Tyrant of the Ruined Sun - Chapter 228
Chapter 228: The Bowing and the Rising
It was rain for barren land, light for a lost ship’s eyes, fire for the frost of winter and the cool breeze for summer’s sweltering glare.
Life.
That is what she is. What she was and will forever be to me. As it then came to me that my mind had grown dull and agitated, not due to the demands of the battle, but because of her. Or rather the lack of her.
Almost like the early withdrawal symptoms of one who’d not taken his dosage of drug in much too long.
My fingers almost gingerly reached out to brush her fair cheek, but they froze mid-action, as I heard her say with an edge of danger to her voice that I didn’t immediately recognize.
“You’re injured.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” I offhandedly said, suddenly remembering the gash I received from that Messer wielding warrior atop the walls, as I lifted my left arm and looked at the rapidly healing wound right above my ribs. “But it matters not.”
“How can it not?” She demanded.
I chuckled, it always came easiest to me in her presence. “It’s already mostly healed, see?” I guided her hand over my wound. “It won’t even scar.”
“Who did it?” She asked a moment later, not withdrawing her hand from the long ridge still imprinted on my skin.
“He’s already dead.” I answered with a knowing tone of voice, sure what manner of thought was swimming in the contours of her mind.
She looked at me as though I had suddenly done her a great wrong, but then she just turned around and gestured towards the tub of steaming water close by, sternly saying “Bathe first. You smell awful.”
I laughed, one that had little cause, but triggered stitches to erupt on my sides before I was finally through, all the while she gazed at me as though I had finally lost my mind.
“As you say love.” I told her a moment later, continuing to take off my constraining armour, something she so generously decided to help me with after a few minutes of finding pleasure in my struggle, and my own threats of calling Horus or my maids to aid me instead.
“Why have you been gone so long?” I asked a moment after I had finally lowered myself into the still steaming water.
“I seem to remember someone giving me a certain task that has been taking much of my time as of late.” She said with mock anger, feigning grief over the struggles of her newest undertaking I trusted her with; though the light grin forcing itself upon her lips did little to further sell her story.
“I see.” I simply said, smiling in return as I further sank into the bath with a groan of comfort.
“You’re not going to ask how goes the plan? If anything had gone awry?” She suddenly asked a couple of minutes later with poorly hidden apprehension in her voice, as she almost rigidly sat upon a chair at the edge of my sight, probably starting to feel self-conscious with only the sounds of rustling water filling the silence between us.
‘This version of her is so innocently adorable sometimes.’ I thought in amusement, before I spoke up calmly.
By Taboolaby TaboolaSponsored LinksSponsored LinksPromoted LinksPromoted LinksExplainer video: Powering every moment in footballCIO | LenovoUndoCooling down the heat: Why liquid cooling is now mission-critical for AI datacentersCIO | LenovoUndoलोढा बेलमाँट, ठाणे – प्रीमियम ३ व ३.५ BHK घरे₹१.७० कोटींपासून सुरू होणारी प्रीमियम घरे. इन्फिनिटी पूल, क्लबहाऊस, जिम, लँडस्केप गार्डन्स आणि रिसॉर्टसारखी जीवनशैलीLodha GroupUndo
“Why would I? It’s you after all. I’m sure that all is as well as it could be.” I then turned ever so slightly to get a better look at her. “And besides,” I smilingly said “you would dislike it if I were to interfere with your work, even if you were having trouble, am I right?”
She did not immediately reply, but subtly shifted in her seat in a way that obscured more of her face in shadow, I even thought she called upon her divine gifts, and willed the shadows to better veil her from me.
“I left Yara in my place. She will continue my work.” She offhandedly remarked a moment later, her tone as cold and proud as ever, her face remained as invisible to me as before.
Unfortunately for her though, I have always had little interest in not acquiring what I most desire. So I blinked my eyes, and when I opened them they had gone a haunting shade of silverish white with slitted pupils, and surrounded by a cloak of abyssal black, parting the darkness like a set of curtains, allowing me to finally see her expression; a small, satisfied smile, tinged beautifully with the slightest dash of colour on her cheeks.
Yet then, her eyes snapped to mine, her amethyst glowing darkly with writhing shadows, as small shapes of shadow and secret momentarily leapt across her skin, and even her hair seemed to darken in colour, abandoning her ordinarily pale blonde hair for a fraction of a blink’s time.
I merrily laughed in response.
Yet while we were having this idle of moment of peace, little did I know at the time, that even in these very moments of bliss beneath the twilight skies, word of the battle was still spreading all over the Murathicus lands; and not just the middle lands, but the southlands as well, and before dawn it would have penetrated the northlands too.
At first though, most didn’t believe it, as was natural when people heard stories that were too grand, or too horrible to trust.
Yet then when the scouts of every disbeliever from every which way came racing to the foot of the White Jewel, and saw the fields of death, the once mighty city half buried in frozen earth and half bathed in still seeping blood, it’s once awe inspiring walls now looking like an old man’s rotten teethe; a solitary, mismatched jumble of faded white spires and columns, smeared with a disgustingly repugnant array of black, grey and red half way up the no longer white peeked mountain, as my brother’s avalanche had already stripped it bare, revealing the deep brown of it’s soil it has always hid behind it’s majestic mane of frigid white; they could no longer brush away the rumours as just that anymore; for they could disregard their ears but never their eyes.
It was then nothing short of a plague of panic for those who remained defiant and war hungry before me when the same news returned to them again, that not only confirmed their worst fears, but had even built upon them, seemingly exaggerating the scenes even more than those before them did.
Meanwhile, it was a jolt of jubilation for those who did not fully commit for honour’s or ambition’s sake back when the initial call to arms by the four great clans had come, that they now fully relished the wisdom of that disgraceful moment they betrayed to fear and cautiously stood back, behind clever ruses and sloppy excuses.
And then they were upon me, not in the traditional sense of the word, they wouldn’t have the courage to do so, even if you gave them a hundred lifetimes’ worth of bravery to accumulate. No, they were not wolves, but vermin, for like a swarm of fretful flies, each dashing to save their own revolting selves, they rushed to where my armies remained to recuperate after the enormous battle, as the many patriarchs of the Middle Murathicus Lands came swooping by on bowing knees, their arms ladened with lavish gifts and their lips plastered with sycophantic words of servitude and loyalty.
It was such a rush for surrender that many generation from now, our future descendants would forever call this event as The Bowing.
The darkest day of the Great Southern War for the Murathicus tribes, and the day the war would grow exponentially more desperate for the two competing sides, one mad with the thrill of an impending victory and the other empowered by the desperate will to survive.
Yet that time ironically enough was not now, for I and my three assembled armies, now numbering a little less than two hundred and sixty thousand strong; since the previous battle, now christened as the Tragedy of the White Jewel, despite being a great victory by any stretch of the imagination, was still a costly one that took the lives of a tenth of my legions, were still camped in place, licking our wounds, in preparation for the coming counterblows.
Blows that came as swiftly and as unexpectedly as a falcon’s murderous dive upon a flock of unaware doves.
For two messages arrived to me early on the eighth day after the battle.
The first was a report saying that the armies of the southern Murathicus Tribes have finally risen from their slumber, and begun their climb from the south towards us. A full army of no less than four hundred thousand strong.
But it was the second parcel that truly surprised us, along with it’s carrier, as it was not a report from our spies, and nor was it from our scouts, it was from one none of my generals knew much about, but whom I recognized all too well.
For it bore the seal of the descendants of the God of Prosperity, the house that founded the fifth great empire in my past life, and the same ones who so valiantly lead it until it’s bitter and untimely demise beneath my hellfire.
And the message was not a call of peace, a missive of surrender, a request of parlay, a howl of outrage, or even a challenge to do battle on a specific field and day, but a simple invitation, carried by the most unusual and terrifying of men.