The Sinful Young Master

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of their complicated relationship. They were equals in status, both great generals of the Arshiks Empire, but there existed an unspoken hierarchy between them.

Remin's raw strength and tactical brilliance had earned him the position of commander for this campaign, placing him temporarily above Iorina in the chain of command.

Yet there was no resentment in her acceptance of his decision—only professional respect.

Iorina nodded once, gathered her reins, and with a sharp command to her warhorse, set off toward her army.

Her army had been present on the left flank, clearing out the battlefield. They were also done with killing off the remnants and were ready to leave.

Remin watched her leave, his expression unchanged but his mind calculating.

They had won a decisive victory.

"Captain," he called, and a battle-worn officer approached immediately.

"Sir."

"Put Saerag's head on a spike," Remin ordered, his tone matter-of-fact.

"We take it with us to the county."

The captain nodded without question and moved to carry out the order.

It was a brutal practice, but one with purpose—a visceral message to any who might consider continuing Chittera's aggression against the Empire.

As his men prepared for departure, Remin's thoughts turned to Wymar.

The mage had been sent to the county days ago, before this battle had even begun, tasked with negotiating with Count Hamen. But the reports that had reached Remin were troubling—Wymar had failed to secure Hamen's agreement, and more concerning still, he had not returned to report in person.

It was unlike Wymar to disappear, especially in times of conflict. The man was no warrior, but he was shrewd and cautious. Something must have gone very wrong at the county.

Above, a shadow passed over the battlefield.

Remin glanced up to see his dragon circling high above. The beast was a rare black-scaled dragon, smaller than the ancient dragons of legend but no less deadly. Its presence had been instrumental in their victory today, though Remin had held it in reserve until the critical moment.

With a final look at the battlefield, Remin mounted his own horse—a sturdy war stallion bred for endurance rather than speed.

Unlike Iorina, he preferred a mount that would not fail even after days of hard riding.

"Move out," he commanded, and the remaining army began to form into marching columns. Chittera's forces had been defeated here, but reports indicated there were more enemy troops on the move.

The county would be their next destination—and perhaps there, he would discover what had become of Wymar.

-

In the verdant meadows that spread outward from the county's stone walls, a different kind of confrontation was unfolding.

The pit formed by the crash of the creature; there stood Jolthar; he walked out of the pit leisurely.

His movements were light yet somehow heavier, as if the air itself resisted his passage through it. The sword he unsheathed gleamed with an inner light, responding to its master's transformation.

The rune marks on the sword were cracking, and it was visible now.

Green energy, like liquid emerald, seemed to flow just beneath the surface of his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

As he stepped fully into the sunlight, something unexpected happened. The sun was on the horizon, a couple of hours away, ready to dip in and disappear.

The Vaemani stone—which was embedded in Count Hamen's wrist bracer—suddenly flickered with intense light. The stone tore itself free from its setting, shooting through the air like a comet, trailing green fire as it hurtled toward Jolthar.

Without conscious thought, Jolthar's hand snapped up, catching the stone in mid-flight.

The moment his fingers closed around it, a surge of power coursed through him, temporarily turning his veins visible through his skin as networks of bright green light.

The sensation was not painful but clarifying—as if a fog had been lifted from his mind.

He stared at the stone in his palm.

It pulsed with the same energy that now coursed through his body—the energy he had taken from the Beast King rather than being taken by it.

He stared at the beasts, which were bowing their heads towards him. They were submitting to him and the stone too.

In that moment of connection, he understood a simple fact.

Jolthar turned his gaze first to the beasts that surrounded them—massive, misshapen creatures that had once perhaps been wolves or bears or things even less recognizable, now twisted by magic into weapons of flesh and bone and fury.

Then his eyes found Count Hamen, who stared back in confusion and growing alarm, his wrist bare where the stone had been.

He was startled when the stone flew out of his hand, and he was staring at Jolthar anxiously.

The conclusion was simple and immediate: Hamen had been controlling these beasts using the Vaemani stone's power. The artefact was a key, a focus that allowed dominion over these corrupted creatures.

And now that power rested in Jolthar's hand instead.

With deliberate slowness, Jolthar tossed the stone back to Hamen, who caught it reflexively, his aristocratic features twisted in confusion and fear.

"Say, Count Hamen," Jolthar called, his voice carrying a new resonance that seemed to vibrate in the bones of those who heard it.

"Will I gain anything if I kill the barbarians?"

Hamen blinked, clearly thrown by both the question and the transformation he was witnessing. The count's fingers closed around the stone, but he seemed to realize it no longer responded to him as before.

Something fundamental had changed in the balance of power between them.

"You would," Hamen replied finally, calculation replacing confusion in his eyes.

"The Empire would reward you generously."

Jolthar nodded once, accepting this answer as sufficient. He turned away from the count, his attention now fully on the gathering of Dagur's men—barbarian warriors from the southern territories.

They stood in loose formation at the edge of the meadow, their crude weapons and furs a stark contrast to the cultivated land they sought to claim. They were incredibly alarmed by the presence of Jolthar and the power he radiated.