8th of Amir, 311 A.D., Middle Kingdom, Mystria

The sound of thundering drums made the frightened mothers hide their children behind their backs and men grab anything that could serve them as a weapon. Here, in the heart of the Middle Kingdom, one could no longer hear the echoes of war — the soldiers of Arabista had circled the capital, trying to postpone the moment when a white flag would flutter above the royal palace. The war’s end wasn’t far off, and the people of Mystria were relaxed. However, today they were reminded of all the horrors that His Majesty’s legions had done.

The army that had become the nightmare of the five surrounding states and the terrifying reality of the other seven was approaching the gates. Two thousand mounted knights in scarlet armor could be seen drawing nearer. Their plates weren’t made from a special metal, no, but dyed crimson by the blood of their enemies.

It took the general and the lieutenant seven days and nights to enchant each armor and piece of weapon with a Word that’d prevent it from rusting. Since they had nothing to clean their gear with, their army had been nicknamed the “Foul Legion” as they carried with them the stench of death and rot. Crows and vultures followed them on their travels, forever circling over the banners decorated with the heads of the legion’s enemies.

The knights rode up to the gate, raising clouds of dust. Children wept, women screamed in fright when they saw body parts tied to the saddles, and men turned pale as they felt their hearts skip a beat. The legion looked more like an army of demons than of humans. Rumors spread throughout the kingdom that it had never suffered defeat.

At the head of the army were the two men feared by every mortal in the neighboring states. The so-called “Nameless” baronet, the only one who wore a black cloak instead of a scarlet one, which in the ballads became a piece of cloth cut from the essence of darkness itself. Behind him was his lieutenant, Racker.

In his hand was a staff, the top of which was fitted with a spear tip glowing with runic script. To his saddle were tied the heads of generals, who had never seen the ambassadors arrive to discuss the terms of the ransom; and he was clad in full Dragon armor (rumors also said it that he was the first to slay these magnificent beasts) that glimmered a deep red. Peeking under the steel helmet adorned with horns was long, black hair tied with red ribbons that matched his red, tattered cloak.

It wasn’t surprising that Racker was much more feared than Ash. One could negotiate with the latter, but the former was ruthless. He didn’t know reason, only blood and gore, like a proper beast.

At the gate, a platoon of guards greeted the general according to the custom but without any respect in their eyes. The young mage gave them a slight nod and turned to his men.

“Ergaben,” he called a muscular, tall man with an ax to step forward. He was so heavy and large that he rode not a horse, but an ox. Only it could stand three hundred pounds of muscle encased in fifty pounds of steel. “You’re in charge.”

The giant nodded and turned to face the army, barking orders and snarling through his visor shaped like a bear’s muzzle.

“Will you open it?” Racker smiled maliciously, lifting his visor. “Or should I help?”

The startled guardsman gave the signal to the lookout on the tower. Four blows of the horn were followed by the rattling of the gates and creaking of unoiled iron. The heavy gates groaned as they opened a way to the Kingdom’s capital.

Ash spurred his horse into what he could call his hometown. Racker, winking at the trembling guards, followed, casting murderous glances at everyone. He was the only one who could be trusted with having Ash’s back. The two fire mages were the deadliest combination in the entire Kingdom. They didn’t count, but they were certain that they had saved each other’s lives countless times.

The two were riding down the Central Avenue, observing people as they hurried back home. Tables set by various vendors and taverns had disappeared from the street. Windows were closed, doors barred, and shutters slammed shut. Those who remained on the street rested their trembling hands on the hilts of their weapons. Fear had filled every nook and cranny of the glorious city of Mystral. Even the ever-present scent of coffee and flowers had disappeared from the air, giving way to the stench of blood and rot.

“I don’t get them,” Racker replied. “They’re afraid, but they’re still watching...”

Ash chuckled. Not that he needed to, he just felt that it was appropriate to do so in this situation.

“They can’t help themselves but stare at your glorious armor.”

“Be jealous in silence, will you?”

Ash looked at his light armor. It was the most ordinary set one could find. “Hey, first time that they aren’t looking at that ugly snout of yours.”

The two turned around a corner and entered King’s Lane, the street leading to the palace, which stood, as it befitted any imperial lodging, on top of a hill, proudly towering over the entire city.

Golden domes cast glittering light on the white marble of the walls and sculptures, giving them a pleasant, ivory color. The majestic gardens, full of exotic flora, seemed to whisper in fright, begging the wind to ward off the trouble being brought in by the two vultures.

“This ‘ugly snout’ saved your ass several times,” Racker muttered with a grin. “The Dragon Armor just adds to my beauty!”

“It doesn’t negate the fact that it’s really tacky.”

“And what are your rags? Hm? The pinnacle of fashion?”

“Beauty lies in simplicity,” Ash said with a shrug.

The conversation would’ve continued had they not had to stop at the next gate. Unlike the previous one, this one was much smaller. They were met by a group of mages: a stern-looking warlock with a book in his left hand, and a staff made of bone in his right, a battle-mage with a staff and a long, narrow blade, an enchanter with a dagger and a shimmering, turquoise sphere, as well as a couple of frightened-looking mages. In the distance stood the magus, intently examining something on his ornate mirror. The magi were said to be able not only see the future but also find out everything about whoever’s blood they smudged on its glass.

There was a summoner, too, holding a demon leashed on a chain. It looked like a dog, except that it was much larger and had two heads that could spit poison. The group was a druid, necromancer, and a healer short of completing the set. Ash figured that they were probably left behind because they weren’t combat units. Besides, an ordinary magus could easily compensate for the three of them with how many illusions he could cast.

“Welcome,” one of the guards saluted. “I’ve been given the honor of welcoming you to the king’s palace.”

“We’re still on the streets,” Racker muttered through clenched teeth. “If you don’t hurry up and let us in, you risk making me very annoyed.”

The mages became alarmed. Some lifted their weapons while others activated their artifacts and spells. Magic danced around them, often taking form of multicolored flames.

Ash raised his hand, calming them down. He feared neither the mages nor the guards, nor the king himself. He still didn’t know what fear was. “The king himself had summoned me. The entire legion had to be pulled from the front, so let’s get this done with as soon as possible.”

“Y-Yes,” the guard stammered, “o-of course...” He nodded and then shouted with a voice that didn’t sound like it was his own. “Open the gate! The general of the Seventh Legion, Baronet Nameless, has arrived!”