Quas Blood

Part 1 – The Trial in Rouge Town

The Rise of Henry Guhn – From Soldier to Captain

Henry Guhn had not been born into power, nor had he inherited his rank through noble bloodlines. He was a man who earned his place through sheer will and battle-hardened experience.

Born in the capital city of Yore, Henry had grown up in the lower districts—a place where survival meant learning how to fight early. He enlisted in the Royal Guard at age 17, not out of patriotism, but out of necessity.

At 21, he fought in the Bandit Siege of Yore, where a force of 2,000 raiders attempted to breach the city walls. With only 300 Royal Guards at the time, they were outnumbered seven to one. But Henry stood firm.

When his captain fell, he took command, rallying the remaining guards and holding the gates for three days. By the time reinforcements arrived, only 50 Royal Guards remained standing—and Henry was one of them.

His bravery was recognized by King Fredrik Dimas, who granted him a promotion directly to captain. From that day, Henry became one of the most respected Royal Guard leaders, stationed at Guards' Point to oversee security in Woodsaw.

But now, everything he had built was gone.

The Harsh Journey to Rouge Town – A Costly Escape

The night was cold and merciless as Henry, Kaiser, Elric, Espada, and the five surviving Royal Guards trudged through the wilderness, moving toward Rouge Town.

Their armor was dented, their weapons dulled, and their bodies exhausted from the failed defense of Guards' Point.

The revolutionaries had completely overrun the fortress. The only thing left for them was survival.

"We move quickly," Henry instructed, his voice firm but low. "Rouge Town is dangerous, but it's the only place we can regroup."

The others nodded, but Espada kept her hand near her weapon.

"Rouge Town isn't just dangerous," she muttered. "It's a death trap if you don't know how to play the game."

An Ambush in the Dark – The First Losses

Halfway through their journey, the silence of the night was broken by the twang of a bowstring.

An arrow struck the throat of one of the Royal Guards. He collapsed instantly, dead before he hit the ground.

"Ambush!" Elric roared, raising his flail.

From the trees, six revolutionaries rushed forward, their weapons glinting in the moonlight.

Henry reacted instantly, raising his shield and blocking a spear thrust, before slamming his gauntlet into an attacker's face.

Kaiser darted into the shadows, appearing behind one of the rebels and slicing his hamstring, dropping him to the ground.

Espada moved like a ghost, weaving between enemies, her scimitar slashing throats in quick, silent motions.

Elric swung his flail with a roar, smashing a revolutionary's chest in a single brutal hit.

But despite their efforts, two more Royal Guards fell.

One was impaled through the back, the other cut down before he could raise his sword.

The remaining guard—wounded and gasping—fell to his knees.

The last soldier, filled with panic, threw his sword down and fled into the darkness.

Henry gritted his teeth. He wanted to chase the coward—but there was no time.

He grabbed the wounded guard and pulled him forward. "We keep moving!"

Arrival at Rouge Town – The Assassins Strike

By the time they reached Rouge Town, the sky was beginning to lighten.

Rouge Town was unlike any other city in Mezolith. It was not governed by kings, nor ruled by law—it was a city where mercenaries, thieves, and killers thrived.

As they entered the outskirts, the group exhaled in relief—only for it to be ripped away in an instant.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, moving faster than human eyes could follow.

SHNK!

A dagger slit the throat of the wounded Royal Guard.

The last standing Royal Guard turned, sword raised—but a second assassin buried a blade into his heart.

Both men collapsed without a sound.

Kaiser and Elric immediately reached for their weapons, but Henry raised a hand.

"Wait."

From the darkness, a man stepped forward.

Hensley Poschner.

Hensley Poschner – The Leader of The Crow

Hensley Poschner was an enigma.

His long black coat swayed as he moved, and his piercing silver eyes studied the four survivors with an amused glint.

Despite his relaxed stance, an unmistakable aura of danger radiated from him.

Hensley was the leader of The Crow, an elite group of assassins that operated from Rouge Town's underworld.

His Quas Blood status was unknown. There were rumors that he possessed not one, but two Hand of God abilities—though no one had ever confirmed which ones.

His weapon proficiency was unmatched—daggers, shurikens, throwing needles—he could wield them all with terrifying precision.

His most infamous ability was Eye of the Crow—a technique that allowed him to predict an opponent's next move by reading muscle twitches and combat stance.

And in the world of assassins, that made him nearly untouchable.

AWL Rank: A Bronze.

Taken to The Nest – The Crow's Base

"You've brought trouble to my doorstep," Hensley remarked, his voice smooth but edged with danger.

"We need supplies," Henry replied, standing his ground. "We'll pay."

Hensley's smirk widened. "You think we're a marketplace, Captain?"

The assassins surrounding them tensed, weapons ready.

Kaiser could feel the cold sweat dripping down his back.

Finally, Hensley sighed. "You're lucky I'm bored."

Hensley's Offer – A Fight for Survival

"I'll make you a deal," Hensley said, stepping closer.

"You want supplies? Fine. But one of you fights in my arena first."

Henry didn't hesitate. "I'll do it."

Hensley chuckled, his eyes glinting. "Brave. Stupid—but brave."

He turned, gesturing toward the entrance to The Nest's underground arena.

"Your opponent will be Gurka the Fast."

The Arena – Special Fight: Henry Guhn vs. Gurka the Fast

The underground arena was a pit of bloodstained stone and steel bars.

Hensley stood above it, watching from a private balcony as Gurka the Fast entered.

Gurka was a massive brute, his muscles bulging, but his movements eerily fast for a man of his size.

He wore clawed gauntlets, sharpened like a bear's talons.

Gurka cracked his neck, smirking. "Let's see if you last more than a minute, Captain."

Henry exhaled, raising his gauntlet. "Come and find out."

Hensley leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

"Let the fight begin."

Part 2 – The Arena Duel

The Arena Roars to Life – A Pit of Blood and Death

The underground arena of The Nest was unlike anything Kaiser, Elric, or Espada had seen before. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and death, and the crowd of assassins, mercenaries, and criminals gathered above the pit, leaning against rusted railings, eager for another bloodbath.

Cheers and jeers filled the air, bets were placed on who would win—and most of them favored Gurka the Fast.

Hensley Poschner, lounging in his private balcony, sipped from a glass of crimson wine, watching with lazy amusement.

"You should feel honored, Captain," Hensley mused from above, voice carrying over the bloodstained pit. "Gurka has killed over fifty challengers. You? You're just another corpse waiting to happen."

Henry Guhn, standing tall despite his injured ribs and exhaustion from the previous battle, rolled his shoulders and raised his massive shield.

Across from him, Gurka the Fast cracked his knuckles, his hulking, muscular body tensed like a coiled spring. His metallic Bear Claws gleamed under the torchlight, wickedly sharp, designed to tear through flesh and armor alike.

Espada, Kaiser, and Elric watched anxiously from the sidelines.

"If Henry loses, we're dead," Espada muttered.

Elric folded his arms. "If Henry loses, he's dead first."

Gurka's Fighting Style – Unpredictable and Deadly

The bell rang. The fight began.

Before anyone could blink, Gurka vanished.

Or at least, it felt like he did.

The brute's speed was unnatural for his size, and in less than a second, he was already inches away from Henry, slashing in a rapid flurry.

CLANG!

Henry barely raised his shield in time. Sparks flew as Gurka's claws scraped against the reinforced steel.

Henry tried to counter with his gauntlet, but Gurka had already sidestepped, moving so fast it seemed impossible.

Slash!

A razor-sharp cut opened on Henry's upper arm, blood trickling down.

The Crow assassins cheered, roaring in approval.

Gurka grinned. "Too slow, Captain."

Henry's Strategy – Holding the Line

Henry didn't respond.

He simply raised his shield again, his stance unshaken.

Unlike Gurka, Henry wasn't trying to be fast—he was a fortress.

He didn't react recklessly, didn't waste energy chasing an opponent faster than him. Instead, he let Gurka wear himself out.

Strike. Dodge. Strike. Dodge.

Each time Gurka moved, Henry took a step back, adjusting his stance.

Kaiser, watching from above, narrowed his eyes. "He's waiting."

Espada nodded. "Henry knows he can't outmatch Gurka's speed. He's looking for a pattern."

A Brutal Turn – Henry Takes a Hit

But Gurka wasn't a fool.

He feinted a left strike, forcing Henry to raise his shield—then twisted at the last second, his claws tearing into Henry's exposed ribs.

SHNK!

Henry staggered, a deep wound spilling blood down his side.

The Crow assassins erupted into cheers.

Gurka stepped back, wiping Henry's blood off his claws. "You're strong, old man. But strength means nothing if you can't hit your enemy."

Hensley chuckled from above. "Pity. I was almost impressed."

Henry's Comeback – Turning the Fight Around

Henry wiped blood from his mouth but didn't fall.

Instead, he grinned.

"Got you."

Before Gurka could react, Henry lunged forward with shocking speed, his shield ramming into Gurka's chest.

BOOM!

The impact sent Gurka flying back, crashing into the stone floor.

For the first time in his career, Gurka had been knocked down.

The crowd fell into stunned silence.

Henry didn't waste a second. He threw his shield forward, forcing Gurka to roll away to avoid being crushed.

Then, Henry closed the distance.

With a massive swing, his gauntlet slammed into Gurka's face, shattering his nose.

Blood splattered across the sand.

The assassins gasped—many had never seen Gurka injured before.

The Final Clash – Power vs. Speed

Gurka growled, pushing himself back to his feet.

His face was bloodied, his stance unsteady, but he wasn't done yet.

With a feral roar, he charged, launching a flurry of lightning-fast slashes.

Henry stood his ground.

He tanked each hit with his shield, absorbing the force while pushing forward, step by step.

Slash. Shield. Slash. Shield.

Then—

Henry caught Gurka's wrist.

Before Gurka could react, Henry brought his gauntlet down onto Gurka's leg, crushing his knee.

CRACK!

Gurka fell to one knee, gasping in pain.

Henry loomed over him, eyes burning with cold fury.

The End – Henry's Victory

Gurka spat blood onto the sand.

But he didn't beg for mercy.

He gritted his teeth, fists clenched—but his body wouldn't move anymore.

Henry clenched his gauntlet one last time.

With a final punch, he sent Gurka crashing unconscious into the dirt.

Silence.

Then—

The arena erupted into chaos. Some cheered in disbelief, others cursed their lost bets.

From above, Hensley Poschner laughed.

"Well, well… You actually won."

Hensley's Decision – A Warrior Worth Respecting

Hensley stood, clapping slowly.

"I must admit, Captain… you're more entertaining than I thought."

Henry grunted, rolling his shoulders. "Now, about our deal."

Hensley smirked. "Relax. I'm a man of my word. You'll get your supplies."

Espada exhaled, muttering, "About time."

A New Proposition – A Dangerous Offer

Hensley stepped down from his balcony, approaching the group.

"You've proven yourselves warriors… but I wonder, what can I offer to you for a task?"

Espada's eyes narrowed immediately.

She knew The Crow well—nothing they offered came without a price.

"We're not looking for work," she said.

Hensley raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And here I thought you were people in need of resources. Of allies. Of information."

His eyes drifted to Henry, then to Kaiser.

"Tell me, what is it that you seek?"

Henry's Focus – A Mysterious Prisoner

Henry ignored him.

His attention was locked elsewhere—on something inside a caged holding area within the arena.

Inside, a man sat, bare-chested, covered in intricate Viking sigil tattoos across his face and back.

No footwear. Only trousers.

Despite the chaos of the arena, he was completely still. Watching. Waiting.

Henry pointed. "That man in the cage."

Hensley followed his gaze, then grinned.

"Interesting choice."

Part 3 – The Assassin's Head

Hensley's Task – A Dangerous Contract

The dimly lit chamber of The Nest felt even heavier after Henry's request. The air smelled of blood, metal, and secrets, the very essence of The Crow's domain.

Hensley leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest of his chair. He eyed Henry with a smirk, clearly entertained by the sudden interest in the caged man.

"You want him?" Hensley finally spoke, gesturing toward the imprisoned warrior in the corner. "Fine. But you're going to have to earn it."

Henry narrowed his eyes. "What's the price?"

Hensley chuckled. "I'm glad you asked. There's an assassin group in the forest above Rouge Town. I want their leader dead."

Kaiser frowned. "That's it?"

Hensley's grin widened. "Not just dead. Bring me his head."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Henry exhaled sharply. "Who is this leader?"

Hensley shrugged. "You'll know him when you see him."

Kaiser Accepts – Espada Reluctantly Joins

Kaiser stepped forward without hesitation. "I'll do it."

Espada's head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "You can't be serious."

"It's a simple job," Kaiser replied, rolling his shoulders. "Kill an assassin, bring back a head. Done."

Espada folded her arms, scowling. "And the reward is… some prisoner?"

Kaiser smirked. "Henry seems to want him. That's enough for me."

Espada let out a sharp breath, clearly annoyed.

"You're reckless," she muttered. "Fine. But if this turns into a disaster, I'll kill you myself."

Hensley chuckled, amused by the exchange. "Good. Then it's settled. Don't die too quickly."

Henry's Flashback – The Memory of Bjorn Ironside

As Kaiser and Espada left, Henry's mind drifted back to a battlefield from years ago.

The sky had been dark with storm clouds, the ground soaked in the blood of the fallen.

Amidst the chaos, a single warrior stood atop a pile of bodies, dual battle axes dripping crimson.

Bjorn "the Berserker" Ironside.

Henry remembered the clash vividly.

Bjorn had fought like a man possessed, his Berserk ability driving him forward with relentless aggression.

Despite taking slashes, stabs, and even an arrow to the leg, he had continued his onslaught, cutting down foes without hesitation.

Even against overwhelming numbers, Bjorn did not retreat. He only pressed forward.

Character Details – Bjorn "The Berserker" IronsideName: Bjorn Ironside Age: 32, Hometown: Unknown (rumored to be from an isolated northern clan)Class Type: Fighter (Berserker)Power: Unnatural endurance, relentless combat ability, Quas Blood: None, Hand of God: Regeneration (Can heal wounds in battle, but drains extreme amounts of stamina.)Weapon: Dual Battle Axes, Abilities: Berserk – Once triggered, Bjorn attacks without hesitation, ignoring injuries. Despite his rage, he can still distinguish between allies and enemies. AWL Rank: B Bronze, Personality: Laid-back outside of battle—prefers silence over conversation. Extremely loyal—once he chooses a side, he will fight to the death for them. Hasn't spoken a word since his wife and children died.

Henry Discusses Bjorn with Elric

As the memory faded, Henry found himself staring at the imprisoned warrior again.

Elric, noticing the intense gaze, crossed his arms. "You fought him before, didn't you?"

Henry nodded. "Years ago. I've never seen anyone like him."

"Then why's he locked up?" Elric asked. "If he's that strong, I doubt he just got captured."

Henry's jaw tightened. "That's what I intend to find out."

Scene Shifts Back to Kaiser and Espada

The forest above Rouge Town was dense, the air thick with mist.

Kaiser and Espada moved cautiously, their boots making little sound against the damp earth.

The deeper they went, the quieter the world became.

No wind.

No birds.

Just an unnatural silence.

"This is a trap," Espada muttered, gripping her scimitar.

Kaiser smirked. "Then let's make sure we're the ones doing the killing."

The Assassins in the Shadows – The Hunt Begins

Just as Espada was about to reply, a low whistle cut through the air.

Kaiser barely dodged as a throwing knife embedded itself into a tree beside his head.

Espada's eyes flashed with danger.

"They know we're here."

The forest suddenly felt alive.

Figures moved in the treetops, shadows flickering between the branches.

The assassins weren't going to rush in.

They were going to play with their prey first.

Part 4 – The Bloodstained Contract

The Hunt Ends – A Silent Battlefield

The forest was alive with death.

Kaiser and Espada stood in the heart of it, surrounded by motionless bodies of assassins—their enemies reduced to lifeless shadows on the blood-soaked ground.

Espada flicked her scimitar, shaking off the crimson stains. "That took longer than expected," she muttered, glancing at the corpses littering the forest floor.

Kaiser, panting slightly, tightened his grip on his daggers. "We still need the leader."

As if answering his words, a gust of wind rushed through the trees.

A blurred figure leapt from above, dual short swords flashing in the moonlight.

Kaiser barely raised his daggers in time, crossing them to block the incoming attack.

CLANG!

The force of the strike pushed him back, boots digging into the dirt.

Espada reacted instantly, lunging forward with her scimitar, aiming for the attacker's ribs.

But the assassin twisted unnaturally, flipping over her blade and landing behind her.

"Fast," Espada hissed, whipping around just in time to meet the assassin's cold gaze.

The man was tall and wiry, his face hidden beneath a dark cloth mask, his golden eyes reflecting the moonlight.

"You move well," the assassin said, his voice smooth yet devoid of emotion. "But not well enough."

He attacked again, his movements precise and deadly—each strike aimed for a fatal point.

Kaiser dodged left, then right, barely avoiding the razor-sharp short swords. He could feel the wind slicing against his skin.

Espada moved in tandem with him, their attacks weaving together in a deadly dance.

The assassin, despite his speed, found himself on the defensive.

Kaiser ducked under a sweeping strike, spun around, and drove his dagger into the assassin's thigh.

The man let out a sharp breath but didn't scream—only staggering slightly.

That moment of hesitation was all Espada needed.

She lunged, slashing across his chest.

The assassin stumbled back, blood soaking his tunic.

He exhaled. "Tch. So that's how it is."

Then, without hesitation, he turned his blade on himself, slicing his own throat open.

Kaiser's eyes widened. "Shit—"

The assassin collapsed before them, blood pooling beneath his body.

The fight was over.

The Job is Done – A Grim Trophy

Silence fell over the forest.

Kaiser and Espada stood over the assassin's body, watching as his life faded.

Espada clicked her tongue. "He chose death over capture."

Kaiser crouched down, inspecting the fallen man's clothing. "He wasn't just some leader. He was trained."

Espada frowned. "Which means Hensley sent us to kill a rival. Not some random assassin group."

Kaiser didn't reply. Instead, he reached for the man's hair, pulled out his dagger, and swiftly severed the head from his body.

Espada watched, her face unreadable.

"I hope this was worth it," she muttered.

Kaiser wiped his dagger on his sleeve, standing up. "Guess we'll find out."

They left the bloodied battlefield behind.

The forest, once teeming with assassins, was now eerily quiet.

Returning to The Crow – Hensley's Amusement

When Kaiser and Espada stepped back into The Nest, the room fell silent.

The Crow assassins turned to watch as Kaiser walked forward, the severed head held by its hair.

With a flick of his wrist, Kaiser tossed the head at Hensley's feet.

THUD.

A trail of blood smeared across the floor.

Hensley smirked.

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin against his hand as he stared down at the bloodied prize.

"Well, well… you certainly work fast."

He tilted his head, inspecting the face of the severed head before nodding in satisfaction.

"Efficient. I like that."

The Berserker's Fate – A Change in the Deal

Hensley leaned back, amusement dancing in his sharp eyes.

"Now, about your reward."

Henry stepped forward. "You agreed to hand him over."

Hensley sighed, stretching his arms lazily. "Yes, yes. But let's make things interesting."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Hensley gestured lazily toward the underground arena.

"The Berserker is yours… but first, let's see if he still has his bite."

Kaiser frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Hensley snapped his fingers.

A set of heavy iron doors creaked open, and from the darkness, a towering figure emerged.

Bjorn "The Berserker" Ironside.

Unlike before, his shackles were gone.

He stepped into the arena, rolling his shoulders, stretching his muscles as if waking from a long sleep.

The Crow assassins above roared in excitement.

Hensley smirked. "If he's truly worth something, then prove it. If he dies, well… no loss, right?"

Henry's fist clenched. "This wasn't part of the deal."

Hensley shrugged. "You should know by now—I always play my own game."

Bjorn exhaled through his nose, his silent gaze locking onto Kaiser, Elric, and Henry.

Espada muttered. "You've got to be kidding me."

The Berserker Awakens – A Warrior Unleashed

Bjorn cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders.

A flicker of something dangerous flashed in his cold, emotionless eyes.

The arena bell rang.

The fight began.

Part 5 – A Warrior's Burden

The Berserker's Display – Skill Overpowering Strength

The underground arena of The Nest had seen countless warriors fight and die, but Bjorn "The Berserker" Ironside was different.

Unlike the wild, reckless image one would expect from a man of his reputation, he fought with precision.

Bjorn stood calmly, feet planted, shoulders squared—his body language showing no hesitation, no wasted movement.

His opponent, a Crow assassin armed with twin daggers, circled him warily.

Bjorn remained still. Watching. Waiting.

The assassin struck first, lunging with a swift, fluid motion, aiming for Bjorn's ribs.

But the Viking warrior didn't step back.

Instead, he turned into the attack, twisting just enough that the dagger scraped his side rather than piercing him.

Before the assassin could pull back, Bjorn grabbed his wrist in an iron grip.

A sharp snap echoed through the arena as Bjorn broke the man's arm.

The assassin barely had time to scream before Bjorn slammed his forehead into his face, shattering his nose.

The assassin collapsed, motionless.

Bjorn exhaled slowly, shaking the blood off his knuckles.

The Crow assassins watching from above erupted in cheers and gasps, some whispering among themselves.

"Did he even try?" one murmured.

"No wasted movement. That wasn't just brute force… that was skill."

Hensley, watching from his balcony, smirked in amusement.

He raised a hand. "That's enough."

Hensley Ends the Fight – A Leader's Advice

As the arena gates opened, Bjorn didn't even glance at the unconscious assassin.

He simply walked back toward the waiting area, completely unfazed.

Henry, standing nearby, exhaled sharply.

He had seen many warriors in his time—but Bjorn was different.

Not because of his brute strength.

Not because of his berserker legend.

But because he was controlled. Calculated. Dangerous.

Hensley turned to Henry. "Walk with me."

Hensley's Words – A Warrior Without a Purpose

They stepped into a quieter part of The Nest, away from the loud cheers of the assassins.

Hensley looked at Henry with a knowing smirk.

"You're not just some wandering warrior, Henry. You were a leader once."

Henry stiffened.

"You have warriors with you," Hensley continued. "But you lack a purpose."

Henry remained silent.

"Are you a group? Or just survivors traveling in the same direction?" Hensley pressed. "Because if you don't decide soon, you'll fall apart."

For the first time since the fall of Guards' Post, Henry began to truly question himself.

Leaving Rouge Town – A Journey to Yore

The next morning, the group saddled their horses and rode out of Rouge Town.

They didn't look back.

Instead of heading directly to Yore, they took the longer route through New Yore, a smaller district outside the capital.

It was safer, and Henry needed time to think.

Henry's Reflection – The Weight of a Captain

As they rode across the open plains, Henry's mind drifted back to the past.

He remembered his first battle as a Royal Guard, the honor of defending Yore, the pride of being called Captain.

Now?

Now, he was a man stripped of his authority, leading a group that wasn't truly his.

Hensley's words stuck with him.

Was he still a leader? Or just a man clinging to a title that no longer mattered?

Arrival at New Yore – A Temporary Rest

New Yore was a quiet town, much smaller than the capital.

The streets were lined with wooden buildings, a few market stalls, and a single large tavern—the only place worth staying in.

The group secured rooms, their first real rest since leaving Rouge Town.

But the tension between them remained unspoken.

Midnight Discussion – Defining Their Purpose

That night, they gathered in one of the rooms.

Kaiser leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "So… what now?"

Espada looked to Henry. "You said we'd report to Yore. That's the plan, right?"

Henry was silent for a moment.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"We go to Yore. I report to Commander Enzo."

Elric nodded. "And after that?"

Henry hesitated.

"We'll see."

Espada narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

For now, that was enough.

Morning Conflict – The Revolution's Reach

As they stepped outside the tavern the next morning, a heated argument caught their attention.

A group of townsfolk had gathered in the market square, voices raised in anger.

"The revolutionaries are fighting for us!" one man shouted. "The nobles have been bleeding us dry for years!"

"You're a fool," another snapped. "The revolution isn't about us—it's about power. They'll burn everything, and we'll be the ones who suffer!"

The tension in the air was thick.

Henry watched, jaw tightening.

The revolution was no longer just in the Squatters District.

It was spreading.

And if it wasn't stopped soon… Woodsaw would burn.

Reaching Yore – Reporting to the Royal Guard HQ

The group rode into Yore's Royal Guard Headquarters, the familiar sight of soldiers and banners bringing back memories for Henry.

The moment he dismounted, the guards at the entrance stiffened.

"Captain Guhn?" one of them asked, eyes wide.

Henry nodded. "I need to speak with Commander Enzo. Now."

Minutes later, they stood in Enzo's office.

Henry gave his full report.

The fall of Guards' Post.

The sheer numbers of the revolutionaries.

The brutality of Daniel Gustav.

The severity of the situation.

Enzo listened.

His expression darkened with every word.

Enzo's Judgment – Henry's Disgrace

When Henry finished, Enzo was silent.

Then, he exhaled sharply.

"You were entrusted with one of our most important defenses… and you let it fall."

Henry stood firm. "We were outnumbered five to one. We had no chance."

"Then you should have died holding the fort!" Enzo snapped.

Henry gritted his teeth. "Would that have changed anything?"

Enzo's glare hardened.

"It would have shown you had the resolve to command."

Silence.

Then, Enzo sighed, rubbing his temple.

"I'm removing you from your position, Henry."

Henry stiffened. "What?"

"You're no longer Captain of the Royal Guard."

Henry felt something inside him crack.

But he said nothing.

Because what was there to say?

Aftermath – A Leader Without a Title

As the group left the HQ, Kaiser, Elric, and Espada watched Henry carefully.

None of them said a word.

Because Henry's face said everything.

He had lost more than a title.

He had lost his purpose.

The revolution was growing.

The kingdom was crumbling.

And Henry Guhn… was now just another warrior without a cause.

Part 6 – The Birth of the Grimknights

The tavern was dimly lit, its wooden walls creaking as the wind howled outside. The scent of ale and roasted meat filled the air, yet none of them were drinking.

Henry sat at the head of the table, his eyes distant, hands clasped together in thought. Kaiser was unusually quiet, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the table's surface. Elric leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as if waiting for someone to speak first. Bjorn sat at the far end, his large frame casting a long shadow across the candlelit room.

The weight of failure, of uncertainty, loomed over them all.

Then, Espada broke the silence.

"Damn, this is depressing."

She kicked her feet up onto the table, stretching her arms behind her head. "We look like a bunch of beggars trying to figure out how to live the rest of our miserable lives."

Elric's brow twitched. "Espada."

"What? It's true." She smirked, but the usual sharpness in her voice was dulled.

Elric narrowed his eyes. "You damn—"

Before he could finish, Espada waved him off. "Relax, I'm not here to piss you off. Not this time." Her smirk faded slightly. "I've been thinking about something. Elric and I… we were already planning on forming a group. Not a mercenary band, not some noble cause, but something with at least a damn purpose. We don't know what yet—but anything is better than wandering with no direction."

Henry finally lifted his gaze. The idea hung in the air for a moment. A group with purpose.

Kaiser, who had been watching Henry carefully, finally spoke. "Henry, I know this wasn't what you wanted. But you're not a lost cause."

Henry remained still.

Then, with a slow exhale, he stood.

"No," he said. "I'm done waiting for orders. I will act on my own terms now."

Elric gave a firm nod. "Then consider us allies."

Kaiser grinned, sensing the shift in the room. "That's more like it."

Henry's eyes swept over the faces around him. He could see it—the willingness, the unspoken agreement. If they were going to move forward, they needed something more than an idea.

"We need a name," Espada said, as if reading his mind. "If we're going to be something, we need to call ourselves something."

Henry thought for a moment. Then, his voice cut through the quiet.

"Grimknights."

Elric raised a brow. "Grimknights?"

Henry's gaze was firm. "It sounds both terrifying and noble."

Espada tilted her head. "I like it."

Kaiser grinned. "Has a nice ring to it."

Elric exhaled, nodding in approval. "Fine. Grimknights it is."

Bjorn remained silent, but after a moment, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.

The next question came naturally.

"Alright," Kaiser leaned back, smirking. "Who's leading this merry band of misfits?"

They exchanged glances. Then, without hesitation, Bjorn raised a hand and pointed at Henry.

Henry blinked in surprise.

Elric nodded. "It's obvious, isn't it? You're the one who brought us together."

Espada smirked. "And let's be honest—who else here looks like a commander?"

Kaiser laughed. "Alright, Captain Grimknight, lead the way!"

Henry exhaled but didn't object. He straightened his back and gave them all a firm nod. "Then let's make it official."

Espada tapped her fingers against the table. "We need an insignia. Something that represents us."

Elric thought for a moment. "Something that represents both power and mystery."

Kaiser snapped his fingers. "How about a knight's helm… with a dark hood?"

Henry smirked. "A knight hidden in the shadows."

Espada grinned. "I like it."

The group raised their mugs, drinking to the birth of the Grimknights.

Meanwhile, beyond the tavern walls, the world was already shifting toward chaos.

In the depths of the revolutionaries' headquarters, another meeting was taking place. Carous Gelheim stood before his commanders, his hands resting on a large wooden table.

"We need a name for our cause," he said.

Silence settled over the room. Then, one of the commanders spoke. "What about The Children of Woodsaw?"

Carous smirked, rolling the name over his tongue. "The Children of Woodsaw…"

He nodded. "From this day forward, that is who we are."

The revolution now had a name. A face. And soon, a war.

Carous leaned over a large map, his fingers tapping against the parchment. "We will take the capital."

The room grew tense, but no one objected.

"First, we assess our forces. Then, we strike."

The war was no longer a distant dream—it was coming. And Yore was their next target.

Across the city, within the Woodsaw Government Hall, another meeting was happening.

Jeffrey Maxim sat at the head of the war council, his gaze heavy. Before him stood his three commanders—Jack McCaw, Ion Damboldour, and Enzo—as well as the elder advisors of Yore.

"The revolutionaries are moving," Enzo reported. "They've taken key areas of Woodsaw."

Jeffrey clenched his fists. "Then we must act."

One of the elders hesitated. "We must reassess our forces. See what territories we still control."

Enzo nodded. "I have already requested assistance from King Fredrik Dimas."

The room fell silent.

If King Fredrik intervened, the war would escalate beyond anything Woodsaw had seen before.

Jeffrey Maxim exhaled, his mind heavy with the weight of his kingdom's fate. "Then we must hold Yore at all costs."

The pieces were in place.

On one side, the Grimknights—newly formed yet searching for purpose.

On the other, the Children of Woodsaw—ready to bring down the kingdom.

Between them, the city of Yore—a battleground waiting for war.

Woodsaw was once a prosperous nation, known for its dense forests and rich natural resources. Founded over three hundred years ago, the kingdom thrived under early rulers who promoted trade and agriculture.

But as time passed, corruption seeped in. The government became more centralized, wealth pooled into the hands of the elite, and commoners suffered under heavy taxation.

By the time Jeffrey Maxim inherited the leadership, Woodsaw was already in decline. He was a ruler bound by honor, but honor alone could not save a starving people.

Now, the revolution threatened to tear the kingdom apart completely.

The war was no longer just a rebellion—it was the battle for the very soul of Woodsaw.

The Grimknights had been born.

The Children of Woodsaw had risen.

And Woodsaw itself stood on the brink of destruction.

Their paths would soon collide.

And when they did—Mezolith would never be the same.

Part 7 – A City on the Brink

Morning broke over Yore, but the air felt heavier than ever. The people moved through the streets with an unshakable sense of urgency, eyes wary, whispers carrying the tension of looming war. Henry stood near the tavern window, arms crossed, watching the city shift before his eyes.

Rumors had spread like wildfire—the revolutionaries were moving, their forces rallying beyond the capital. Some citizens were already packing their belongings, ready to flee before the worst arrived. Others gathered in hushed corners, debating whether to stand and fight or welcome the revolution with open arms.

Jeffrey Maxim wasted no time. By midday, a public gathering was held in the city square, banners of Woodsaw hanging behind a raised platform. Soldiers stood in formation, their polished armor reflecting the daylight. The crowd grew restless as the ruler of Woodsaw himself stepped forward.

Jeffrey Maxim was a man of firm resolve, his aging face hardened by years of leadership. He surveyed the people, his voice steady as he spoke.

"Woodsaw is on the edge of war," he announced. "There are those among us who seek to tear this city apart, to burn what generations before us have built. But we will not crumble. We will not surrender to chaos."

Some in the crowd cheered, others remained silent. Some exchanged glances, their loyalties uncertain.

"The time for neutrality is over," Maxim continued. "We stand together, or we fall divided. Those who aid the revolutionaries will be treated as traitors. We will root them out. Woodsaw will endure."

Henry, Kaiser, Elric, Espada, and Bjorn stood among the spectators, watching the reactions of the people.

"Some look relieved," Kaiser muttered. "Others... not so much."

Espada scoffed. "They've already lost the city. They just don't know it yet."

While Maxim strengthened his hold over Yore, the revolutionaries were already moving in the shadows. Deep within the slums, a secret meeting took place. Dim candlelight flickered against stone walls as men and women gathered in a hidden chamber.

At the center of the room stood Gideon Strafe, a seasoned assassin with sharp, calculating eyes.

"The government is tightening its grip, which means we push harder," Gideon said, addressing the gathered revolutionaries. "Maxim wants to hunt us down? Let him try. But before Carous' army arrives, we make our move from within."

He unfurled a crude map of Yore, pointing at key locations.

"Tonight, we strike. Supply routes, watchtowers, barracks—we cut them down before the siege even begins. We make Yore bleed before the army even arrives."

Back at the tavern, the Grimknights sat around their table, debating their next move.

"So, what now?" Kaiser leaned forward.

"We side with the ideals of the government," Henry said finally. "But we act on our own terms. We're not bound to them. We're not their soldiers. We're warriors who will fight for what's right, but we make our own path."

Elric nodded in approval. "Then we should start making our presence known."

"Agreed," Espada said, resting her chin on her knuckles. "That means picking where to strike first."

Their answer came sooner than expected.

That night, chaos erupted in Yore.

A Woodsaw supply caravan rolled through the eastern district, its cargo guarded by soldiers. The streets were quiet—too quiet. Then, without warning, shadowy figures moved from the rooftops, daggers gleaming in the moonlight.

The first guards fell before they even had time to react.

The revolutionaries had begun their attack.

By chance, the Grimknights were nearby, walking through the district when the commotion started. The sounds of clashing steel and dying screams filled the air.

Henry's instincts kicked in immediately. "We can't ignore this."

Kaiser drew his daggers, nodding. "Then let's even the odds."

The Grimknights rushed in.

The battle was fast and brutal. Revolutionaries clashed with Woodsaw guards in a vicious ambush. Espada engaged a masked assassin wielding dual short swords, their blades flashing as they exchanged rapid blows.

Kaiser vanished for a moment, reappearing behind an enemy using his Phantom Step—only to stagger slightly, the stamina cost weighing on him. He still lacked control, but for now, it was enough.

Bjorn fought with sheer ferocity, blocking attacks with his arms and countering with bone-breaking blows. He grabbed one enemy by the throat and slammed him into the ground, his raw combat ability overwhelming the assassins around him.

Then, Henry saw him.

Gideon Strafe moved like a phantom through the battlefield, cutting down a Woodsaw soldier with swift precision. His daggers barely made a sound as they carved through armor and flesh.

Henry locked eyes with him.

Gideon smirked. "Captain Guhn. I was wondering when we'd meet."

Henry barely had time to react before Gideon lunged. The assassin's speed was incredible, but Henry was a wall.

He raised his tower shield, deflecting the first strike, the sound of metal scraping against reinforced steel ringing out.

Gideon danced around him, trying to find an opening, but Henry was patient. He waited, blocking every strike with his shield, forcing Gideon into close range.

Then, Henry countered.

He swung his gauntleted fist forward, aiming for Gideon's chest. The assassin barely twisted away in time, but even so, the force of the strike sent him skidding backward.

"You're good," Gideon admitted, flexing his fingers around his daggers. "But you fight like a soldier. Predictable."

Henry narrowed his eyes. "And you fight like a rat."

Gideon chuckled. "Rats survive."

The assassin darted in again, feinting to the left before striking from the right. Henry angled his shield, deflecting the blow, then slammed it forward. The sheer impact sent Gideon stumbling back.

Before Henry could press the attack, Gideon flipped backward onto a rooftop.

"We'll continue this later," he called out, sheathing his daggers. "War has already begun, Henry. Whether you accept it or not."

With that, he vanished into the darkness.

The remaining revolutionaries retreated, leaving behind bodies and blood.

The attack sent ripples through the city. By morning, the government had tightened its hold. Enzo ordered a citywide crackdown, soldiers storming homes and executing suspected revolutionaries in the streets. Fear spread, and Yore grew even more divided.

The Grimknights regrouped at the tavern.

"We need more intelligence," Henry said.

Espada leaned against the wall. "Agreed. We need to get inside the revolution's ranks."

Kaiser nodded. "I know someone. An old contact who might have ties to the revolution."

Henry considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. We're going to the Squatters District instead."

Elric frowned. "Why?"

Henry exhaled. "Because that's where it all started. That's where the revolution grew its roots. If we want to understand our enemy, we need to start there."

The Grimknights made their decision.

Meanwhile, miles away from Yore, Carous Gelheim stood before his army.

He held a single letter in his hands—confirmation that the revolutionaries inside the capital had already begun their work.

He turned to his commanders.

"March," he ordered.

The Children of Woodsaw moved forward.

And war was no longer just a distant threat.

It was here.

Part 8 – Into the Squatters' District

The road leading into the Squatters' District was long and worn down by years of neglect. The air felt different here—thick with smoke, the stench of unwashed bodies, and the distant crackling of scattered fires. The deeper the Grimknights rode into the district, the clearer the devastation became.

Collapsed buildings leaned against each other like drunks in the alleyways. Makeshift barricades lined the streets, built from broken carts, shattered furniture, and rusted sheets of metal. What little remained of the government's influence here was limited to a few small outposts, their banners dirtied and frayed.

The people, however, were still here. Some huddled near small fires for warmth, their eyes sunken from hunger. Others gathered in tense groups, speaking in hushed voices, their expressions shifting between anger and fear. The revolution wasn't just an idea here—it was an everyday reality.

Kaiser exhaled sharply as he guided his horse past a group of malnourished children, their thin frames barely clothed against the chill. "This place is worse than I imagined."

Elric, riding beside him, nodded grimly. "This is what war does. No matter who wins, the people lose."

Henry remained silent, his gaze scanning the district. There was no denying it—this place had already fallen.

As they ventured deeper, it became clear just how much control The Children of Woodsaw had seized. Red banners with the symbol of the revolution—crossed axes behind a burning tree—hung from rooftops. Armed men patrolled the streets, most wearing patchwork armor, but their expressions carried the certainty of victory. They no longer feared the government.

"We should keep a low profile," Espada muttered. "We might not be wearing Royal Guard colors, but these people will still see us as outsiders."

Henry agreed. The last thing they needed was a fight in unfamiliar territory.

Their caution, however, did little to keep them unnoticed.

A group of men, rough-looking and armed with clubs and blades, stepped out from a nearby alleyway, blocking their path.

One of them, a burly man with a scar running down his jawline, narrowed his eyes. "Haven't seen you lot before. What business do you have in our district?"

Henry pulled back his hood slightly, revealing his face. "We're just passing through. No trouble."

The man studied them for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle. "No one just 'passes through' anymore." His eyes landed on Henry's shield. "That's Royal Guard equipment."

Before the tension could escalate further, a voice cut through the air.

"Let them be."

A figure emerged from the shadows, a man in his late thirties, rugged but composed. His leather coat was worn but sturdy, his belt lined with knives. He carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to danger.

"Who are you?" Henry asked cautiously.

"Gregory Malter," the man replied. "A bounty hunter… or at least, I used to be." He crossed his arms. "Now, I work with the revolutionaries."

Henry studied him carefully. There was no recognition between them, but Gregory clearly knew a warrior when he saw one.

"You were Royal Guard," Gregory stated bluntly.

"Not anymore," Henry replied.

Gregory smirked. "Convenient." He gestured at the Grimknights. "You're either with the revolution or against it. So tell me, what brings you to the Squatters' District?"

"We're not here to pick sides," Henry said, keeping his tone even. "We want to understand what's really happening here."

Gregory's expression darkened. "What's happening?" He gestured toward the ruined buildings, the starving people, the streets soaked in filth and despair. "This is what's happening. The government abandoned us long before the revolution began. The only reason these people even have a chance is because Carous Gelheim and his men fight for them."

Henry met his gaze without flinching. "And what happens when the revolution wins? What happens after the city falls?"

Gregory's smirk faded. "Then we rebuild. And if you're thinking about getting in our way… well, I'd advise against it."

Espada crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You sure about that? Because from what I see, this place is already a graveyard."

Gregory's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a man in tattered armor rushed over to him. "Sir, we have a problem—resistance fighters were spotted near the supply route."

Gregory swore under his breath. "Damn loyalists still clinging to false hope." He turned back to Henry. "Stay in the district too long, and you'll have to pick a side." With that, he walked off, disappearing into the chaos.

Once he was gone, Elric muttered, "That guy rubs me the wrong way."

Henry didn't respond. Instead, he turned to the others. "We need to find someone still loyal to the government. If we're going to act, we need information first."

After some asking around—most of which involved bribes, threats, or Espada simply being persistent—they were led to a half-collapsed warehouse where a group of resistance fighters were hiding.

Inside, a group of weary warriors sat around a war table, their weapons within arm's reach. At the head of the table sat an older man, his broad shoulders and scarred face marking him as a seasoned warrior.

"Roland Vask," the man introduced himself. "I take it you're not here to join the revolution?"

"Not quite," Henry said. "We're looking for ways to help without aligning with them."

Roland studied them, then nodded. "If you want to help, then listen closely. There's a supply convoy scheduled to pass through the outskirts of the district, and the revolutionaries are planning to ambush it. If we lose that supply line, the government loses what little foothold we have left in the district."

Henry glanced at the others before nodding. "We'll handle it."

The following evening, they waited at a narrow street where the convoy would pass. The revolutionaries struck as expected, and the Grimknights engaged them in open combat.

The fight was brutal. Bjorn waded through enemies like a force of nature, swinging his axes without hesitation. Espada moved like a phantom, her blade finding the gaps in her opponents' defenses. Kaiser used Phantom Step to slip past enemies, his dagger cutting deep before vanishing again.

Then, a new figure entered the battlefield.

A tall man with a spear, his stance commanding, stepped forward. He was in his late thirties, battle-worn but exuding confidence.

"Dante Viel," someone whispered in fear.

His Hand of God ability—Time Manipulation—became apparent as he froze time for a brief moment, repositioning himself mid-attack. Before Henry could react, Dante's spear grazed past his shield, nearly breaking through.

Realizing the battle was turning against them, Henry ordered a retreat.

They escaped with the supply convoy intact, but they had made an enemy of The Children of Woodsaw.

As they regrouped with Roland, he gave them a nod of approval. "You've helped, but you've also painted a target on your backs."

Henry exhaled. "Then we'll be ready for whatever comes next."

Far from the battlefield, Carous Gelheim received word of the battle. He sat at his war table, eyes narrowing as he read the report.

"They're still holding out?" He scoffed, tossing the parchment aside. "No more delays. Crush the resistance. Wipe them out completely."

The order was given.

The war was no longer creeping forward—it was charging toward its climax.

Part 9 – The Plan for Rebellion

A War Meeting in the Ruins

Deep within the crumbling ruins of an abandoned building in the Squatters' District, Roland Vask stood before his gathered forces. His worn face was hardened with determination, though the reality of his situation was grim. Around him, fifty-five civilians turned fighters listened in silence, their eyes filled with desperation rather than confidence.

They weren't soldiers. They were bakers, blacksmiths, farmers, and street merchants—people who had no choice but to fight. Their weapons were just as crude—rusted machetes, barbed sticks, pitchforks, and kitchen knives. Some held onto old crossbows with only a few bolts left to fire.

Despite their weaknesses, they stood in defiance. They had been forgotten by the government, hunted by the revolutionaries, and left with nothing. This was their last chance.

Standing among them, the Grimknights were the only warriors with true combat experience.

Roland exhaled and spoke, his voice carrying across the ruins. "Two days from now, when the second moon vanishes from the sky, we strike."

A murmur passed through the crowd. The timing was intentional. By then, Carous Gelheim and his main army would be marching on Yore. The fort in the Squatters' District, which served as the revolutionaries' command post in this part of the city, would be lightly defended.

It was a bold plan—but their only chance.

A Gamble for Survival

Roland continued, "Carous believes we're too weak to resist. He thinks we're waiting to be slaughtered." He slammed his fist against a wooden crate, the sound echoing through the ruins. "We'll prove him wrong."

He turned toward the Grimknights, raising a hand. "We're not alone in this fight. These warriors have come to stand with us."

The gathered resistance fighters turned their eyes toward Henry and his group. Roland stepped aside, allowing Henry to take center stage.

Henry exhaled. He was no king, no noble warlord. But in this moment, these people needed strength.

He took a step forward and spoke with unwavering conviction.

"You are not just survivors. You are warriors now." His voice carried through the ruined chamber. "They think you're too weak to fight back. They think you will run. But I ask you—who else will fight for your families? For your homes? Who else will take a stand when the rest of the world has abandoned you?"

Some in the crowd clenched their fists, others nodded. A fire began to burn in their eyes.

"Strength isn't about weapons or bloodlines," Henry continued. "It's about will. If you stand, you fight. And if you fight, you win."

A few cheers broke out. The morale in the room shifted. They were still outnumbered and poorly armed—but they believed they had a chance. And that belief was power.

The Grimknights' Reactions

As Henry stepped back, Espada leaned slightly toward Kaiser and let out a quiet chuckle.

"Overdramatic," she whispered, shaking her head with amusement.

Elric shot her a glare, his jaw tightening. "Show some respect."

Espada smirked but didn't argue.

Bjorn, seated on a broken wooden crate, continued chewing on a piece of bread, completely indifferent to the tension in the room.

Kaiser, however, was lost in his thoughts. He wasn't listening to Henry anymore. His eyes had settled on Gregory Malter, who stood among the resistance fighters.

"That was Gregory," Kaiser thought to himself, his fingers tightening around his belt. "The one who stopped the revolutionaries back then. I cannot talk to him right now. I don't know how he would react to seeing me."

Kaiser's contract entity, Alzalel, whispered in his mind.

"You fear confrontation?" the ancient ghost murmured.

"No," Kaiser replied inwardly. "I just don't know if he sees me as a friend or an enemy."

But what Kaiser didn't realize was that Gregory already knew who he was.

Gregory had recognized him immediately when he arrived with the Grimknights. He had known Kaiser was part of the group, and it was one of the reasons he had chosen to abandon the revolution and fight for the resistance.

But for now, Gregory remained silent.

Assigning Leadership – Dividing the Grimknights

Roland cleared his throat and looked at Henry. "I need you to divide your warriors. They will lead my fighters into battle."

Henry nodded without hesitation. "Agreed."

Roland rolled out a rough, hand-drawn map of the revolutionary fort. It was crude, sketched on torn parchment with charcoal, but it was enough to plan their attack.

The fort had six major areas that controlled the flow of operations. Each of the Grimknights would be assigned to lead small squads in key locations.

Henry studied the map carefully. They were going to war with untrained civilians, which meant the battle would have to be calculated and tactical.

Roland marked the locations on the map, pointing out weak spots and key points of interest. The plan was set.

A Private Request for Kaiser

As the meeting adjourned, the resistance fighters began preparing for the upcoming battle. Henry and the Grimknights were discussing their attack when Roland approached Kaiser.

"Walk with me," Roland said.

Kaiser followed him a short distance away from the others, into the shadows of the ruins. Roland's face was serious.

"I have a special task for you," he said.

Kaiser frowned. "What is it?"

Roland glanced around, ensuring no one else was listening. Then, he spoke in a lower voice.

"Inside Carous' headquarters, they're holding a girl captive."

Kaiser's expression darkened.

"Who is she?"

Roland didn't answer directly. Instead, he said, "When the attack begins, I need you to slip inside the fortress. Find her." He paused before adding, "Tell her this: 'Angels and devils are all beautiful.' She'll understand."

Kaiser hesitated. "And what if I can't get to her in time?"

Roland's expression was unreadable. "Then don't come back until you do."

The Revolutionaries' Spy – A Leak in the Plan

Unbeknownst to them, a hidden pair of eyes had been watching the entire meeting.

A spy for the revolutionaries, blending into the shadows, had listened carefully to every word.

As soon as the meeting ended, she disappeared into the night, making her way back toward the revolutionaries' fort.

She arrived breathless before Dante Viel, who stood in the candle-lit war room of Carous' stronghold.

"They're planning an attack," she reported. "In two days, when the second moon fades."

Dante's expression remained unreadable. Slowly, he exhaled and turned toward Carous Gelheim.

"If you allow it," Dante said calmly, "I will remain in the fort. The resistance thinks they have the element of surprise. Let them believe it."

Carous smirked and leaned back in his chair.

"Show them hell."

Dante grinned. "Gladly."

The stage was set.

The resistance was preparing for war.

But the revolutionaries were already waiting.

And the Grimknights?

They were marching straight into the fire.