Will of the Battlefield

"That was quite a blow," said the man in a green mask.

"A dog fight, always bliss to the eyes," the silver-masked man gave his opinion.

Thane and the rest were worried, Max’s pulse rose as his brain raced. All of this happened because of his greed, he thought.

Thane, on the other hand, was inquisitive and thrilled. There was something within him that craved such blood-boiling battles.

John and Antonio had their eyes fixed on the screen, their gazes looked grave and perhaps pessimistic.

"I am itching to jump into the fight, how long has it been since I fought like that?" the silver masked guy mumbled.

"I can help you recall your last duel," said the only lass in the chamber, the lady in a blue mask.

She turned her head toward the silver mask and continued. "Should I?"

The man in the silver mask scoffed, as if he couldn’t rebuke the girl.

"I shall take my revenge, the days are not far away anymore," he mumbled and gently touched his groin, his eyes turned ruddy as he did.

Amidst all that, the man in a golden mask turned his head toward the head of Goldcaster Merchandise.

"Antonio..." he said, with a tone so deep that a blind man would believe it was the voice of a mountain.

Whatever words left his mouth, they sounded less like chatter and more like an utterance.

Antonio Goldcaster carefully moved forward, not too fast nor too slow, in a pace that seemed respectful.

"It’s our first meeting, sadly, unofficial," said the man in the golden mask. "I assume you are aware of our identities. At least, some of ours." He said and turned toward the man with an orange mask.

Antonio nodded his head with a calm smile on his face. "There is some truth in your statement. I have my fair guesses.

However, I cannot show proper respect until I have total confirmation. As it can cost me my head."

With those last words, he looked into the eyes of the man in the golden mask. Suddenly, Antonio felt as if his soul was leaving his body.

The eyes he glanced into were empty, bereft of dreams and happiness.

Just like the vast windy ground upon which occurred a war so wicked that all that was green turned red.

Such land becomes home to a curse, forged by the wailing souls of those who died but should not have.

But how could he compare such a battlefield with the eyes of a man? Yet to his bewilderment, he did.

The man in the golden mask looked at the boy who was with him.

"That child blessed with beauty is yours?" asked the man as he examined Maximilian Goldcaster.

"Yes, he is," Antonio replied. He was extra cautious at this moment, he had a vague idea about the identities.

He was only sure about the man in orange. Just his existence alone gave Antonio enough pressure to sweat, but he was a man of sheer guts and phenomenal artifice.

"That person behind is our employee, he works for the imperial government, John Prada."

The man in the black mask said, his words now carried an otherworldly authority, as if the one who got a shut-up call was not him but someone else.

The golden masked man examined John for a moment. "House of Prada. Interesting."

At last, the eyes were now on the injured giant, Thane.

"The man of instant fame, you fought last night, shitty fight I’d say," the silver masked man uttered as he looked at Thane.

Thane bit his stitched lip and quietly heard the remarks.

"But..." the silver masked man continued. "You got balls, kid."

"What is your name?" the orange masked man asked. He was in deep thought ever since Vidu showed his cursed beast form.

Until now, his eyes scanned the big lad, from feet slowly ascending to his head.

He stared profoundly at Thane as if he was a slave to be sold at a high bid.

"I am Thane," he said.

"Thane who?" the black masked man inquired.

Thane looked at Max. He didn’t know what to do, neither did Max. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

So, in return, he turned toward his father, who gave him a slow blink, a signal of affirmation.

Max nodded at Thane.

The giant teen finally straightened and boldly said. "I am Thane Ironforge, third son of Thomas Ironforge."

The voice hit like a hammer to their heads, even the uncaring lass in the blue mask who sipped her tea behind the veil stopped and took a glance at Thane.

"You are the son of Thomas!" said the man in the black mask as he stood from his seat.

The silver mask stood and strolled toward Thane.

The masked person stood 6’1, slightly shorter than Thane. "Aren’t you a bit short for an Ironforge?"

"I am only sixteen years old," Thane said. He felt his throat dry.

The silver masked man’s eyes widened in shock. "What a breath of fresh air you are."

One thing that he understood ever since he stepped into the capital was that his family carried a talent in their blood that demanded respect and awe.

Just when Thane was pondering that, the golden masked man lifted his hand and took off the mask, and within a second, the mask was off.

The man behind the mask had dark grey hair streaked through his beard and moustache, thick and immaculately kept.

His features were stern, almost severe, yet undeniably regal.

Thane’s heart skipped a few beats, a sheer pain in his chest caused solely by surprise, a gigantic surprise that he was not ready for.

He saw that the maskless man had seven black lines upon his face.

Each curved elegantly across his skin like ink painted by a master’s hand, dark as midnight and impossibly precise.

The lines usually diminish the appearance of the blessed, but in his case, they elevated him, giving him a strange, unique presence.

He was a Seven-Lined Blessed, one of the handful of people who stand at the very pinnacle of the world.

Before Thane and Max could process and gather their thoughts,

Antonio Goldcaster dropped one knee and uttered. "This insignificant subject is honoured by your presence, Your Majesty."