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All around, the war camp buzzed with activity. Men were running around, preparing to welcome the victorious party back from the most recent battle, the marvelous victory at Stagfield. The empire of Gyrdion had conquered one of the best stocked fortresses of their enemy Hudnigen and the spirit was high. The returning soldiers were crown as heroes of the campaign, winning Gyrdion one of the strategic locations and almost turning the tides of the decades old war. Valentine Lyrennox, a young male with burgundy hair, lead the long trail of men tricking back into the war camp, all smiles and grins for the cheering men that welcomed the soldiers back.
In the midst of the Battle at Stagfield, two of the three captains leading the campaign had fallen sick to a mysterious and gruesome disease. It had nearly destroyed the morale of the troop, leading to what the empire expected to be a disastrous defeat, had a newly recruit knight, Valentine not immediately stepped up to work with the remaining captain to garner the respect and obedience of the troops and directed the entire army to quick victory. Now, the same young man was crown a champion.
Riding his white stallion through the rocky ground for the fifteenth consecutive hour, Val honestly never felt less like a champion. The heat was slick and heavy on his skin, sweat running down his body like an overheated second skin under the heavy plate armor. The insects buzzed and droned all around, ever present and ever annoying. Even the cheering from the other soldiers was annoying. Perhaps if his real goal was recognition, the country and prestige, Val would care a little more. However, he was not a soldier, not a warrior and this meant little to him.
As an assassin, rather than the knight he was pretending to be, Val had an alternative mission. The strategies he concocted to lead the army into victory after poisoning the two captains were merely means to an end. An end of assassinating the Gyrdion general. Through a more than complicated enough past, Val long lost sight of his own nationality, but an old childhood grudge would prevent him from ever seeing Grydion as anything but a foe. For now, he worked as a mercenary, flitting through various countries and he had received an offer big enough to ensure him luxury for the rest of his life if he could kill one of the more powerful Grydion generals. The general of this war camp. Combined with his hatred toward Grydion in general, Val had accepted.
Once they were deep enough within the war camp, Val dismounted, almost collapsing when his legs threatened to tremble out from underneath him, so unused to being on a horse for such an extended amount of time. As he corrected his stance without as much as a falter in his smile, Val was quickly assured that he would be promoted. Straight from new recruit into a rank that a man could respect, a rank that held some sort of importance. Though rumors usually didn’t hold any truth, many a men told him that the general would offer him his new rank himself after a private discussion.
“Many thanks,” Val told the stable-hand that took his horse from him. The mentioned horse, fondly re-named Apocalypse by Val himself, was an exceptional warhorse, a beast he had taken from one of the now dead captains. He gave his horse a last friendly pat before he walked off to his own tent, awaiting the summons from the general or whatever would happen to him now.
500
