Chapter 51 - The Winner of the Tournament (2)

Inside a luxurious room with a dozen fierce and impassive-looking guards surrounding the perimeter, I met Baron Serle and his eldest daughter.

I gave them both brief bows, first toward Baron Serle in deference to his position as father and master of this house.

“Baron Serle,” I greeted halfway through my bow.

“And you must be the lovely Lady Iona,” I said, recovering from my second bow.

Lady Iona proffered out a slim, elegant left hand, just the right amount of paleness to be considered beautiful.

I did not mistake her gesture and took her left hand in mine, giving it a quick, light kiss, not too long and not too short, since I did not wanted to disrespect the lady and anger the father.

I bowed again for the third time, this time toward both nobles. There was a smile hidden underneath my exterior as thoughts of vengeance swirled in my mind. It was time to find out who had killed my father and me.

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[ Ten Months Later ]

I stood at the head of an army twenty thousand strong with my three “wives” riding beside me on their respective horses.

The twenty thousand men and women I was leading worshiped the ground I walked on, though granted, a few of them feared me. I had put the fear of steel in them when they had challenged me and for the most part, they were now docile and obedient.

The opposing commanders and captains had reconciled themselves into being led by a white-haired stranger with some needing only very little persuasion from a steel sword, and a mailed fist along with quiet threats that would have made them castrate themselves as a better alternative.

How it had gotten to this point in just ten mere months still bewildered me. It had all occurred so quickly after I had won the tournament and had eradicated my father's killers. I had also found the time to also eradicate the dark elves and goblins who had killed me and also the time to root out the ones who had murdered Rhea of the Wanderers. It took some time finding them, but in the end, I managed.

Faced against the opposing army, I realized that now was not a very good time to reflect on what had occurred.

I pointed my enchanted longsword of dark sable at the opposing army a distance away.

There were no need for words. The time for battle had come, and my pointed sword signaled the start of it.

The herald beside me saw the unmistakable gesture and started blowing furiously into the enchanted horn, further signaling the start of the battle for the men and women who could not see their commander—who could not see me—in the front. I had grown taller in these ten months, my height now six feet, a far cry from my original five feet and six inches.

In a set of enchanted black armor with a winged helmet that was opened in the front, I started charging toward the opposing army, my black destrier, a behemoth of a horse which would have put the stuff of nightmares into men, galloping furiously at my behest.

The blood of men and beasts would dye the ground red today.

And I would be the first to spill it.