Cela sneakily moved toward her single window and parted the curtains just enough to see what was outside through a thin slit. Her blood froze immediately as her trembling hands clutched the window frame. She could not believe what she was seeing. A towering man led a procession, a victory parade. He looked like a menacing warlord. His black saber rested casually against his shoulder, but what drew her gaze – and churned her stomach – was the grotesque trophy impaled upon it: a severed head, bloodied and contorted in its final, agonized expression.
Her heart stopped as her mind caught up with her eyes. That was Specter’s head. The monstrously evil second-in-command, the real brains behind Blackjack’s reign, had been slaughtered.
Cela clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a gasp, but her shocking findings didn’t end there. An iron chain dangled in the man’s other hand. Her eyes followed its length until they reached the figure at the other end.
It was a man, but barely. His skin was blackened and charred, raw flesh was visible beneath seared patches. His head hung low, his movements were sluggish and lifeless as if every step was agony. It took her a moment to recognize him, but when she did, her hands began to tremble violently.
Blackjack.
The once-indomitable tyrant, the man who had crushed her husband’s rebellion and enslaved the valley in his palms, was reduced to a walking corpse. The collar around his neck gleamed like an unbreakable shackle of humiliation. Cela’s knees nearly buckled while her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes – not from fear, but from an overwhelming wave of relief and disbelief.
She’d prayed to the Goddess numerous times to mete out justice, to send them a savior, to help her and her son.
The most important question in her mind was whether her prayers had been answered, or if it was just their next cruel overlord who would wring them dry for his personal benefit?
Her gaze snapped back to the masked man at the front as she observed him, searching for any clues that could answer her question. He walked with total confidence, his strides were long and unyielding. Though his face was obscured by the mask, his presence radiated raw dominance, the kind that suffocated those who dared to stand against him.
Behind him came ten figures, walking side by side in perfect synchronization. Each wore a mask of their own. Their designs were varied but equally intimidating, however, it was clear that they were all dressed in highly valuable gear and that they were all mighty people in their own right.
She could see a dog-kin with the sexiest curves imaginable, a woman with a giant axe that by any and all logic should be beyond her slender frame’s capabilities to handle. Based on the number of staves, two of them were mages! The luxurious class archetype which was only available to the blessed as it required the expensive wizard potion to be ingested before turning 6 years of age.
Two of them wore incredibly heavy armor, while one used a shield and sword, the other had a giant warhammer in her hands. The tanks… There were two swordsmen as well, both of whom looked to be professional blademasters to the core just based on the way they carried themselves, though one was a short female with a curved sword instead of the traditional longsword. The last was a man who didn’t seem to carry a single weapon. He looked the most unassuming of them all, Cela thought.
She quickly realized that these were the lieutenants of the man who walked at the front of the victory parade. His inner circle, his mightiest combatants. Their bearing was starkly different from what she was used to seeing in soldiers. They exuded purpose, authority, and extreme pride due to their victory.
But it wasn’t just them. Behind the lieutenants, a sea of soldiers marched in perfect formation. Cela’s breath caught again at the sheer scale of their numbers. She recognized some of them. These were the soldiers of the Wraithclaws. Hundreds of men and women, despite them marching in an orderly fashion, their faces were grim and battered.
These weren’t victors reveling in triumph. These were the defeated, survivors of a bloody struggle who now served under new leadership. She understood why they looked so agitated. The same question must be circling in their minds. Who knew what this masked, menacing warlord had in store for them?
She saw numerous civilians follow the procession as they carefully walked behind the soldiers. Most of their features were similarly ashen, but she could also see joy due to the fate of Specter and Blackjack, and even faint traces of hope toward the future.
Perhaps… their lives would change for the better?
“Everyone must join the speech at the Square! No matter the circumstances! Our new lord will inform us all of our future! I repeat! Attendance is mandatory!” Multiple men and women were shouting the lines in a practiced manner, they were clearly instructed and were doing their allocated jobs.
Cela knew better than to go against such a scary man’s first order as their new chief. She rushed into the basement and grabbed her son, raised him above her head, and let him rest on her shoulders while she grabbed his little legs, after which she exited their rundown home.
Based on the number of civilians, the procession had already concluded their rounds in the inner district where the more privileged lived protected by the tall stone wall, mostly the families of the soldiers or a few talented craftsmen and other valuable individuals and their loved ones.
They were heading toward the Square, the largest free space in the stronghold, this was where the markets were held.
Cela quickly joined the ranks and followed obediently. More and more people did just like her. They were all likely terrified into obedience by the visage of the man walking alone at the front. His sight was truly nightmarish, but there was so much more to it. Unlike Blackjack, he seemed like a real leader. She somehow felt that once he took the mask off, he would be a charismatic man. Scary for sure, but also charismatic.
They reached the place within a few dozen minutes. What would happen at this speech was something that both Cela and her son would remember for the rest of their lives as one of the most memorable events they’d ever personally experienced.