July 1st, 1:58 a.m. — Villa Fortunae, Cossyra Island
A towering inferno blazed across the horizon, casting an eerie glow that seemed to consume the earth itself. Amidst this chaos, a quaint village had succumbed to the fire, with the desperate cries of its villagers blending into the cacophony of clashing swords and collapsing buildings. Just beyond the village’s edge, fifteen infantrymen clad in dark armor stood solemnly, while a trio of mounted figures in gleaming armor commanded attention a few paces behind them. At the center of this trio was General Epicrates, a stout Greek man with olive skin and dark, curly hair peeking out from beneath his helm.
General Epicrates scanned the horizon, and quickly noticed two distant villagers attempting to scale the village walls. Without hesitation, Epicrates loaded two arrows into a long bow and took aim.
“Farewell thee,” he grinned, as he released his twin arrows, and watched them land into both villagers, sending them screaming back into the burning inferno. “Enough of this,” Epicrates grumbled, his eyes flashing with resolve. “Rally the men swiftly. There’s but one village left to visit, and I desire naught but to have these grim errands completed before the first light of dawn.”
3.6 miles southeast, 2:19 a.m. — Magna Vulcanus Forest, Cossyra Island
In the shadow of a dense forest, General Epicrates strode briskly along a narrow dirt path, his army marching closely behind, bathed in the gentle light of a quarter moon. Leading the way, riding two horse lengths ahead of Epicrates, were his trusted guards, a Roman Sudanese Praetorian soldier named Virgilius Akoi and a tall Spartan warrior named Nikandros.
The two guards, both mounted on bay-colored Venetian horses, halted suddenly in front of a towering tree that divided the path into two distinct trails. At the base of the tree stood a weather-worn signpost with twin arrows marking the division of the routes. The right-pointing arrow bore the words, Village of Serragilla, and the left-pointing arrow bore the inscription The Kingdom of Terra.
“Behold, what new kingdom dares to stake claim here?” Nikandros chuckled, directing Virgilius’s attention to the words carved into the sign on the left. “Who would declare such nonsense?”
“A mad man,” Virgilius declared, swiftly drawing his sword and slicing through the sign in one clean stroke, revealing the hidden depths of the forest beyond. “That’s who.”
1.2 miles east, 2:26 a.m. — Magna Vulcanus Crater, Cossyra Island
A small cottage sat in the heart of the volcano’s crater, its sturdy wooden frame weathered by years of exposure to the elements. In the center of the humble abode, a magnificent tree stretched upward, its gnarled branches reaching through a gaping hole in the roof as if yearning to escape the confines of the cottage. To the right of the tree, a regal king-size bed dominated the room, adorned with plush black wolf fur. Upon it reclined Set, an aging yet formidable Tanzanian-Egyptian man, his muscles still taut with strength despite the passage of time. By his side lay his loyal companion, Solara, a majestic arctic white wolf whose keen eyes betrayed her unwavering loyalty.
Above the bed, the ceiling was adorned with a mesmerizing display of small bells, suspended by delicate waxy wires. Their gentle tinkling filled the air with a soothing melody, a stark contrast to the rugged exterior of the volcanic landscape. Suddenly, a single bell rang out, shattering the silence and causing Set to bolt upright. In one fluid motion, he retrieved the hilt of a gleaming sword from beneath his pillow and sprang from the bed. With Solara at his side, he dashed out of the cottage, his senses alert and his heart pounding with trepidation.
1.3 kilometers west, 2:42 a.m. — Magna Vulcanus Forest, Cossyra Island
With every step up the unforgiving volcanic slope, the soldiers struggled against the weight of their armor, their breaths ragged and strained. The air grew thinner as they ascended higher, adding to their already considerable burden. Meanwhile, General Epicrates sat half-asleep on the back of his horse as Virgilius walked beside him, pulling both Epicrates’s horse and his own up the trail. Nikandros led the march, which was why he was the first to notice the dark silhouette of a large man standing alone up the distant trail.
“Who goes there?” Nikandros shouted, slowing his horse to a trot. “Announce yourself!” The forest descended into profound stillness as Nikandros and his fellow soldiers, now standing as a formidable wall before the lone figure, awaited an answer. Yet the man gave no reply.
“Pray, why have we stopped?” inquired Epicrates, as he followed closely behind Virgilius, who was busily forging their path through the infantry.
“It appears someone is obstructing our path,” Virgilius replied, peeking over the crowd.
Upon reaching the forefront, Epicrates scanned the road ahead and quickly spotted the outline of a man blocking their way. He also observed a long, menacing sword hanging from the figure’s right hand. “Has he said anything yet?” Epicrates asked, as he turned to Nikandros and handed him his helm.
“No sir.”
“Has he done anything yet?”
“No sir.”
“Well, he has a sword. And I don’t wish to waste time talking to the man. Send two men over to scare him off or cut him down.”
“Yes, sir.” Nikandros waved two soldiers over and instructed them to carry out the general’s orders. The soldiers tightened the straps of their steel skullcaps, unsheathed their blades, and marched over to the lone figure yelling, “In the name of Rome, we command you to drop your sword and surrender!”
The man took a step forward, and a sliver of moonlight streaked across his face, unveiling the wrinkled, white-haired visage of Set.
“Drop the sword, old man!” shouted one of the approaching soldiers. “Or we’ll have to drop you!”
Set didn’t respond, instead, his attention was taken away by the sight of a thin tower of smoke rising from the north. These men are dangerous, he thought before instinctively snapping into a fighting stance.
“So, it’s a fight he wants,” General Epicrates grinned, “But look at the way he holds his blade. I’ve never seen someone hold a sword that large in such a manner.”
“Neither have I,” Nikandros added, scratching his chin. “It’s like he’s holding a dagger.”
As the duo of soldiers grew closer, Set dropped lower into his bizarre fighting stance, placing one hand on his left knee and covering his face with his sword and right forearm. He stood frozen in this position, as he watched the soldiers strategically take up positions on his left and right. Set took in a deep breath and examined his opponents. The soldier on his left was a lot closer but the soldier on the right was taller and had more reach. I’ll have to time it just right, he thought, one spin should do it.
“I got him!” declared the soldier to Set’s left, as he leaped into the air with his sword high above his head.
“Not if I get him first!” shouted the other soldier as he charged forward swinging his blade wildly.
In one spinning movement, Set slashed the stomachs of both soldiers and quickly returned to his original fighting stance, leaving a perfectly drawn circle in the dirt around him. The two soldiers dropped their swords and fell to their knees. Now staring at each other’s wounds, the two soldiers could see that they both received identical slashes to their stomachs. The blade of Set’s sword was so sharp, it ripped a perfectly horizontal gash across the belly of their armor plates. The soldiers were too baffled to speak, instead, they fell face flat, bleeding out against the forest floor.
“Mhm, two down,” Set muttered with labored breaths, as he counted the heads of the men before him. “Twenty-seven to go. Eight spins should do it.”
Next Movement
