Chapter 0008: The Edge of Darkness
The smell of charred flesh lingered in the air. Even from miles away, Raiden could see the thick black smoke rising from the eastern stronghold—the city Malagar had burned to the ground.
He stood at the edge of their camp, staring into the distance. Three thousand people. Dead. Because of him.
Kael approached, his usual smirk absent. "So? What's the next move, Prince?"
Raiden didn't answer immediately. His mind was caught in a storm.
Elara stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. "Raiden, I know what you're thinking. But don't let Malagar push you into becoming like him."
Darius scoffed. "And what if that's the only way to win?"
Silence.
Raiden's fists clenched. He wanted to make Malagar suffer. Wanted to burn his fortresses, slaughter his men, let him feel the same agony he had inflicted on innocent people.
But if he did that… he wouldn't be any different from the tyrant he was fighting.
The war was pushing him to the edge. And he had to decide—how far was he willing to go?
A New Path: A War of Ghosts
Kael exhaled. "Listen, Raiden. You can't fight Malagar the way he fights you. But that doesn't mean you have to play the 'honorable prince' either. We can be smarter."
Raiden turned to him. "Explain."
Kael grinned. "We make him fight shadows."
Darius raised an eyebrow. "You mean guerrilla tactics?"
Kael nodded. "Exactly. We don't march into his fortresses—we make them crumble from the inside. We don't give him a battle—he won't even see us coming."
Elara's eyes lit up with understanding. "Sabotage. Psychological warfare. Make his men fear us more than they fear him."
Raiden's mind sharpened. It wasn't about becoming a monster—it was about making Malagar's kingdom collapse under its own weight.
He turned to his commanders. "Prepare the men. From now on, we are not just soldiers. We are ghosts. Malagar will never know where we'll strike next."
Striking from the Shadows
Over the next three weeks, Raiden's rebellion transformed.
Malagar's generals woke up to find their food poisoned and their guards missing.
His supply lines were raided before they could even reach the cities.
His own men began disappearing in the dead of night—never to be seen again.
Whispers spread through his army—fearful rumors of an unstoppable enemy that moved unseen.
Malagar lashed out, executing dozens of his own men in an attempt to stop the paranoia.
But that only made things worse. His soldiers began deserting, fearing their own leader more than Raiden's forces.
The kingdom was cracking.
And Raiden was ready to deliver the final blow.
Malagar's Desperation
One night, as Raiden was reviewing maps, a scout rushed into the war tent.
"My lord! We have intercepted a message—Malagar is preparing a final move!"
Raiden looked up. "What move?"
The scout's face was grim. "He's gathering all his remaining forces for one last battle. He's marching toward our stronghold with everything he has."
Elara tensed. "He's forcing us into a final confrontation."
Kael grinned. "Good. That means he's desperate."
Raiden took a slow breath. The moment had come. The war was about to end—one way or another.
He looked at his commanders. "Then we make sure this battle is his last."
The Final Battlefield
The ground trembled beneath the weight of thousands of marching soldiers.
Raiden stood atop a rocky cliff, overlooking the valley of Ravengard—the battleground where Malagar had chosen to make his last stand.
The enemy forces stretched as far as the eye could see. Thousands of armored warriors, siege engines, and monstrous warbeasts—Malagar's full might.
Darius exhaled. "That's a lot of bastards."
Elara's grip tightened on her staff. "He's not holding anything back."
Kael smirked. "Good. Neither are we."
Behind Raiden, his own army stood ready. Rebels, freed prisoners, former soldiers who had deserted Malagar's cause. Fewer in number—but hardened by the war.
And now, the final battle was here.
Malagar's Last Gambit
At the heart of the enemy army, Malagar sat upon a black warhorse, clad in dark armor. His gaze burned with fury.
He had lost too much—his strongholds, his generals, his grip on the kingdom.
But this? This was his moment of vengeance.
He raised his sword, and the horns of war echoed through the valley.
The final battle had begun.
The Clash of Titans
Malagar's forces charged, a tidal wave of steel and fire.
Raiden's rebels held their ground, archers unleashing a storm of arrows.
Siege weapons roared, hurling flaming projectiles into the battlefield.
The ground was soaked in blood as warriors clashed, steel against steel.
In the chaos, Raiden led the charge—his sword cutting through enemy lines.
Kael fought like a shadow, slipping through enemies, striking and vanishing.
Darius was a force of destruction, cutting down soldiers left and right.
Elara unleashed magic, fire and lightning tearing through enemy ranks.
But Malagar had planned for this.
A section of Raiden's army suddenly collapsed—betrayed by a hidden force Malagar had kept in reserve. Reinforcements stormed in from the hills.
Raiden gritted his teeth. "Damn it—he knew we'd come here!"
The battle was turning.
Unless Raiden could end it now.
The Duel: Raiden vs. Malagar
Through the chaos, Raiden locked eyes with Malagar.
The warlord grinned, blood dripping from his blade. "Come, prince. Show me what you've got."
Raiden's rage burned. This was it.
He charged.
Blades clashed. Sparks flew.
Malagar was a monster in battle—strong, ruthless, relentless. But Raiden had trained for this moment.
Every strike, every movement—it was the culmination of his journey.
A deadly dance of steel.
Slash. Dodge. Counter. Strike. 🔥
Malagar roared, swinging his blade down in a powerful arc. Raiden caught it just in time—but the force sent him to his knees.
Malagar grinned. "You're weak. Just like your father."
Raiden's grip tightened. "And you're finished."
With a swift move, he drove his sword through Malagar's chest.
The warlord's eyes widened. Blood dripped from his lips.
He fell to his knees, choking. "No… this… this isn't how it ends."
Raiden pulled his sword free. "It already has."
And with one final strike—Malagar was dead.
Victory… at a Cost
The battlefield fell silent.
Malagar's soldiers, seeing their leader fall, dropped their weapons.
The war was over.
Raiden stood over Malagar's lifeless body, his sword stained with the blood of a tyrant.
Darius, Elara, and Kael rushed to his side.
Kael smirked. "Well. That was dramatic."
Elara sighed. "It's over."
But Raiden didn't answer. Because deep inside, he knew… the war may have ended. But the battle for the kingdom had just begun.
A Throne of Ashes
The battlefield was silent.
The war was over.
But victory did not feel like triumph.
Raiden stood at the heart of Ravengard Valley, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen. His people had won, but at what cost?
Darius wiped blood from his blade. "So, what now?"
Kael let out a low whistle. "You know what happens next, right? You don't just kill a tyrant and walk away. Someone has to take his place."
All eyes turned to Raiden.
The war was over. Now, the real battle began.
The Cost of Victory
As they marched toward the capital, word of Malagar's death spread like wildfire.
Some cities celebrated, throwing off the chains of his rule.
Others descended into chaos, with warlords and generals fighting for power.
Malagar's remaining forces either surrendered or turned into roaming bands of raiders.
The kingdom was fractured. Leaderless. Lawless.
Elara rode beside Raiden. "You need to take the throne."
Raiden's jaw clenched. "I didn't fight this war to wear a crown."
Darius snorted. "Yeah? Well, if you don't, someone worse than Malagar will."
Kael smirked. "He's right. Power hates a vacuum. You can either fill it—or watch another tyrant rise."
Raiden fell silent. Was this his destiny?
Return to the Capital
When they reached **Ironspire—the kingdom's capital—**the gates were already open.
The people lined the streets, some cheering, some wary. They had lived under tyranny for too long. Now, they didn't know what came next.
Raiden dismounted his horse, stepping toward the castle.
Malagar's banners were torn down.
His throne room—once a place of cruelty—stood empty.
The crown of the kingdom lay untouched, waiting.
Elara's voice was soft. "The people need a ruler, Raiden."
He stared at the empty throne.
And after a long moment, he spoke.
"Then I will give them one."
The Coronation
Days later, the rebellion's leaders gathered.
Before the people, Raiden took the throne.
He did not wear a golden crown—he chose a simple steel circlet, a ruler of warriors, not kings.
And as the people chanted his name, he made a vow.
"This will not be a kingdom of fear. We will not rule by blood, but by justice. We will rebuild. Together."
The war was over.
But the age of Raiden had just begun.
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(To be Continue...)