(Though touched upon before, and many pages in the Royal Chronicles elaborated on it, this Chronicle would not be complete without a brief retelling of the last battle, with both Habakkuk and Barak''s positions considered, in particular with their relation with Charon. If the reader requires more information, the more studious can refer to pages fifty-two through two hundred and ten of the year four hundred and seventeen. Otherwise, this recollection of the events will suffice.)


    It was a day that few could forget, even Barnabas, who witnessed it from a distance, remembered it in his old age as if it happened an hour ago. The place of battle was Jacob''s Ladder, one of the last Citadels from a time before Hatra. Who built them or their exact age was unknown, perhaps someone will answer it one day. There was a time when priests resided inside, but not a soul lived within the crumbling walls of that Citadel for centuries. Jacob''s Ladder was the ideal battleground. It rested in a valley. Hilly country surrounded it. Once the armies charged one another, there would be no easy escape. A perfect stage for the fight to end war.


    The armies met one last time, though the soldiers did not know that this would be their ultimate confrontation. Their commanders spared nothing from their armories, every weapon sharpened and no armor left behind. No horse remained in the stables. Each King sent out their finest warriors to claim the Citadel as their landmark of victory. Leaders delivered magnificent speeches along the way to the battlefield, sending pulses of strength through the weary men, who received the initial encouragement with slumped shoulders. By the time they reached Jacob''s Ladder, all approached the battlefield with hungry eyes, ready to bring the half-century war to an end.


    Among King Li''s men were Habakkuk, Barak, and Charon, the mightiest Hatran soldiers in the last century. The eve of the battle was upon them and it was their custom to sit down together and share a loaf of bread before a battle. They gathered at the top of a nearby slope away from the army where they could look upon the abandoned tower in the last light of day. Barak tore off part of the loaf and crammed it into his mouth. While chewing, he said, "So it will all end tomorrow."


    Neither of his elders paid any mind to his sloppy manners as Charon took his own piece, passing the rest along to Habakkuk. "I should hope so," Habakkuk said, his long, single-braided hair shaking as he chewed his part of the loaf. "If this continues much longer, no one will have enough soldiers to squabble over a pile of stones."


    He turned to Charon, waiting for his lifelong friend and comrade to deliver an encouraging speech, as was his custom. A frown formed on his lips as their de facto leader looked upon his faithful sword, which served him well through the countless battles, seeming uninterested in their conversation. He was not the first man to own it, being one of many. The history of that blade eclipsed the achievements of any one wielder, no matter how great. Legend said that one of its former masters held back an army of five hundred, its edge never dulling. The man that matched into battle with that blade would never taste the cruel bitterness of death. Charon attributed many of his own successes to this sword, called "The Dragon''s Fang."


    To their surprise, his friend''s shoulders slouched for a moment and Habakkuk''s eyebrows raised. Charon was not a man of doubt or complaint. Strength and courage were his defining characteristics. To see anything else was seeing an unfamiliar man, and for a moment Charon disappeared. The man who sat amongst Habakkuk and Barak was not their comrade-in-arms. The traces of fiery red hair amongst the gray lost their flare, as if the passion inside, which made them burn, extinguished. His shoulders hunched forward, as if he would collapse. Where had the fierce Blade of the King disappeared to? "Charon?" Barak called, his voice soft, but strained.


    The man''s eyes blinked as if he were waking up from a dream. He sat up and looked at his comrades with a kind expression. The red reappeared in his hair. "Do not worry my friends," he said in a stern monotone, unlike himself. "This war will end today."


    Habakkuk and Barak exchanged a glance, both concerned by their friend''s sudden solemn nature, and more by his temporary disappearance. Two years before, they stood at the gates of the river town Nile. Enemies had them surrounded, having rounded the walls under the cover of night. Hatra''s forces dwindled on the campaign. Victory was impossible with their troops battle-worn, weapons broken, and armor close to breaking apart at the slightest jostle. The trio sat together in the dead of night, knowing that there was no way to stop their enemies from surrounding them and for the first time in his life, Habakkuk believed that this battle would be his last and Barak, the most agile of them, doubted that he could escape with any dignity, knowing death would be nobler.


    Charon had not lost hope. He looked at them with a grin on his face when Barak, only sixteen, asked, "How are any of us supposed to survive this?" The question was a legitimate concern, but met with laughter from their leader. "What''s so funny?" Barak demanded, his voice raising in frustration. He witnessed more death than he wanted that day, verging closer to falling apart. Habakkuk remained silent, watching.


    "We will not die," he assured, his tone free of all doubt. Taking The Dragon Fang in hand, he raised it in the air. The rising sun glinted off the edge, shining as a beacon. "Today, we will fight for our King and the people we protect, but this will not be the last time that any of us draw breath. There are more years ahead of us." His words were boastful, spitting in the face of Death, but on that day, he spoke the truth. They did not win, but they broke through enemy lines, not losing another man to their foes. Neither Habakkuk nor Barak understood why the battle at Jacob''s Ladder would be anything different. Charon said nothing more on the matter. They ate the rest of their loaf in silence that night, retiring early for the oncoming battle. That was the last time the three warriors saw each other alive.


    The battle that brought an end to the Half-Century War was unlike anything seen before. For the first time in centuries, blood spilled at the Citadel, a place where, long ago, the forsaken criminals would plead for sanctuary from those that longed for their life. On every side of the battle, soldiers watched friend and foe alike torn limb from limb in the name of victory.


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    From his viewpoint, as the other rulers did, King Li watched in tight-lipped silence as his servants threw their lives away for the peace he so longed for, all the while being one of two men from Hatra who knew how the campaign must end. He knelt on the ground every hour the battle continued, praying to the cruel Fortuna, begging her to end it. As far as anyone knew, if the goddess existed, she withheld her right hand of good fortune while her accursed left tarried a moment longer.


    It was Hell. Wave after wave of soldiers charged into the valley throughout the battle. As they drew their blades to fight and ran down that hill, they ceased to be men. The hatred of decades of war twisted their minds. Bloodlust took over and they became demons. From his vantage point, Barnabas dropped to his knees, spewing bile on the ground. He could not bear witnessing these men slaughtering one another. The demonic men fought to claim the Citadel. They charged inside the doors, killing those that tried to overtake it, only to lose control and have an enemy gain the upper hand. No one could claim dominance over Jacob''s Ladder.


    The valley surrounding the Citadel was filled with bodies filled with arrows. Some slain while charging to the battle, and others from trying to storm the enemy''s position. At the Citadel, King Li''s trio showed why they were the best. Charon wounded two men with every stroke of his blade, and killed a man by the second. Habakkuk crushed his enemies beneath his shield, having no offensive weapon of his own. Both proved that their age had not weakened their prowess. Before them, the enemies were rain before a raging wolf. Barak kept up with them, slaying a foe with each twang of his bow. At one point, Habakkuk and Barak took the entrance, holding off two dozen foes.


    Hidden amongst the enemy ranks, Silas, the Spyglass, watched the proceedings. He saw the battle ebb and flow in each nation''s favor. No one could gain a permanent advantage as the day wore on. As the numbers dwindled, soldiers were more careful about their tactics, choosing their foes careful, drawing out the battle long into the evening. Some men raced around the tower, trying to kill one another as if they played a child''s game. Silas wondered how long this would go on, but none of the kings called off the battle. No signs of retreat. The battle raged on.


    Barak''s quiver ran out of arrows three hours before the battle ended, forcing him to use his bow as a staff against the tridents of Myndus. Habakkuk''s shield creaked as dry wood against the mighty hammers of Petra, and fear gripped his heart when he realized that he saw no ceasing to the bloody skirmish, though it would resolve in two hours. Their leader, Charon, battled his way to the top of Citadel to stand before the best warriors of the opposing nations. He knew not their names, nor they his, but from the looks in their eyes, they knew that the outcome of their war would end after the delivering of finishing blow in their three-way duel. Charon stood with no sword in hand. The Dragon''s Fang lay shattered on the battlefield, broken four hours before. With no fear, Charon stepped forward to play his part.


    As the sun set, at the King''s bidding, Boaz''s horn sounded. Barak and a soldier of Myndus stopped grappling, hearing the bittersweet cry. The King''s cry was echoed by Boaz''s men. The horns of Myndus and Petra joined. One by one, every soldier ceased his personal war, realizing what the horns told them. Swords dropped, shields thrown aside, helmets removed, and tears of joy shed. A great cry of victory arose from the battlefield. No man considered the impossibility of all three sides winning, which the horns declared. All that mattered was that it was over.


    That night, the warriors did not leave the battlefield. Those that could treat the wounded did so side by side with their enemies. Beneath the light of the moon, no one cared that only hours before, they were trying to kill one another. Everything was over. The groans of the wounded filled the night. Some slept, but others laid awake, wishing that the day would never come, because they did not wish to face what the light would bring.


    When the sun rose the next day, all saw the death that battle wrought. The sight of the lifeless eyes and pale bodies, contorted in painful death haunted many until the day they died. A deep groaning echoed throughout the three armies. In the heat of battle, they had no idea how many were slain and now they saw the consequences of that ignorant bloodlust. The list of Hatran deaths were many. It was placed in the Scribes to tally the census of the dead. All of the names were scrawled on the walls of the Citadel. It was the least that could be done. Among them was Charon, the King''s Sword, the Great Swordsman of the Dragon.


    Barak and Habakkuk did not see who killed him but upon finding his body, they made their assumptions. They looked at their friend, with two daggers sticking out of his chest. The archer turned aside, hiding his tears from his surviving comrade. The shield-bearer looked on, burning the image into his mind. Charon, the greatest warrior of Hatra, died, but he did not go alone. Across from him laid the opposing generals, one with an arrow in his throat and the other with his shoulders missing a head.


    With heavy hearts, they picked him up as former enemies retrieved their own generals. They exchanged a brief glance of understanding, one that felt like a small eternity. The duo were not the only ones who suffered this pain. Regardless, carrying that great man''s body was one of the hardest things that Barak had to do. Each step felt as if his legs could crumble underneath them. Shoulders slumped, his chest heaved as the pain of his friend''s passing racked his body. How can one maintain their lordly status with a broken heart? As they walked along, their comrades stopped what they were doing, mouths hanging in shocked horror.


    "Do not weep," Habakkuk said in a low voice as Barak sniffed back his tears. "We stand as symbols for our kingdom. If we crumble, this day will end in despair, and not joy." The young man heeded the command with difficulty, maintaining far better than he did at the burial. Together, they carried him away from the battlefield. They laid him on a hill, overlooking the Citadel. His friends stood beside him in silence while the battlefield was cleared. Throughout the day, many soldiers, from all three armies, stopped by the body, to pay their respects for a magnificent man. Habakkuk regarded everything with a firm gaze while Barak tried to hide his sniffling.


    When the Sun set again, King Li appeared. He said nothing, walking past his servants. Ignoring all protocol, he laid down upon the dead man''s mound and wept aloud. No one rebuked him, choosing to watch on in vigil. After a hard fought victory, this was a leisure that only the King himself could afford, as he wept for the whole kingdom which lost its greatest hero. It was this battle that brought the war to the end and was the catalyst for all else.