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Lance's Anger
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The scouts and Gazelle exchanged glances, a silent amusement flickering in their eyes as they watched Lance. His smile, a thin, almost predatory curve of his lips, held a secret they couldn't fathom. They chuckled softly, a low rumble of mirth that died quickly in the tense atmosphere. Little did they know, that smile wasn't born of confidence, but of cold, calculated knowledge. Lance knew exactly who would fall, and who would be left to mourn."Gazelle," Lance's voice was a low, commanding rumble, "the moment they cross the valley's threshold, unleash the traps. Let them taste the earth before they even know what hit them." His gaze swept over the assembled troops, a sea of steel and determination. "Knights, cavalries, form a wall! Deny them escape! Let them know this valley is their tomb!" He turned to the archers, his eyes burning with a fierce light. "And you, my archers, your arrows will sing a song of death. Aim for the heart, aim for the eyes, aim for the soul!"A chorus of a
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The dust kicked up by his retreating soldiers still hung heavy in the air as Lance crested the final ridge overlooking the valley. His mind, however, was already miles away, focused on the city below. He had sent a silent, urgent command, a mental ripple that echoed through the minds of every soldier guarding the city walls, ordering them to abandon their posts and retreat to the safety of First Fort. A thousand lives, he knew, hung in the balance. A thousand lives would have been spilt like water on the cobblestones if he hadn't acted.He had only been gone a few hours, a mere blink in the face of impending doom. Yet, when he returned, the city he had sworn to protect lay in smoldering ruins. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and death, a grim testament to the ferocity of the Beastmen horde. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the ravaged cityscape.And Gazelle was nowhere to be found.A cold fury, sharp and consuming, ignited wi
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Swoosh!A blur of feathered death whizzed past his ear, the wind from its passage ruffling the prince's hair. The dense fog, a suffocating blanket of grey, swallowed the arrow's trajectory, making it even harder for Lance to anticipate the next attack. Prince Drakan, a cunning strategist, had deliberately chosen this city as the battleground, a labyrinth of twisting streets and shrouded alleyways, designed to cripple Lance's greatest strength: his army. Drakan knew the legendary warrior's prowess on the battlefield, his ability to command troops with an almost supernatural instinct. Even Drakan, a prince renowned for his own martial skill, wouldn't dare face Lance and his legions in the open. This fog-choked city was his weapon, a tool to isolate and break the warrior, to force him to rely on his own strength alone.Lance pressed on, his boots crunching on the damp cobblestones. He had unleashed every light element skill at his disposal, each one met with an impenetrable wall of g
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"The eighth circle," Prince Drakan rasped, his voice a grating echo of its former grandeur, "I attained it before I'd even tasted the sweetness of two decades. Yet, the ninth stage, the pinnacle of power, remained tantalizingly out of reach. Fifty years I toiled, clawing my way through the celestial labyrinth, only to find myself forever tethered to this desolate plane. A cruel jest, wouldn't you say?"His laughter, a hollow, mirthless sound, reverberated through the chamber, bouncing off the cold, obsidian walls. "The heavens, they are not merciful, you see. They bestowed upon your father the gift of the spirit body, a shimmering beacon of divine favour. But for me, they offered only this…this prison."He gestured around them, his eyes burning with a cold, bitter fire. "They delivered you to my doorstep, a fragile offering, a pawn in a game far grander than you can comprehend. And your father," Drakan's voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "he will pay the price for your demise. He w
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The news of Lance's capture rippled through the Empire like a shockwave, leaving a trail of stunned silence in its wake. Duke Kelvin, the stoic patriarch of House Kelvin, received the news with a silence that spoke volumes. Whispers of his fury, of shattered porcelain and splintered wood, painted a picture of a man consumed by rage. Mansions, symbols of wealth and power, crumbled under his wrath, but no official word, no declaration of war, emerged from his lips.Princess Ladia, her brow furrowed with worry, felt the weight of the Empire's precarious situation settle upon her shoulders. She hadn't anticipated the devastating impact of a single city's fall, a single life's capture. The Beastmen, with a cunning stroke, had severed a vital artery in the Empire's military might.The four Ducal houses, pillars of the Empire's strength, were now fractured. House Kelvin, shrouded in a veil of silent fury, remained a question mark. And House Lance, their heir captured, had fallen silen
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As if responding to my command, the magic circle erupted in a blinding flash of crimson light. The air crackled with raw energy, the scent of ozone mingling with the ever-present stench of decay. The ingots, bathed in the blood-red glow, began to vibrate, their metallic surfaces shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence.Runes and symbols, ancient and arcane, sprang to life, dancing and swirling within the magic circle like a swarm of fireflies. They pulsed with an eerie light, their intricate patterns weaving a tapestry of power that stretched towards the ceiling of the basement, forming a crimson pillar that seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality.A stark counterpoint to the vibrant crimson pillar of light, a hazy grey aura began to emanate from the decaying corpses. It coalesced, swirling and twisting, until it formed a dense, inky black cloud that billowed upwards, attempting to smother the radiant energy.The air filled with a cacophony of anguished cries, the tormented w
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"The audacity of this author!" Roland exclaimed, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and apprehension. He found himself pausing every few sentences, his gaze lingering on the words as if they held some hidden power. The book was a veritable bombshell, daring to criticize the very foundations of their society. It painted the royal family in a scathing light, accusing them of insatiable greed and a complete lack of self-discipline.However it was the author's stance on slavery that truly captivated Roland. With unwavering conviction, the book condemned the practice, asserting the fundamental equality of all humans and denouncing the notion of one person being inherently superior to another.This was a dangerous message in the Brightwing Empire, where, despite the law prohibiting slavery, the practice persisted in the shadows. Noble families, cloaked in their wealth and influence, continued to exploit the vulnerable, their illicit activities shielded from the prying eyes of the law. R
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His gaze fell upon the decree, the stark black ink proclaiming a chilling mandate: all nobles were obligated to dispatch five thousand soldiers to the frontlines."Five thousand," Roland breathed, the words heavy with disbelief.The impossible weight of the order pressed down on him. They had been meticulous in their training, their ranks swelling daily with eager recruits. Their prowess had blossomed over the past few months, their strength rivaling even the most formidable armies of the esteemed nobility. Yet, their numbers barely scraped the surface of the demanded quota, hovering around a meager three thousand."So we march to the front," Roland murmured, the grim reality settling upon him like a shroud.A ripple of unease spread through the ranks of the new recruits, their faces pale with apprehension."Are we truly going to the front?" one young man stammered, his voice trembling.The northern front, while not an immediate threat to their isolated city of Ice Demon, was a chilli
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