The Third Prince Of Darkness

A few hours later –

After being taken back to my tent, I rested there for a while. Roxanne's words kept running through my mind. The vision she claimed to have about the future had turned out to be entirely accurate, and she had made it a point to tell me I absolutely needed to go to the palace. Now, I couldn't stop thinking about what might happen at the palace, my mind filled with endless speculation, until I slapped myself hard on the cheek to put an end to it.

These thoughts would only make me paranoid and unbalanced. As soon as I escaped from here, I would head to the palace as quickly as possible, so there was no point dwelling on it any longer. I also recalled Roxanne urging me to take Marsiel with me, so I continued resting, planning a route to first pick him up and then proceed to the palace.

After a while, however, there was a commotion outside the tent. The cries of men and women could be heard, indicating that the battle had ended. Those screams meant wounded soldiers were being carried to the tents nearby. As I sat up on the bed, carefully listening to the sounds, I began to hear loud cheers. These were likely the southern soldiers celebrating their victory.

"Long live Great Alpshar!!" The chants echoed through the tent fabric, the fervor of victory replacing the chaos of the battlefield with a chaotic joy.

Lying back down, I must admit I felt utterly miserable. The loss of the battle weighed on me for the first time this heavily. Thinking about the tens of thousands of soldiers who had died—whose deaths had ultimately accomplished nothing—was heartbreaking. The coalition's main army numbered around 100,000 soldiers, and at least a quarter of them had certainly perished. Fortunately, the other coalition forces would likely surrender, but the losses were still staggering.

Suddenly, a dozen guards entered my tent. With a sigh, I stood up, but this time, the guards behaved with noticeable respect.

"Your Excellency, please follow us," said the man who appeared to be the leader.

This respect was not unusual; after all, I was the ruler of a state that, while unofficially, now I a vassal of their supreme emperor. Nonetheless, I was still technically a prisoner, so I stood and followed them as they commanded.

When I stepped outside, the twilight of the evening had settled over the camp. The air was heavy and tense, caught between the joy of victory and the sorrow of loss. The guards surrounded me tightly and led me forward. Along the way, the celebrating soldiers cast sidelong glances at me, some smirking mockingly. I tried to keep my face expressionless; I had to maintain my pride. Appearing weak in such moments could be fatal.

After walking for a while, we arrived at the camp's central tent. I wasn't surprised to see the men standing before it. Leading the group were Emperor Exdarth Matteon of Tamerid and King Richard Lenistark of Asina. Behind them stood many prominent generals, and each one, including the emperor himself, bore degrading iron chains around their necks.

I paused, momentarily stunned by the sight. Seeing a powerful ruler like Emperor Matteon standing there with a humiliating iron chain around his neck felt like one of history's greatest ironies. Behind him, the generals and nobles stood, their faces a mixture of shame and rage. But at the center of this humiliation was the man responsible for the victory: Alpshar.

Seated on a large chair resembling a throne in the center of the tent, Alpshar radiated authority. Beside him stood the traitorous Emperor Lutharion of Tiamat, his face adorned with a wide, satisfied grin. Dressed in golden-embroidered armor with a deep crimson cloak draped over his shoulders, Alpshar looked less like a ruler and more like a conqueror—and, in a way, he was. His eyes gleamed with the determination of a man savoring his triumph as he examined the captives. When he saw me, he slightly raised his head, a faint, almost arrogant smile on his lips.

"Ah, the one we've been waiting for has arrived," he said.

Everyone, including my father, Richard, turned to look at me. My father's gaze was a mix of anger and disappointment. In his eyes, I could see not only the loss of a son, but also the echoes of a lost war and betrayal. He said nothing; he didn't need to. His silence carried a weight that words could never convey.

Alpshar rose from his throne-like chair, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. Each step made the suffocating silence in the tent even heavier. His presence was more than just physical—it was a psychological pressure. He never took his eyes off me as he approached.

"Prince Ethan," he said, his voice firm and commanding. "Your arrival brings many questions with it. The role you and your father played in this war... is quite intriguing." His tone was both authoritative and menacing.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he raised his hand, silencing me. "You are not yet permitted to speak," he said. "Still, since you were not the cause of this war, I am willing to forgive you."

The arrogant glint of triumph and control in Alpshar's eyes was unmistakable. After a few seconds of scrutinizing me, he turned and walked back to his throne, his steps heavy with purpose. The atmosphere in the tent grew even more stifling. I glanced once more at my father, Richard, and Emperor Matteon, their chained necks a stark reminder of their defeat. Both rulers remained silent, their quietude a seeming acceptance of their downfall and impending fate. The guards directed me to an empty spot on the right, and I calmly moved toward it.

Alpshar leaned back on his throne and began to speak. "Today, we gather here to finalize the outcomes of this war and to declare the beginning of a new era," he said, his deep, resonant voice echoing throughout the tent. "This war represents not only the conquest of northern lands but also a redistribution of power. And in this new distribution, there is no place for the remnants of the past." Find your next adventure on empire

The traitorous Emperor Lutharion of Tiamat's satisfaction grew even more apparent, as if to affirm Alpshar's words. Alpshar raised his hand, signaling the guards. The guards forced Matteon and Richard to kneel. The clinking of their chains once again disrupted the silence in the tent.

Emperor Matteon of Tamerid held his head high, striving to preserve his dignity. "I am an emperor," he said in a low but resolute voice. "Even if I die this way, my name will be remembered."

Alpshar responded with a mocking smile. "Oh, you will be remembered. But not as an emperor—only as a defeated slave."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

He then turned to my father. My father's face was a mixture of emotions—anger, disappointment, and fear all at once. Richard did not attempt to defend himself with words. Instead, he stood there silently, holding Alpshar's gaze. At that moment, I felt he had lost all his pride.

Alpshar rose to his feet and drew his sword. The intricate golden engravings on the blade shimmered in the light. "In the ancient southern lands where I was born, only a ruler may execute another ruler. Thus, I will personally carry out your executions."

Alpshar's last words deepened the oppressive silence in the tent. My father, Richard, knelt on the ground under the weight of his chains, his eyes fixed on Alpshar. Yet in his gaze, there was neither fear nor submission—only a stony pride. A swirl of complex emotions rose within me. I had never been close to my father; in fact, I had been plotting to overthrow him for a long time. He had been a cold and distant figure—authoritarian as a king, but insufficient as a father. And yet, even in this moment, as he seemed to defy death itself, he commanded a respect from me I hadn't known I was capable of feeling.

Alpshar slowly raised his sword. The air in the tent seemed to freeze; everyone held their breath. This was a moment where history would be written in blood. My father, Richard, appeared indifferent to the death approaching him.

What happened next unfolded both too quickly and as though time itself had slowed. When Richard's severed head fell to the ground before him, I knew I would never forget the sight of his lifeless eyes.

Mere minutes later, the head of Exdarth Matteon, Emperor of Tamerid—the man who until yesterday had been the most powerful figure on the continent—was separated from his body. As Alpshar lowered his sword and exhaled heavily, the surrounding atmosphere shifted. Within the tent, the chill of death and the starkness of defeat took hold. Matteon's and Richard's head rolled across the ground, a brutal reminder of the bitter reality of mortality. The weight of the moment, the smell of blood, and the profound silence that slowly enveloped everything were beyond description.

All eyes were on Alpshar, watching his commanding presence. Slowly, he returned to his seat, and for a while, no one spoke. Yet from this day onward, the legends of Alpshar would spread across the continent like wildfire, growing larger with each telling. On every tongue, there would be only two sentence:

"Alpshar is invincible! - Alpshar never loses!"

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