Will of the Battlefield

A man sat on his knees, holding another person in his lap, blood dripping from the latter’s body as he lifelessly rested with a bitter smile on his now crimson lips.

Hawk gazed at his fallen brother, myriad thoughts invaded his mind as he touched Vidu’s blood-painted beard, gently stroking it.

Reginald came closer, calmly and slowly. "Get up, son."

"Was I wrong, uncle?" Hawk asked as he turned his head towards the old man, he couldn’t hold his tears at that point, they wailed down against his will.

Reginald lowered his head at Vidu and answered. "I don’t know the answer to your question, Hawk."

He paused for a moment before speaking again. "What I know is neither of you are at fault, you both chose paths that were destined to clash.

I am sure that Vidu would have asked the same question if he was in your position."

Hawk nodded and looked back at Vidu. "I’ll live, brother. Not the life you lived, but a better one, for you and Teo as well, I promise."

Hawk realised he never hated his brother, it was Morris only. They simply stayed silent and couldn’t decide which side to take.

Morris was a strong blessed as well, a war veteran, not the one to be easily killed.

None of the brothers open heartedly discussed such matter, and that misunderstanding grew into mutual hatred.

Unlike Hawk, Vidu couldn’t find another family, he was all alone with the whole world to face.

With his father and brother dead by his only alive brother.

The ability to trust someone left him long ago, he ruled by power and fear.

And as the time passed, that constant hatred turned him into a bitter man.

Hawk bowed his head to kiss his dead brother before lifting his breathless body.

"Let me carry him, you can’t walk." Reginald suggested.

"No, uncle. He was my brother, I’ll bury him with proper rituals." Hawk insisted.

"As you wish," said Reginald as he raised his hand. The barriers started to fade one by one with a strange humming noise.

A lady with expensive attire clapped from among the bystanders and, one by one, the rest followed.

Within a few seconds, the entire arena erupted in applause. The deafening sound of clapping echoed as they left the fighting grounds.

Inside the chamber of VVIPs, no noise of applause could seemingly break the tense silence.

Max’s eyes were locked on his father as his hope began to shatter. His father was a merchant who would do everything to get favourable odds.

And now, his lifelong goal was about to come true, a rank of nobility.

With his one yes, the Goldcasters would change from merchants to nobles.

The calm king judged Antonio, with composed patience and aged wisdom.

With the end of the duel, all attention fell on Antonio. Every masked man looked at Antonio, including Ildiem.

"Why are you taking so long, my friend? The generous king has offered you something that every merchant desires, say yes," Ildiem said, making sure to win the king’s favour.

But who was the king? A man who had seen people’s flattery every day since his birth.

He gave Ildiem a side look, a simple eye connection and Ildiem sank his head into his chest, his flattery backfired.

Antonio Goldcaster finally raised his head, he had come to a conclusion. "Your Majesty."

The king leaned his back against the chair with an uncaring look and judging gaze.

"Hawk is not something I can sell, he is not my property but a butler of my son," he answered.

"I understand," the king replied right away and turned towards Max. "It’s you who I should bargain with then."

Max flinched and gulped subconsciously, he was suddenly feeling a great pressure pinning him down.

"How old are you, son?" asked the king. He used words that kings never uttered to anyone other than their bloodline.

"I am seventeen," Max replied.

The king smiled. "What an age to live. I feel like I was seventeen yesterday, time flew incredibly fast.

What do you want to do in your life, any youthful dream?"

Max was dumbfounded. "Do all kings talk like that?" he asked himself.

The king was beyond kind with his words, the pressure was no longer felt by him.

"I..." Max hesitated, he looked at his father as he answered. "I want to become a strategist."

The king raised his brows. "Not a merchant but a strategist, that is new to me."

"Not actually," the gentleman in an orange mask retorted. "There were several who applied but barely a few got acceptable results."

"Then I’ll be the first." Words unintentionally came out of Max’s mouth, his childish ego was challenged.

Hearing those words, the orange masked man laughed. "Haw haw haw, I like this kid," he said.

Max was taken aback. "Why the hell did I say that?" he thought.

On the other hand, Thane tapped his back. "Very good, Max," he whispered.

The king finally broke his stern look and a soft chuckle left his lips. "What a pair of kids."

He raised one leg and rested it on his other and continued. "Son, I will give you an offer that you won’t be able to resist. Unless you are not honest with your dream."

Max blinked his eyes rapidly, his heart raced as he awaited the next words.

"If you send your butler to my service, then I will make you the direct disciple of our Grand Strategist, Sohrab Subzoi."

Max’s eyes widened, even Thane, who was usually unaware of the world, knew that name.

The grand strategist, head of military affairs, the leader and first heavenly hero of Bentram Kingdom.

The man who was at the highest peak of strategies and tactics, a thorn in enemies’ eyes, a living legend that every strategist would sell his entire inheritance just to become his disciple.

Everyone looked at the king, even Antonio Goldcaster was flabbergasted.

This was something far more precious than the rank of nobility. Any desciple of the grand srrategist would eventually become a high ranked official.

But to everyone’s surprise, Max gave a quick response. "I apologise for my rudeness, your Majesty. But I respectfully decline."

The king narrowed his eyes. "May I ask the reason behind your refusal?"

Max gulped again as he stepped forward. He forgot to give proper respect in his previous answer so he bent his knee this time and spoke. "There are two reasons, your Majesty.

Firstly, it would be a disaster for my own troops if I was to become a strategist through the backdoor. I need to become a strategist using the road that our grand strategist took, through academy.

And the second reason is... Hawk is like my elder brother. No honourable man shall trade his brother for riches and fame."

Quietness fell in the room, the eyes were now on the king. Only the man in the orange mask was looking at Max.

The king stood from his seat and strode towards Max. He held him by his shoulders. "Rise, son."

Max quickly stood. The king then looked at Antonio and said, "Antonio, you have raised an excellent child."