Tapk! Tapk!
A silhouette could be seen emerging from the fog, its steps slow and heavy, each movement expressing its struggle to walk.
His breath was rough and laboured. His armour was riddled with so many holes that it could barely be considered an armour anymore—more like a collection of scraps on his body at this point. And from the holes in the breastplate, one could see the skin.
It was enough to make one wonder. What could have pierced steel but left the flesh unscathed? Or did his battle skill heal him before the wounds could bleed to death?
His cloak hung in tatters, and a vicious cut across his left eye still bled, a crimson streak marking his weary face!
His sword dangled by his waist, swaying with his uneven steps.
His golden eyes flickered with life when he spotted the cloaked men armed with spears and shields approaching him through the fog.
“Captain?”
One of them called out, his voice laced with concern.
Asher recognized the voice immediately—it was Eleazar, the youngest of his lieutenants.
Upon hearing that, Asher collapsed to one knee, groaning deeply. He glanced at the gash on his right thigh, his eyes narrowed.
“Captain!”
His men rushed to him, some kneeling to examine his injuries.
“You fought for an entire day. How are you still standing?”
Levi had to ask because he simply couldn’t believe what he had watched unfold from dawn to dusk! Those two were like monsters in his eyes.
The destruction they wrought had left half of Eden in ruins. Sword marks over a meter deep could be found in different places on the ground!
“I want to rest,” Asher muttered, spitting those words as though even uttering them was exhausting. Forcing himself upright, he waved off Eleazar and Moses, who were about to support him. The two froze in their tracks, respecting his unspoken command.
Enduring the pain and ache, Asher began to walk, his steps painfully slow. His men exchanged glances knowing that he was going through lots of pain, yet none of them understood why he refused help, even at this point when his body screamed for it.
Moses’s eyes moistened as he watched his captain’s back. He recalled the time when this man once led his fierce troops against the Bashan clans. Back then, Asher was always flanked by his commanders.
Asher wasn’t alone even now, but as Moses watched the back of the man walking into Tachmon fortress, he realised Asher had pushed away all these people to live in his pain.
So far, it had strengthened him beyond what he would have achieved in the county but there were side effects.
“Clean up.”
Moses ordered before turning toward Eleazar and added, “Follow him.”
Eleazar nodded and trailed after Asher.
When Asher entered the fortress, the paladins bowed their heads in deference, but the slaves—over a thousand of them—shrank away, distancing themselves with apprehension written all over their faces.
The moment Asher glanced at them from the corner of his right eye, some fell on their knees, sweat pouring down their brows!
What they felt from him wasn’t likeable at all. He wasn’t the kind of lord around whom people, even children, would clamour.
For a split moment, a memory flickered—when he first met Nero. The thought lingered, then faded as he turned away and resumed walking.
Eventually, he found a room. Lowering himself onto the bed, he stared at the ceiling, his mind a swirl of unspoken thoughts. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted into the embrace of sleep.
_____
The sharp echo of hurried footsteps reverberated through the hallway as a worried man paced back and forth, his expression etched with tension.
Asher froze in astonishment as he saw a more refined, matured version of himself standing at the far end. This older version of himself was clad in luxurious clothes, made of a kind of silk he had never seen before, exuding an air of undeniable authority.
Although this was just the hallway, it looked more grand than any of his castles in the county.
The regal version of him had snow-white hair cascading down to his shoulder blades, and a wolf-head pauldron adorned one of his shoulders.
At that moment, a woman approached him with rapid strides. Upon seeing her, Asher immediately recognized her—Katarina, the dreamer and the ruler of Ashkelon.
“It’s a male child, my lord,” she announced, her voice steady yet filled with an undertone of excitement.
Both Asher—the regal version of himself and the present one—had their eyes widened. Filled with curiosity and faint dread, Asher followed Katarina and his older self until they entered a grand chamber.
Inside, a striking woman sat on a king-sized bed, her slender back exposed as she cradled a crying infant in her arms.
Just as she was about to turn, Asher’s vision blurred and the next moment a pair of golden eyes snapped open to see a dark room, faintly lit up by a candle.
Hu~ Hu~
“I… it’s just a dream!”
Asher gasped, his chest heaving as he struggled to calm his racing heart. Rising from the bed, he leaned against a brick windowsill and gazed out at the fortress landscape.
Walkways stretched between the walls, designed to allow soldiers to be deployed at a greater speed in times of attack, caught his eyes.
It also made the fortress stronger than any he had seen. Ordinary trebuchets would be powerless to break through the fortress’ outer defences!
While Asher thought, his mind drifted back to the dream and his expression grew solemn.
“A child of mine? … that’s impossible.”
The image of the woman’s exposed back made his brows furrow. Just a glance at her naked back was enough to weaken his resolve, and what seemed like a flicker of warmth stirred in his heart, a faint glimmer of light that he couldn’t extinguish.
He shook his head, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips.
_____
The next morning, a procession of slaves stretched out like a snake from the fortress gates, flanked by paladins on either side.
Almost all of them were focused on Asher, the man at the forefront.
“So that’s the Achilles,” a slave in his late fifties murmured, his voice laced with doubt. “He doesn’t look like the monstrous fighter I heard about.”
Upon hearing the words, the young boy beside him—who had led the paladins to the dungeon—chuckled.
“You’re naive. He’s worse than the rumours. Didn’t you see the ice forest on our way out?”
The man glanced back at the ice forest on the horizon.
“So?”
“He made it in a twinkling of an eye and killed commander Ivar within.”
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The man’s face paled and his voice trembled. “W… what?”
The young former slave frowned. “Where have you been all this while?”
“Quicken your pace!” a paladin barked, his voice stopping their exchange.
_____
Two days later, a woman donned in leather armour that exposed her abdomen and thighs stood before Tachmon Fortress. A polished helmet with two curved cow horns crowned her fiery crimson hair, which fluttered in the wind as she surveyed the imposing stronghold.
Beside her, over three thousand Donath warriors awaited her command.
She was none other than Zilphah Sier, the renowned commander of the Dothan forces!
Her crimson hair fluttered as the corner of her lips curled upwards.
“So… it wasn’t just a rumour. Kryos is truly back.”