The bells of Artwine tolled across the city, deep, echoing, and heavy. The sound carried through every street, every alley, marking the arrival of King Voldin Bravero Malvin.
The people flooded toward the roadsides, their cheers and cries rising in waves. But the king's face was a mask, no joy, no sorrow, only that cold, unreadable calm as he walked through the camp lined with wounded soldiers and grieving families. His eyes, sharp and silent, scanned everything, the burned tents, the moans of the dying, the blackened soil where blood and ash had mixed.
A few peasants fell to their knees, reaching out to him. "Your Majesty! Please—help us!" But the king didn't stop. His boots pressed into the dirt, step after deliberate step, until he reached the heart of the camp.
Meanwhile, Hero Benjamin moved in silence, his expression grim. His eyes swept the battlefield, a wasteland of scorched ground and twisted remains. The smell of burnt flesh and holy light hung thick in the air.
He crouched beside what once had been a demon, its body blackened, a gaping hole in its chest seared clean through. The flesh wasn't bleeding; it was cooked, burned from the inside out.
He rubbed a handful of ash between his fingers.
"Everything… gone," he muttered. The ground beneath his boots still radiated faint warmth, the lingering trace of a devastating power.
This wasn't just any magic. It was holy light, pure, absolute, and merciless. A magic that only a handful of chosen could wield. A magic said to burn a demon's very soul.
Then, a commanding voice broke through the silence, proud yet laced with false sorrow.
"My people… have suffered so much."
Benjamin turned, his expression sharpening. He saw the king, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the dead like a priest at a ceremony.
Benjamin's lips twisted slightly.
"Playing the poor king act, huh?" he muttered under his breath, his tone heavy with disdain.
"I know your pain," the king began, his voice trembling. "Each of you has lost someone dear… and so have I." He paused, lowering his gaze as tears rolled down his cheeks. "The queen… my daughter… they're gone. I failed to protect them. I failed to protect all of you."
He drew a deep breath and looked back at his people. "But this is not the end. We will rise again. We will take back what was stolen from us. The demons will taste the pain they gave us tenfold. I swear it."
Then, cutting through the silence, a harsh voice came from the crowd. "You abandoned us! You left us here to die!"
Murmurs spread instantly, echoing the same accusation. The king's eyes hardened as he raised his voice. "I did not abandon you! I left to bring back our greatest hope, Hero Benjamin. I needed to make sure he was safe and ready to fight for this kingdom. Would you rather I came back empty-handed?"
Another villager shouted, "And what about us? We were slaughtered while you were gone!"
The king's tone softened, but his words carried weight. "I did what I must as your ruler. My duty is to protect this kingdom and its future. And without our hero, we have no chance to win this war."
He gestured toward Benjamin. "You no longer need to live in fear. Our hero stands with us now. With him, we will end this nightmare once and for all."
The crowd quieted, some still bitter, others clinging to the flicker of hope his words ignited.
Then, without warning, an overwhelming force swept across the Artwine Kingdom. The air itself seemed to harden, pressing down with the weight of a mountain. The wind died in an instant, and even the birds above plummeted from the sky as silence consumed the land. One by one, people in the streets faltered, eyes wide with terror, before collapsing to their knees, crushed beneath a presence so immense it felt as though the heavens themselves had turned against them.
Even Hero Benjamin staggered, sweat rolling down his temples. His heart pounded. "What… what kind of power is this?" he muttered, struggling to stay upright.
The king's eyes widened as he looked around, the mighty knights, the mages, even the priests, every single one of them was on their knees. His own legs trembled before he, too, fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
Then the sky itself tore open with a blinding golden light. It wasn't sunlight, it was far too pure, too divine. The light shimmered, swallowing the clouds, forcing everyone to shield their eyes.
Through the brilliance, a shadow began to take form, wings, vast and radiant, spreading across the heavens. The glow dimmed just enough for the people to see.
Hovering in the golden air was a man, his eyes shining like molten gold, his expression unreadable.
The king's lips parted in disbelief. "No… it can't be… you."
The figure smiled faintly, his voice echoing across the kingdom.
"Yo, King… remember me?"
The pressure suddenly lifted. The people gasped for air, looking up in awe and confusion.
"It's him!" someone shouted.
"The hero! He's returned!"
Cheers erupted across the streets, but the king's face turned pale. He knew very well this was no return of a savior.
It was the arrival of vengeance.
Before the king can finish, Alfred's voice cuts through him like a blade.
"Do you remember? I told you I'd kill you and watch your kingdom burn. You burned my life. Now it's your turn."
"How dare you—" the king starts, fury and panic rising in his voice, but Alfred is already moving.
A blade of holy light materializes in Alfred's hand and launches toward the king. The shaft of radiance screams through the air, clean, bright, inevitable.
A figure steps up between king and assassin in a single, practiced motion. "Who are you?" Alfred asks.
"Benjamin," the man answers without hesitation. "Hero of the Artwine Kingdom."
"You're the one who saved the kingdom? Then why are you trying to kill the king?"
Then Alfred replied with a grim face "that's none of your business."
Benjamin's face is a mask of iron. "I do not know your reason," he says evenly, "but I will not let you murder my king."
Alfred's lips curl. "Then you die with him."
He closes the distance in a heartbeat. The holy blade in his hands flashes; light gathers at the tip, hungry and hot. Benjamin meets him in the center of the plaza, steel drawn. The two weapons collide with a sound like thunder, light against tempered metal. Sparks of gold scatter as the force ripples through both men and into the stone beneath their feet.
Around them the crowd falls silent, the earlier awe curdling into terrified focus. Knights raise their swords; some move to intervene, others freeze, uncertain which side to take. The king struggles to his feet, eyes wild and fixed on the duel.
Benjamin gritted his teeth, muscles burning under the force of Alfred's strike. Light screamed from Alfred's blade, and the plaza answered with a thunderous clash.
"You're strong," Benjamin panted. "But you won't be the only one who can strike."
Alfred's grin went cold. "This isn't a fight. It's judgment."
Gold blades erupted from Alfred's arm, thin, razor tracks of light that cut the air. Benjamin threw up wind shields that shredded two of them, but another blade bit through his shoulder, tearing flesh and armor. He stumbled, blood spattering the stone.
Benjamin launched a violent tornado; it roared like cannon-fire and tore at the plaza. For an instant the wind hid Alfred, then the light detonated in Benjamin's face. A blast slammed him into a pillar; wood shattered around him.
He forced himself upright, face white. Alfred hovered, wings folding like a halo of knives. He moved too fast, too precise. A strike of radiant steel cleaved through Benjamin's guard; the impact threw him forward, chest heaving.
Benjamin tried to rally, gathering the last of his wind magic into a desperate surge. The vortex rose, a last-ditch storm that split the earth beneath them. For a heartbeat it looked like it might work, then a shaft of pure light punched through the gale and snapped it in two.
Alfred appeared behind him, blade at his throat, the light sizzling against wind-battered armor. Benjamin's hands shook on his sword. He forced out one breath. "I—won't—"
Alfred's voice was ice. "Then kneel." He lifted a finger; the sky above them filled with thousands of small, brilliant blades. They fell in a hail that hammered at Benjamin's shields until they broke like glass. The final strike sent him to his knees, ruined and gasping.
Alfred settled above him, all radiance and calm. "Rise, hero," he said, quietly ruthless. "Or fall with your king."