Kinler took his time walking down the road, heading west to the fence line where the Dormoorians were approaching, and It didn’t help that Dork had their capital built right near the border to Dormoor.

But for now, Kinler had to do. Anemone was beside him, eyes drifting around as they moved. He had Corden follow him, along with some of the palace guards.

“How many men do you have?” Kinler asked, marching down toward the field.

“Twelve,” Corden said. “And five city guards.”

“Disappointing,” Kinler said. “But manageable. Get them ready.”

“Sir,” Corden said. “We are undermanned. May I suggest we use the beasts—”

“No,” Kinler said. He gave orders like he was in charge. Today, he was. “They are free now, remember?”

“They might be able to assist us! We have a dozen or so approaching adulthood; they could prove quite useful in—”

“They would go against weapons, and they have no training with such tools. They would only tank damage.”

Corden grunted. He’d rather them all die in the place of others. But that wasn’t how Soucrest did things. Soucrest sent the best in first, so the worse can develop behind them.

Anemone, however, looked a little relieved by Kinler shutting Corden’s idea down. She seemed to be happy, even during this current crisis. Her people were now free. And, if not already, she could feel a little freer herself.

As they approached near the small excuse of a fence, Kinler noticed a handful of Dormoorian cavalry along with a larger band of infantry eclipsed behind them. The infantry blew their horns, but in a cadence of a hollowing song. If Kinler hadn’t been tone-deaf, well, perhaps the song would incite some fear out of him.

His insides vibrated, particularly from his heart upward—such an ugly low-pitched tune. In warfare, such music invigorated those who stood playing it but drew terror and fear to those opposed against it.

Kinler had guessed Dormoor would only get more violent after Soucrest snatched Anemone from their control. For the little Kinler knew of Aidan, he’d been quite petty, if not childish, when angry.

Exiled from his kingdom, Aidan sought to build his own, taking remnants of a broken nation and gluing them together with his radical ideology. Now that his toy was gone, he took it out on the one country he could get away with.

Dork, a country ungoverned by the laws of the kingdoms. Valoria as a whole looked away from lesser nations, especially countries without traditional leaders. Demin was no traditionalist, keeping power despite his visible weakness. He didn’t even hold a sword to his body.

Dork had little value to offer the kingdoms, so to them, this place might as well not even exist. All it had was fertile land, an extension of Soucrest’s own. But in the case of territorial strength? It was the wall between two feuding nations, and whoever controlled the land could very well dictate the entire war.

“Corden,” Kinler stood straight, hands behind his back. “Have the guards spread out and defend the fence.”

“You are asking a lot out of me,” Corden said. The old man was shorter than Anemone, but he was perhaps twice as old as Kinler by the wrinkles of his face alone. A small, white mustache waved above his lip. “I’m no general, sir.”

“Today you are,” Kinler said. Dork didn’t even bother building a military; they hardly had the funds to establish anything other than a trivial police department. But this would have to do. “Your country likes spears, right? Well, spears happen to be very good at fending off cavalry. Have them guard the fences the best they can; the cavalry will do far more damage if they funnel in before the infantry.”

“Will do, sir,” Corden bowed his head. “Anything else?”

“You’re well-trained, aren’t you? How about the other beast-tamers? Do they have any proficiencies in weapons?”

“Yes sir. I have my cane, and four of the other trainers are well-versed with spears.”

Spears… Kinler regarded this country to be a little more strange than he thought when he first entered. Why, in the current day, did they use spears instead of swords as their primary weapon? “That will have to do. You and the tamers are safeties. Gather them and any passive volunteers to gather buckets of water to fend off any potential fighters. If any do get past the fence, it’s your job to defend the city. At that point, the Dormoorians surrendered their right to live, take care of them as needed.”

Corden showed worry, but he nodded. “I’ll tell the policemen and guards, and then I’ll let the tamers know. But sir, may I suggest the beasts for the carrying water? It’ll be their last duty. It’s the easiest, most efficient route to achieving what you desire.”

Kinler disliked involving them. But, the city had no pipes under their streets, meaning defeating fires would be tough if they arose. Buckets of water were their best course of fighting any potential flames, though by no means were they efficient.

“Very well. But they will not engage in any combat and will disengage at any sight of a hostile. Do you understand me, Corden?”

Corden bowed his head. “Yes sir.”

“Also, inform the tamers that Anemone will be aiding you and that there better not be any mistakes on your end regarding her. She is your ally today.”

Corden glowered at Anemone. Their culture forbade any mutual cooperation between their people and any human with green eyes. But today, Kinler stressed their ideologically flawed values.

“When your leader faced this predicament, she was the first to speak up seeking to help your country. If your city is spared today, she will be the reason why.”

“Very well,” Corden eventually said. A part of him looked challenged, annoyed by Kinler’s egging. “The tamers will know. I will tell them the beast once called Belch is on our side. They fear she brought these people to our city in the first place, but they will work with her if what you promise us is true.”

“You have my word, both as a representative of Soucrest and as a warrior. We’re here to help. The future is bright.”

Corden nodded, turning away and rushing to the clump of guards and policemen down the fence line, observing the Dormoor troops closing closer and closer in.

“So I’m staying back?” Anemone asked. She looked up to him with unsure eyes. She had no idea she would fight today. Neither did Kinler, but life as a warrior always had surprises.

“If you were a little more trained, I would prefer if you fought by my side out there, but I can’t protect you while participating in a moshed battle. You’re safer here, picking out individual targets as they enter the city. If they reach the buildings, they’ll likely try to ignite them. Don’t let them; that’s your job. But don’t get yourself killed either, I forbid that.”

Anemone looked skeptical, if not nervous. It was her first battle. Her first time holding a sword for work, and Kinler asked her to aim it at men needing to be stopped, killed even.

“I suppose I should make something very clear to you,” Kinler said. “You are not good enough to take the men out in that field fairly one-on-one in a sword fight. But, I’m not asking you to fight them fair. I’m only asking you to beat them.”

She tilted her head.

“You’ve told me about your blood, about how it had killed a man who tried to harm you. Well, don’t be afraid to use it to defend yourself, if not as a part of your offense. Your life’s on the line, and every trick you have is necessary to prevail on top. Understand?”

“I… do,” she said, bowing her head. “It’s okay to kill them?”

“I trust your judgment in making such a decision. All I demand from you is not to die or get captured. Everything else is of your own decision making, so long as it helps us defend the city and the people inside.”

“Yessir,” Anemone said, lifting her head back up. She did well to hide her nervous jitters. They were present, but hardly as much as Kinler had seen from other warriors growing up.

Kinler remembered his first battle and how he shook like an earthquake, trembling himself into sickness. Unlike him, however, she didn’t look like she would vomit anytime soon.

They stood together for a bit longer. A chain-link door braced into the small fence; the entire structure was quite short, enough so that if Dormoor brought warhorses, they could probably jump right over. Kinler leaned in, using the top-rounded metal bar as a shelf to rest. Anemone joined him, feet posted on the fence to stand level with Kinler.

“Hey,” Anemone leaned in closer to the field. “I know the guy on the horse in the middle.”

Kinler turned his head to her. “You do? What’s his name?”

She flustered. “I forgot. Mondie? Mobai? Mobe… more… I can’t remember. But I think that’s who brought me to Dormoor.”

Kinler looked for who she pointed out. The man had a large, round figure. Fat, in a less polite term. His hair was black but grayed near his head, as he likely dyed his older hair. “He’s a nobleman?”

Anemone nodded. “Modai! That’s his name!”

“Is he nice, or is he a prick?”

“A prick?”

“Not nice.”

Anemone sighed. “He’s a prick.”

Kinler laughed. “Looks like my work is cut out for me then. Alright, best I get ready.” Kinler turned around, looking at the city climbing upward on a hill, with many circling roads and buildings winding around the cone-shaped structure. Many houses shaped around the rising landscape. “You should climb the hill and overlook from there. If you see anybody other than myself approach the city, know that they are attacking.”

“What about you?” Anemone asked.

“I’ll be dealing with Modai and any infantry that dare try me. Don’t worry about me. If they choose to attack the city, despite our new arrangement, they will only hurt themselves. Thirty men aren’t enough to bully a town finally ready to stand up to them.”

Anemone nodded. She hopped off the fence, then turned around. As she walked on a trail to the city, Kinler noticed her head finally up and steady, staring straight on, even when she passed by the Dork people. Strange, how now of all times, she disregarded her timidity and started holding her head high. She turned one last time and smiled. If not confident, it was at least hopeful.

Kinler ignored the fence door and leaped over the fence. The field in front of him was patched green, nice and flat land bumping up and down a little less the further Kinler walked forward. Unused, but that would soon change once the country finally gained stability under Soucrest’s occupation. Still, Kinler embraced the beautiful scenery while he could. Purple and pink flowers juxtaposed on the plains, but Kinler worried about adding red.

He kept his stride, walking alone against a band of thirty—from the looks of it, more—men. The infantry behind seemed to hurry up to catch up to the horses moving a little ahead. No carriage, as if they weren’t expecting to take much back.

The wind blew into his left ear, pounding his head with a burdening whoosh of noise.

So far, Kinler walked a fourth of a mile outside of Dork City by the time Modai approached him. The horses stopped with him, but the infantry kept moving, still catching up. They stayed well out of sword range but close enough to speak to each other.

“A messenger? Dark of skin? Who are you?” Modai asked. He sounded snobbish.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Modai, I’ve been told is your name,” Kinler bowed forward but lifted himself soon afterward. “My name is Kinler, and I represent Soucrest, who now represents Dork from this day onward. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing in our territory, riding horses, bearing torches, and blowing such sinister horns?”

Modai grimaced. “You’re joking! Soucrest? I don’t believe you.”

A prick indeed, Kinler thought. “We can discuss it inside with Lord Demin, and he’ll inform you. But I’m afraid your men are forbidden entrance to the capital. I suggest you leave now, save me any burden of bloodshed.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat? You seem to not know who you’re dealing with or what our orders are. Until Dork accepts that they are our inferior, we will continue raiding and pillaging as we see fit. Their tribute turned out to be unloyal and traitorous, leaving Lord Aidan after he treated her so well. I knew from the day I brought her to Ryuso that she was no good. A dud.

“Know, Soucrestian, that you not only stole Vessel from us, but the Soulgem inside of her as well. That is a treasure beyond anything we can reap from these trivial people, lest we bury them all and harvest their collected souls.”

Staring against a small army didn’t strike fear into Kinler like how it might have before, especially when he was as alone as he was now. Kinler knew himself and his abilities, and he had nothing but confidence that these men, whether on horseback or walking on grass, stood no chance against the Blue Bladesman.

These weren’t Dormoor’s best but mere cheap pawns. Hardly armored, smug looks across their face. They hadn’t seen battle, not as Kinler had. So, Kinler did his best. Not for himself. Not for Dork. But for the men across from him who knew no better. He tried to spare them through his words, for he couldn’t hold back with his sword.

“Whatever you’d done before can be overlooked,” Kinler said. “Soucrest will seek no action against your crimes of the past raiding this land. We are not Dork, only securing them for the time being. Please, turn away. Lord Aidan will surely regret sending you if you dare charge into a death trap.”

“You are still threatening us,” Modai said. “And what do you know about Lord Aidan? He will regret sending me if I don’t get the job done! Especially off the words of a single Soucrestian man.”

“You’re risking far more than the men you’ve brought but the wrath and anger of a large kingdom. You aren’t in a place currently to strike upward our way. If you do, Soucrest may retaliate with no penalty and no global outrage if we squash you. That, Modai, is what you are risking.”

“Get a listen to this, men,” Modai sneered. “This man is all alone, giving orders to a band of men. This is a fine bluff. But tell me this, Kinler, was it? What happens if we raid anyway and say we’ve never heard of the Dork-Soucrest alliance you speak of? What if it was all a misunderstanding because we never knew?”

“I just told you,” Kinler said. But he knew what the prick was alluding to. “That we are under an alliance. And that if you do attack, you will lose more men than it is worth. Dork City right now is, by all means, a death trap for you and your men. I’m only trying to spare you the casualties.”

“Nonsense,” Modai said, looking past Kinler to the fence line. There weren’t many men behind the fence. They were less trained and less armed than the Dormoor band. “They’ve never put up a good fight before. Every time they tried, we killed them, and twice as many innocents for such boldness. They lack any courage.”

“What about you?” Kinler asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you lack courage?”

Modai grimaced but said nothing.

“Because we can settle this like men, you know. The old days. You versus me. The best warrior wins. The losing force stands down.”

Modai’s men looked to him. The infantry was finally catching up to the cavalry but stayed behind when they approached. After flushing red, Modai shook his head. “My strength is in my leadership, not my ability with the sword.”

“A fancy word for coward,” Kinler said. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to incite a fight, but Modai wasn’t cooperating, and Kinler refused to beg. “Do you have a champion? One who could fight on your behalf?” I’m more of a leader to your men than you are, he almost added.

Modai growled. He looked on the verge of a tantrum, appearing more and more like a child every second he opposed Kinler. Did his mother neglect him as a child, so he later as an adult sought to become a noble to get the attention he never received? No, perhaps his mother gave him too much attention as a child, stuffed him with food, and forbade him from playing with such dangerous swords. Modai had power only because he was rich enough to afford it. A silver spoon in his mouth and a golden thumb up his ass. Yes, the issue with Modai was his upbringing.

Though, Kinler had an underlying issue with the rich and a heavy bias against them. He grew up not only around them but forced to serve one. Modai was annoying to look at, irritating to listen to, and frustrating to deal with, everything that could spell entitled. The worst kind of noble. He risked the lives of his men to serve his ego.

Then, Modai did a very thinkable reaction when called out. He doubled down. He unsheathed the sword he probably never used and pointed it toward Kinler. “I want him dead!” he cried. “And I want this city in ashes!” Modai followed through.

Kinler pulled his sword out of his sheath, swinging it against the air. With the horses—all but Modai’s and two beside him—charging toward Kinler, he had no choice but to activate his sword’s power. With will alone, flames spurted out from the metal of his blades. They burned hot, so hot that they burned blue.

The first horseman to approach him quickly dropped, but in half of the man he used to be, his legs remained saddled to the horse Kinler went out of his way to avoid. The horse swerved left, tripping over another horseman who tried to run past him and to the city.

Chaos erupted in mere seconds as shouts and roars flooded Kinler’s ears like the pressing winds. One man, two men, three men, six in total, dead. Their flesh cauterized as the Blue Blade’s edge carved through. The horsemen soon thought better than to pursue Kinler, so they went for the capital instead.

But the infantrymen weren’t so lucky. Not when they were the ones Kinler could catch up to.

Any man who dared lift a sword his way damned themselves. Kinler slashed, an enemy warrior blocked with his sword, but his dark eyes flashed blue as his sword melted through. He was weak and a novice warrior, so when his blade failed, so did he. Killing his opponents instantly was the best mercy Kinler could provide.

Another dead. It’d been a while since Kinler smelled the awful stench of a charred heart. Flesh sizzled like steak on a grill, Kinler felt the wrath of destruction build up inside of him. His body grew hot, very hot. The leather didn’t help, but he could endure. He trained himself for moments like these.

Kinler killed naturally. Armor, shields, swords, nothing could fend off a blade so powerful. Two minutes in, he had twenty-eight more to work with. For a weapon so powerful, infused with a large Soulgem, Kinler had a full half-hour before he would grow too Soulsick to continue.

Of the infantrymen, some chose to circle around him, the others charged to the city. Kinler couldn’t fend them all off. But already, a third of their numbers had fallen. Kinler glanced to the fence line, seeing Dormoor men lay dead overlapping, their horses idling around, unsure about how to proceed next. The town guards did well with their spears. Their numbers should be even now. But some, unfortunately, broke through, running from the men guarding the fence and rushing into the city to spread their desired chaos.

Do well, Anemone, Kinler thought. If he had the time, he would take a moment to pray to Lorgrad for her sake. But time was too short to waste. Eventually, the infantrymen who weren’t bold enough to attack Kinler stalled out, too afraid to approach their death. Kinler spared any and all who knew better than to throw themselves into an inferno.

Apart from the hesitating infantrymen, three horsemen stood side by side. The middle man was Modai, who stayed far behind Kinler’s slaughter. His face lost all pride as he stared at the monster wielding molten death. The blade burned so hot that Kinler needed special gloves so he could wield it, keeping the heat from roasting his hands holding the hilt.

“Call your men to stand down,” Kinler ordered Modai.

Modai looked left and right, but the two around looked to him for guidance. Eventually, Modai spat. “I’d rather die than live insulted!”

Kinler took a step forward, and the coward of a nobleman made his horse backtrack.

“What is that weapon!” Modai snapped. “Who are you? Why do I not know of you?”

Kinler refused to answer. He held onto this weapon for years, and he stole it from his very master, his once owner. He’d kept it hidden for so long, hoping his son could one day wield it. Now, Kinler used it as his own.

If I chase him, he will just run away on his horse… Kinler thought. He turned around, walking toward the city. The infantrymen parted, forming an aperture in their ranks. His stride through them gave him a powerful, intimidating aura. He didn’t share eyes with the Dormoorians, simply walking past them as if he owned them.

“It’s too late!” Modai yelled after him. “Your city will be burned by the time you arrive. My men are already igniting torches and starting their fires. You’re too late, bastard!”

Kinler, for once, didn’t smile at the false perception of what his actions would be. He had a greater course of action to defend the city. He wasn’t needed there, not when they had Anemone, the beast-tamers, and a few more reserves to firefight. Instead, Kinler stopped after about twenty paces, patting a horse he had sparred. It didn’t fear him, fortunately, for what he’d done to her rider. It stood, docile, willing to obey anyone who rode on top of her saddle, no matter how much blood stained her hairs.

Kinler willed the sword to stop spewing flames, which hit Kinler with a minor, nagging pain in his head, like withdrawals from a drug. However, the sword remained hot, and the former silver color of the blade was now red like lava. He couldn’t sheath it in this state but held it away from the horse as he climbed her.

With his legs, he turned the horse in the direction of Modai. He aimed his sword forward, and the hunt began.