arrows didn’t kill the king, then nothing would.

  Darius continued swinging and attacking, using the various powers from his gemstone to aid in the battle, but it all proved to be futile.

  With one movement of the darken chains, Darius’s dagger was slapped out of his hand. Then with another movement of the chains, it wrapped itself around Darius’s throat, lifting him up.

  “Aren’t you going to help him?” King Rai’Shal said, looking down at the crumpled and defeated Galvin. “Help your comrade, who’s risked his life fighting for you?”

  Galvin said nothing in response. They’d lost. He accepted that. No use in trying to continue to fight.

  “Galvin,” Darius said, his eyes red, tears streaming from them, his voice sounding choked. “Do… something.”

  “He can’t do anything,” the king spoke, raising Darius higher and higher into the sky. “You guys have lost today. And you will continue to lose. Over and over. So long as you choose to oppose me. That will be the fate of rebels that dare go against me.”

  With one clench of his fist, the chains closed in. A crack echoed out, and Galvin knew his friend was no more.

  A limp body fell to the ground. There were still essences inside of the gemstones that he carried. Maybe he could use that to escape somehow?

  Hope of escaping vanished as soon as the king stepped on the sack of gemstones, shattering them to tiny bits and pieces. He walked over them like sand, smashing each one. No essence remained. Escape was impossible now.

  “You’re him,” Galvin muttered, a realization slowly dawning over him. “Your name isn’t King Rai’Shal. It’s Koravar. You’re the man from six hundred years ago who fought to erase the history of Agnius.

  “There isn’t a queen. There never was. You didn’t need a queen to provide you with an heir if you’re immortal. You’ve lived for this long, ruling as the sole king of Agnius, changing your name every so often and fooling the people into thinking there was a royal family. There never was. It was always you.”

  “Yes,” King Koravar spoke. He leaned down, staring at Galvin in the eyes. “I am eternity. I cannot be killed, I cannot be harmed, I cannot be taken down. My eternity stretches to this land, and so too, will it not yield or buckle to the likes of you.” The king stood back up, his chains still ready to strike any moment. They wriggled like snakes around him, eager for more blood.

  Galvin sat there defeated, his eyes shut. It was all over. He’s going to die. At his final moments, he silently thanked Captain Mikael for taking his younger brother across the seas. There wasn’t any way to defeat the king, and defeat is all they’d ever know.

  “Do it,” he said. “Just end my fighting.”

  After a minute of nothing happening, he opened his eyes. The king’s grin somehow grew even more twisted.

  “Where’s the fun in that? You’re the only one who’s managed to survive a battle against me on two other separate occasions. It doesn’t seem cosmically right for me to end your life right here.” The king motioned at all the death and destruction he caused. “You’re the leader of this pathetic group, aren’t you? Justico or whatever?”

  “Justicar,” Galvin corrected.

  The king scoffed. “Bah! Same difference. What I’m trying to say is, there are more of you guys out there.” He knelt down and Galvin could practically taste the king’s breath. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re more useful to me alive than dead. If you’re dead, then you’d serve as a martyr to the rebels. You would give them another reason to fight, and I am getting tired of putting down rebellion after rebellion.

  “But you. You could go back to them, all battered and beat up, and spread the message of hopelessness.” The king stopped and stroked his chin. “Yes, I could kill you right here, right now. That wouldn’t be as satisfying. Instead, after you’ve spread my message, you will live the rest of your life, day after day, wondering if that day I’m going to come for you. Fearing for your life every single day for the rest of your life. And I’ll cherish knowing that is the fate that has befallen my enemy.

  “As you saw here today, I cannot be beaten. I am an unstoppable force which will triumph over all. Your silly little schemes and distractions won’t get to me. You think that once you left I wouldn’t suspect more moles in our ranks? You truly are naive.”

  Galvin sat there, his arms shaking. Go for the sword. Swing upwards. Decapitate him. But fear froze him in place. He wanted to reach out for his weapon, for something in his bag of gems, but he knew that no matter what he tried, he wouldn’t be able to win. The best thing he could do right now was accept the king’s mercy.

  How long it had taken him to come to the conclusion that Koravar couldn’t be beaten! He regretted the course of actions he’s taken which has led him here. If only he moved somewhere away from the king, in the mountains or somewhere desolate, and lived the rest of his life in peace. Then none of this would have happened.

  The king stood back up. “If I were to suggest a change to your plan that would better suit my needs, you should have stationed the archers back in the city so the entirety of Rathalin could watch. I’m sure some followed us out here to report back. By dawn, the entire city would have heard so I suppose it wouldn’t have made a difference.” The king picked up Galvin’s sword which lay by his side. With the chains still around him, they pounced on the steel, shattering it to pieces.

  “Before I let you go, tell me your name. The one brave, or foolish, enough to attack me in my own home.”

  “G-G-Galvin,” he spoke.

  “Galvin,” the king repeated. “Good to know your identity under De’Shai’s employment was not a false. Now spread my message.”

  The king didn’t leave at first. Instead, Galvin could see the chains swivel around him. After all, what was a death messenger without a bunch of bruises? He closed his eyes and the rest of the night was filled with his screams of pain.