Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

Baudric was not a man of violence.

He was a scholar first and foremost, a historian whose mind held centuries of knowledge. But history had a way of repeating itself, and tonight, he was going to ensure House Davros learned that lesson in blood.

The estate loomed ahead, a monument to excess. Towering marble pillars, gilded gates, and a sprawling courtyard spoke of old wealth—wealth built upon trade and underhanded dealings. House Davros had always thrived in shadows, funding mercenaries, manipulating markets, and now, fueling the Blood Nights.

Baudric adjusted his gloves, feeling the weight of the tome strapped to his back. It was an old book, its leather-bound pages filled with forgotten wars, fallen kingdoms, and the mistakes that led to their demise.

"Subtlety?" Vaelis asked from the side.

"Unnecessary," Baudric replied.

They walked up to the entrance without hesitation. The guards stationed outside barely had time to register their presence before Baudric struck.

One moment, he held nothing but a book.

The next, he swung it like a hammer, the impact shattering the skull of the first guard with the sickening crack of bone. The man crumpled to the ground, twitching.

The second guard lunged, sword flashing in the moonlight. Baudric sidestepped with ease, pivoting on his heel. He brought the book down hard on the guard's wrist, snapping it like dry wood. The man howled, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Baudric sighed. "If you know your history, you'd know this was inevitable." A second strike crushed the man's throat, silencing him permanently.

Vaelis stepped over the bodies, unimpressed. "You always this dramatic?"

"Only when the moment calls for it," Baudric replied, wiping a bloodied page with a cloth before stepping into the manor.

The estate was lavish beyond reason. Chandeliers hung from high ceilings, their golden glow casting elongated shadows across polished floors. Portraits of past Davros lords lined the halls, their gazes cold and indifferent.

Footsteps echoed from deeper inside.

Guards. Armed. Alert.

Vaelis whispered a quiet incantation, and the air around him shimmered as a protective barrier formed. "Shall we?"

Baudric flipped open his book and tapped a page. A low hum filled the air, and from the very walls of the manor, the echoes of past battles stirred. A spectral figure emerged—an ancient warrior wielding a rusted axe.

"Go," Baudric commanded.

The phantom rushed forward, its translucent weapon cleaving through the first group of guards with brutal efficiency. They screamed, slashing at an enemy they could not touch.

Vaelis moved in behind, disabling the survivors with quick, efficient spells.

Baudric followed at a measured pace, reading from his book. "House Davros. Once a proud lineage, nearly destroyed in the year 1427 due to internal corruption before rising again." He snapped the tome shut. "It seems history is repeating itself."

They reached the upper chambers with little resistance. By now, most of the guards had either fled or lay dead across the manor.

Inside the main hall, Lord Davros stood waiting.

He was an older man, draped in a robe of deep blue, his fingers heavy with rings. He clutched a golden cane, though there was no weakness in his stance.

"You have made a mistake," he said, voice calm despite the chaos. "You do not understand what you're meddling with."

Baudric tilted his head. "Enlighten me."

Davros smirked. "The Academy is not invincible. We were never your enemies, merely sponsors of a necessary event. The Blood Nights cleanse weakness. If you execute us, another will take our place."

Vaelis raised an eyebrow. "You're remarkably calm for a man about to be dragged through the streets in chains."

Davros chuckled. "Because I know how this ends. You're fighting a war you've already lost."

Baudric held up a single finger. "Correction. You've lost."

With a flick of his wrist, spectral chains erupted from the floor, wrapping around Davros in an instant. The noble staggered, his smug confidence replaced by shock.

"This is an outrage—!"

Baudric adjusted his spectacles. "No. This is history."

And history had a way of swallowing those who refused to learn from it.