As Allaryx leisurely continued up the stone steps, his scratching blade sent reverberations across the city.
It sent shivers down the survivors’ backs.
And those who were old enough to witness Allaryx on the battlefield could do nothing but mourn their inevitable deaths.
Even though seventy years had passed, that scratching sound was just as terrifying.
Those few that could still move their arms lifted them towards the sky in prayer.
"Oh gods," they cried, "forgive our sins."
For their deaths were inevitable.
"Forgiveness for our cowardice," a bleeding priest, who had lost everything below his waist, chanted weakly. "Forgiveness for our betrayal of our Queen. Forgiveness for angering the relics of history. We seek forgiveness for those left behind."
The wall he was leaning against screeched and fell on top of him, crushing the man to his death before he could bleed out.
The houses of people and the houses of gods crumbled. Nothing was spared in the wake of Allaryx’s march.
His climb towards the palace was one without interruptions. Only when he reached the gates was he met with resistance.
"Halt!" announced a man clad in full-body armor. "You may go no further!"
He was bald, and his eyes were sunken.
It was the Knight Captain, also the High General of Riever’s armies.
Behind him were high-ranking knights, generals, captains, and lieutenants. Surrounding the entrance in a semicircle were a thousand soldiers.
"This is it?" Allaryx whispered, his voice surprisingly noble. "This is all you have prepared for my welcome?"
He continued towards the palace.
In his younger years, he had been menacing and unstoppable. And the tales of his exploits had not escaped the younger generations.
Every step forward prompted the soldiers to take a step back.
"Slay the intruder!" bellowed the Knight Captain.
And within moments, the soldiers had rushed the man in black armor.
A single horizontal strike shone as the red blade returned after cutting every single soldier in its reach.
Bodies burst and blood flew as if a pig had been brutally gutted.
The Knight Captain, who had ordered the assault, fell to his knees.
"It has been seventy years," he muttered.
He was just a boy back then, a squire in the employ of the previous Knight Captain.
"That monster, has he not aged?"
He had much more to say, but he couldn’t. The realization that his severed head was lying on the ground had started to sink in.
The cut was so clean that he hadn’t seen it until after it had claimed his life.
The old world, where the Scousi empire did not rule supreme, was a world abundant with wars and diversity.
In such a world, Allaryx had made his name through struggles and conflicts.
When Queen Elizia relinquished her throne, a heavy responsibility had been lifted off both their shoulders.
They didn’t need to defend the kingdom anymore.
There were lingering attachments, mostly on the part of Elizia, but they too soon disappeared.
Since then, as vagrants and travelers always on the road, the two lived a life of limited pleasures.
They would travel to distant lands and camp outside the towns, hunting and fishing for food in the wild.
They would bathe in rivers, and only if they needed medicine or clothing would they venture into the towns.
To earn money, they would sell pelts of animals that Allaryx had hunted at night.
It was Elizia who would take care of matters in the morning, as Allaryx—in his menacing armor—would scare away the peasants.
Only at night would he venture into shady streets to find well-paying jobs.
He would hide his pointy ears by wrapping his forehead in a bandana.
They had lived their lives in such cautious secrecy, but neither felt unsatisfied.
With Allaryx by her side, Elizia witnessed the wonders of the world that she had only ever heard about in legends.
She wished such joyous times would last forever, but after four decades of journeying around the continent, she suddenly fell ill and passed away.
It was a heavy blow to Allaryx.
He had lived the first couple of decades of his life with struggle, carnage, and apathy. Yet Elizia was a companion he had managed to grow attached to.
After leaving their titles behind, they had never truly defined their relationship. But it seemed inappropriate to consider them as only a lord and her knight.
It had become difficult to gather what normal relationships looked like after the exile, but whatever they were, they were flexible about it.
After carrying around her casket for a year, he found a place best suited for her funeral. It was a cave, beautiful yet hidden.
He thought the place summarized their stories perfectly. So, he built her a grave neither grand nor inconspicuous.
For the next three decades, he guarded the place and watched over it as a beautiful grey tree grew over her grave.
It felt like tranquility had been returned to both of them.
All that he needed to do was stay there until his time came. It was going to be an unbearably long wait, but he thought he could survive it.
But that notion was shattered by an intruder.
It wasn’t so difficult to deduce who had sent him.
It was Trellise, the traitorous brother of his late queen.
That name raised a question in his mind:
If she weren’t in exile when she died, would Elizia not have received the care required for her to live?
The thought that she could have survived if not for Trellise instantly took root in his mind.
It was a mind that had not seen the light of day in two decades. Such a mind should not have been stimulated by Trellise.
And now, Allaryx stood in front of the man whose sight he had stolen.
"You have come for me again, you monster?" Trellise yelled, cowering behind his last line of defense. "What more possibly could I offer? Where will your lust for carnage end?"
Around him, his palace of gold had crumbled to dust.
"You couldn’t see anything when you had eyes." Allaryx took a step forward. "And it seems blind you remain even without sight."
He could not see the empire’s false promises, nor could he see the approaching death.
"You are a blind man, Trellise of Riever."