《The Tank is Mightier Than the Sword》 Prologue In 2023, researchers at America¡¯s secretive Area 51 facility unwittingly opened a portal to an alternate dimension. Never ones to back down from a challenge, the researchers gathered a small scouting team and sent them right on through.Stolen story; please report. And boy, did their bravery pay off! There, the team found an incredible fantasy world filled with knights, castles, elves, dwarves, dragons, demons, magic¡­ and oil. Yup, oil. You know where this is going. 001. The King of the Elves King Alonso ¨C that¡¯s King Alonso the Great of House Capriellus, Premier Vanguard of the Alvari Kingdom, Holy Protector of the First Scriptures, Dragonslayer, Chief Patron of the Circle of Mages, Hero of the People, He who Commands the Seasons, the Magnificent and Magnanimous, and the Destined Ruler of All Nations to you, thank you very much ¨C sat upon his throne with a decidedly bored expression gracing his plump, double-chinned face. The full cheeks and jowls of a well-fed fellow; the airy eyes of a peacetime king. Indeed, everything about the elf, from the thick Northern furs that lined his robes to the blood-red jewels that adorned his pointed ears, screamed of the utmost comfort and opulence. Of course, Alonso wasn¡¯t entirely a picture of glory. If one stood back a bit and squinted their eyes, Alonso could almost pass as a halfbreed of elf and pig. But to the king¡¯s credit ¨C and in his defense ¨C he had once been a dashing young fellow. Somewhere beneath the folds of fat, behind the thin, wispy beard and head of graying hairs, the handsome features of the young Prince Alonso could still be found. Somewhere. ... Probably. As if mourning the once-glorious appearance of his liege, the head advisor, a spindly elf who looked to be everything Alonso was not, let out a saddened sigh. How he missed the sight of the king leading his soldiers into battle, riding on the back of a pure white steed, sword raised defiantly into the sky! Some years ago, the advisor had even gathered the courage to warn His Majesty about his growing waist, but Alonso had been none too pleased. For the insolence of pointing out that the king was, in fact, fat, the head advisor had paid dearly with his¡­ Well, nothing really. Contrary to what his appearance and rather gratuitous set of titles might suggest, Alonso was actually a very good king. A great one, even. He was known to deal fairly and justly with his subjects, was well-liked by the bourgeoisie for the various economic reforms he had put in place, and he had, in fact, struck the killing blow against an invading dragon during the peak of his youth. Even now, though he looked detached as can be, he was actually in the middle of carrying out his kingly duties, and was listening to his marshal¡¯s daily report. ¡°We continue to train our soldiers in the usage of the longbow, sire. As I believe I said yesterday, even the elves and men who have been training for over a year still struggle to hold their draws. We are, of course, on the path to doubling our efforts in this regard. Ehm¡­¡± The marshal absentmindedly twirled the ends of his handlebar mustache as he scanned the rest of his notes. ¡°Other than that, sire¡­ there is only the matter of the Rosy Raiders left to report.¡± At the mention of the mercenary company, Alonso¡¯s ears perked up. He prompted the marshal to continue, speaking with a sonorous and commanding voice that contrasted impressively with the state of his health at large.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°And what of them, good marshal? Are they still making themselves a nuisance upon our border?¡± ¡°Well ah¡­ yes sire, they are.¡± The speed of the marshal¡¯s mustache twirling increased; the change was slight, but it was enough for the king to notice. ¡°And?¡± ¡°Well, sire, they¡¯ve actually become bolder in their antics. They¡¯ve¡­ laid siege to the human town of Pirreno¡­ But there is, ah¡­ there is, of course, no need to worry yourself about this trivial matter, sire. I¡¯ve already dispatched a regiment of our finest troops, and we¡¯ll have the heads of those bandits mounted on stakes before the next moon.¡± He hesitated. ¡°You have my word.¡± Alonso leaned back further in his throne and sighed. Peace was good and well, he thought. But peace also meant that mercenary companies like the Rosy Raiders (who sported a god-awful name, he might add) were out of honest work and would often resort to banditry and pillaging to keep themselves fed. He held out a chubby hand and waved to dismiss the marshal. ¡°I... have faith in you, Riccard. You may go.¡± Riccard bowed deeply, grateful relief evident in his eyes. ¡°Your Majesty.¡± As the marshal turned to leave, his cape whipping around him as he did so, Alonso reached out and motioned for his head advisor to move a bit closer. ¡°Tell me, Marsus. What do you make of these ¡®Rosy Raiders¡¯?¡± The advisor hummed softly as he gathered his answer. ¡°I am of the belief that they are hardly a cause for concern, Your Majesty. These poorly-named mercenaries are but an insignificant droplet against the overflowing cup that is our nation¡¯s great military.¡± Alonso gave a short chuckle. ¡°You still aren¡¯t a very good poet, my friend.¡± ¡°My deepest apologies, sire.¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± A moment passed in silence. ¡°But! To return to the subject, Your Majesty. The only things you should even be remotely worried about presently are, dare I say it, your health¡­¡± He paused to gauge Alonso¡¯s reaction, and he continued when the king gave no indication that he was going to take the bait. ¡°...and Archmage Ataraxis¡¯s letter from two moons ago.¡± At this, the king furrowed his eyebrows. ¡°Marsus, kindly remind me of the details.¡± ¡°Absolutely, sire. The Archmage wrote to us regarding a ¡®temporary tear in the Ether,¡¯ and described how something catastrophic could happen if the tear were to open again. That said, he also wrote how the chances of that happening are virtually nonexistent, and that he would quickly send word if it did.¡± Alonso formed an ¡°o" with his lips as he recalled the incident. The Archmage had a habit of fear-mongering, only to tell the victim just a few words later that everything was actually going to be perfectly alright. It was an annoying trait of the otherwise agreeable elf, and the curt letter had given Alonso quite the scare despite the reassurances it contained. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep for a number of nights after reading that.¡± Marsus smiled knowingly. ¡°Neither could I, sire. But as we have not heard from the Circle of Mages since, it would appear that all is well.¡± ¡°So it would. So it would...¡± Finding himself sufficiently back at ease, Alonso let out a sigh of content. ¡°Say... might it almost be time for my midday meal? I am feeling rather ¨C¡± There was a loud bang as the doors of the throne room flew open, and a single robe-cladden figure marched his way inside. ¡°Your Majesty!¡± the figure hollered as it lowered its hood. A clean shaven head with runes tattooed on the scalp. A pure white beard so thick that it wholy compensated for the hairless void above it. It was Ataraxis, Archmage of the Alvari Kingdom. And he looked worried. ¡°The Ether!¡± he shrieked. Alonso and Marsus turned to face each other. ... ¡°Blast.¡± 001.5. Mary Sue The rolling plains of Eidolos were the very image of pastoral serenity. Sprawled out along the eastern edge of the Alvari Kingdom, the green and golden swaths of grass and shrubbery seemed to stretch on endlessly in every direction, and they were broken only by the occasional river, forest, or small village hamlet. To the various fauna that called those plains their home, theirs were lives of relative peace and comfort. Food was in abundance, and predators had such easy pickings that many of the animals there could grow old and die without ever having known the fear of being hunted. Yet things hadn¡¯t always been like that, nor could such idyllic conditions stand the test of time. As the life of a single person might move in cycles, so does mother nature in her long, drawn-out machinations. Prosperity always gives way to poverty; fertile lands grow overused and death looms ever larger on the horizon. Even the little family of rabbits sitting atop one of the plain¡¯s many small hills, under the shadow of a single, ancient tree, appeared well aware of this fact. The mother, in her instinct, had noticed something was amiss, and she had gathered her young from where they were hopping merrily through the grass. They huddled close together, despite the warmth of the afternoon air, and sat with eyes peeled, ears pointed up and alert. Seconds passed. A minute. An hour. And then¡­A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Crack! After announcing itself thus, a wretched tearing sound followed, as if the very fabric of reality was being split apart. The rabbits frantically turned their heads, looking for a source. And there it was. A ball of pitch black that seemed to suck away all the light around it, yet paradoxically spewed forth purple tongues of smoke at the very same time. It hung in its spot, a meter or so above the ground, producing a deep and chilling hum that shook the mother¡¯s cowering bunnies to their very core. Was it the end? Was this it? But just as quickly as these terror-stricken thoughts entered the mother rabbit¡¯s single-tracked mind, the ball collapsed upon itself. The smoke vanished in an instant, and the light the ball had previously consumed suddenly erupted outwards in a blinding burst. When it cleared, and the rabbits¡¯ visions had recovered, they found in its place a strange¡­ Beast? It reminded them vaguely of the wooden boxes the humans often traveled in, yet this one was so much¡­ sleeker. So much more¡­ alien. One of the male bunnies, who was easily the bravest among them, curiously raised his head and slowly left his mother¡¯s side in the hopes of getting a closer look. Before long, however, he bounded right on back; the sleek box beast had let out what could only be a roar and had started to move. Little did the rabbits know that they were looking upon the catalyst for the greatest change their world would see since the cataclysmic war of a thousand years prior. An M1 Abrams, a vehicle of death from another time, another reality. As the armored beast continued to move forward, towards the cover of a thick forest a short distance away, its turret shifted somewhat, as if saluting the family of rabbits with its raised and outstretched gun. Had the small animals been able to read, they surely would¡¯ve shuddered as the light of the sun washed over the main gun. There, in bold, black lettering emblazoned along the length of its barrel, the tank proclaimed its fearsome name: ¡°MARY SUE¡± 002. Crew (19K) It ain''t me, it ain''t me-e, I ain''t no senator''s sooon, son. It ain''t me, it ain''t me; I ain''t no fortunate ooone, naw! The mouthwatering aroma of spit-roasted venison filled the small clearing, and the three weary soldiers sitting around it revelled in its warm, smoky embrace. The crackle of fire and the sizzling of heated fat provided a soothing backdrop to CCR¡¯s famous late-60s hit, and as the guitars and wailing voice reached a fever pitch, so did the cooking flesh; there was a pop as a juicy pocket of fat burst against the flames. Perhaps the makeshift crew was at least a little bit fortunate after all. Not just because of the delicious meal that awaited them, no. After all, they were currently on a top-secret mission, one for which they¡¯d been promised extremely handsome compensation. Moreover, this top-secret mission of theirs granted them the opportunity to explore a strange new world that fewer than a thousand people back home had even the slightest inkling about. To top it all off, they were doing the whole thing in relative safety, thanks to the M1A2 Abrams tank parked near the edge of the clearing. Tank X01, 0-0 CAV. Against the woodlands that surrounded it, the imposing figure of Mary Sue looked rather out of place. A man-made beast encroaching in an image that would otherwise contain nothing but the beauty of nature untouched ¨C and it was untouched no more indeed, a fact that the young, spring flowers crushed under the weight of the tank¡¯s pitiless tracks could very easily attest to... The fire crackled loudly, spitting forth a flurry of sparks. ¡°I gotta say, dudes. This is kinda great. Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve cooked meat like this since the last time I went on a camping trip with my old man. And that was like, ten years ago.¡± Sergeant Major Christian Waszniak pulled up a tuft of grass and began running it through his fingers as he finished voicing his thoughts. He watched with mild interest as the loose clumps of dirt crumbled off the end of the blades as he shifted them, and he felt the urge to keep tearing at the ground. He pictured his mother¡¯s scowling face. Christian! Stop killing all the goddamn grass! Like hell, he laughed silently to himself. He dropped the tuft he was holding and swiftly uprooted another one. ¡°Sure is. Sure is.¡± The man sitting next to him, Staff Sergeant Joshua Carson ¨C a well-built individual who touted an almost uncanny resemblance to The Rock ¨C stared into the fire pit while he nodded in agreement. ¡°Still, I¡¯m gonna miss my family. Got pulled into this little romp on such short notice, and all I could tell my wife was ¡®yeeaah¡­ I¡¯m getting deployed somewhere I can¡¯t tell you about.¡¯¡± He frowned at the fire. ¡°She probably thinks I¡¯m off fighting the North Koreans or some shit.¡± Christian laughed. ¡°Eh, you¡¯ll get to go home again in a few months. Just like any other deployment, really.¡± ¡°Well sure. But in other places, you still get to call home and see their faces while you¡¯re gone.¡± Christian shrugged. ¡°I guess.¡± ... ¡°No family?¡± ¡°Nah.¡± Eager to cut the conversation short, Christian grabbed a stick off the ground and began poking at the venison in front of them. He licked his lips. ¡°Hey, Lieutenant.¡± He turned to the woman sitting to his left. ¡°Think this is ready?¡± At this, First Lieutenant Lydia Zhang looked up from the leather-bound Bible opened across her lap and glanced at the fire and roast. Within seconds, she too was taking stabs at their cooking meal; after a few moments, she smiled. ¡°Yep, I believe it¡¯s ready. We¡¯re good to start eating, y¡¯all.¡± As Lydia closed her copy of the Good Book and tucked it gently into her bag, Christian struggled to hold back a laugh. That ¡°ya¡¯ll,¡± he thought. That fuckin¡¯ ya¡¯ll! Ever since the first time he¡¯d heard Lydia speak, he had been nothing short of enthralled. Not in that way, though he and the other male members of the squad certainly weren¡¯t daft, and had noticed right away that the young lieutenant was quite the pretty lady. Instead, he was absolutely in love with the fact that Lydia, a woman of clear Asian descent, spoke with an authentic southern drawl.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. It was hilarious! Still trying to suppress his mirth, Christian subconsciously puffed out his cheeks and let out a muffled snort. At the same time, Joshua had finally turned his eyes away from the flames ¨C upon landing his gaze on Christian¡¯s ridiculous, pufferfish-like expression, he too started to laugh. ¡°Haha¡­ The fuck you doin¡¯, man?¡± Watching the two men, Lydia sighed and shook her head. Mild disappointment evident in both her face and the way she moved, she stood up and turned towards the olive green sleeping bag that lay at the foot of their tank. ¡°I¡¯ll go wake Kevin,¡± she said. And so she left. With Lydia temporarily gone, there was no longer a reason to laugh; Christian calmed down and Joshua thereafter, and the two sat in silence as they waited, the former electing to continue his genocide against the forest grass all the while. Before long, Lydia returned, a groggy and disgruntled Lance Corporal Kevin Miller trailing behind her. They resumed their spots around the campfire. ¡°Can someone say Grace? ¡° So you know that when you die, He''s gonna recommend you to the spirit in the sky! ¡°And please turn off the music.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Joshua switched off his speakers. ¡°Thank you. So about Grace¡­¡± Lydia glanced at the three men before her, who were all trying to avoid her gaze. ¡°I mean, shouldn¡¯t you have the honors, Lieutenant? You¡¯re like, our leader after all.¡± ¡°Eh. I don¡¯t want the two of y¡¯a¨C the two of you... snickering away while we pray.¡± She turned to Christian and gave him a meaningful look. Christian gulped. ¡°Well, uh. I guess I can try?¡± ¡°Please.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± The four soldiers folded their hands together, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads. ¡°Uh¡­ God? Ah¡­ thank you for this food. And¡­ and¡­ and uh... aw shit, man, I don¡¯t know what else to say.¡± Lydia sighed. Somehow, she knew in that moment that she would be sighing her heart out in the days to come. She cleared her throat. ¡°Our Father in Heaven ¨C hallowed be your name. May your Kingdom come, your will be done, on Earth¡­ and this new world¡­ as it is in Heaven. We thank you for this food before us, and pray that you would see fit to bless us again tomorrow. Lord¡­¡± Christian shifted restlessly. ¡°We do not know what the coming days will bring, but we ask that you be our guiding light ¨C that you would lead us through these unknown lands, making us to act in ways that would bring glory to your name. Forgive us our transgressions, o¡¯ God, and may you keep us on a holy path.¡± She sniffed. ¡°In Jesus¡¯ name we pray. Amen.¡± The four soldiers raised their heads in unison, though they all wore different expressions on their faces. Where Lydia looked pensive, Christian looked mildly amused. Where Joshua looked impressed, Kevin looked like he was on the verge of falling back to sleep. ¡°God damn.¡± Christian clapped his hands together in what could, perhaps, be best described as sarcastically sincere applause. ¡°Looks like we got ourselves a pastor.¡± ¡°That was¡­ well said,¡± Joshua agreed. Lydia reached for the knife at her side and leaned in towards the spit. ¡°Thanks,¡± she said. Without another word, she began to cut away at the venison, the heat from the fire against her hands making the prospect of eating all the more tempting. When she was done, she skewered the resulting chunk of juicy meat on the tip of her knife. She brought it to her lips and carefully took a bite. She squeezed her eyes shut. ¡°Mmmmmm!¡± There was no need for her to say anything more. In unison, the others ¨C even Kevin, who admittedly fumbled a bit in the process ¨C grabbed their own knives and pounced on the roasted deer. They reacted to the well-seasoned meat exactly as one would expect. ¡°Yooooooo.¡± ¡°Wow, this is¡­ Mmm!¡± Christian dug into his piece and tore ravenously at the hearty flesh. ¡°Holy shit lieutenant. This seasoning you threw together. Fucking amazing.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± The blank expression on Lydia¡¯s face declared that she had no desire to elaborate. Seeing this, Christian felt his voice falter a bit. Had he actually hit a sore point? Had Lydia been a dude, he¡¯d probably call her something along the lines of a ¡°fuckin¡¯ pussy¡± for getting mad about something like this. But as it was... Perhaps I should apologize, he thought. When he cleared his knife, going so far as to lick the blade clean of juices, he sat himself up straight and gently cleared his throat. ¡°Hey, uh, Lieutenant? I want to apologize. About laughing at the way you talk. But, you know, it¡¯s just that I¡¯ve never met an Asian woman who speaks like you do before. I mean, that doesn¡¯t really justify it or anything. But you know... Sorry.¡± For a moment, Lydia considered glaring in response. Finding herself unable to continue holding the appearance of stewing anger, however, she relaxed and chuckled softly as she leaned in to cut herself another piece. ¡°Eh. Don¡¯t worry yourself about it. You¡¯re not the first to do it. And besides¡­ I¡¯d probably laugh my ass off if you spoke with a Chinese accent.¡± ¡°Ha! That¡¯d be something else.¡± ¡°It sure would.¡± Lydia smiled as she continued to work her knife. ¡°By the way, feel free to call me Lydia when we¡¯re just hangin¡¯ around like this.¡± ¡°Oh. If you say so, Lieutenant.¡± Joshua clucked his tongue disapprovingly. ¡°You mean Lieutenant Lydia.¡± ¡°No.¡± They all turned to look at Kevin. ¡°Keep it simple, you fags. Lydia. Call her Lydia like she asked.¡± ¡°Hey now, who¡¯re you calling a¨C!¡± Lydia smirked as the three men barreled headfirst into a heated name-calling contest. In more than one way ¨C quite a few more, really ¨C they were little more than children. Rowdy children who knew how to fight. She bit down on a fresh slice of meat and savored the scrumptious flavor. Truth be told¡­ she might actually come to really like this hodgepodge crew of hers. One day. 003. The Rosy Raiders By all accounts, ¡°Sir" Vincenne Hawkwood ¡°the Astute¡± was, unabashedly and unforgivably, a giant piece of shit. The self-titled knight (no ruler with even a shred of dignity would possibly entertain the idea of knighting a cretin like him) was hated by his men, hated by the common people, and hated even by his own mother. His men followed him only because they begrudgingly accepted his tactical genius and enjoyed the wealth his skills brought to them. The common people had no say in the matter, as they were powerless before his sword. And his mother¡­ well, suffice to say that she was no longer a living member of this world. Did Hawkwood play a role in that last part? Perhaps. Such complications and a deceptively whimsical name aside, the Rosy Raiders represented a most terrifying combination. Two thousand well-seasoned and well-armed men, led by a bloodthirsty hound who cared for little except the sound of gold clinking loudly as it poured into his coffers, and the screams of women as he forced himself upon them. In times of war, the Rosy Raiders could always find work; what strategically-minded ruler wouldn¡¯t want an army of skilled killers under his command, ones who could strike fear into the enemy peasantry and who he could claim ¡°were not his responsibility?¡± And so the Raiders grew rich, fighting in the various lordly disputes and skirmishes that so often graced the land. Or at least, ¡°so often¡± in the past. It had been over half a decade since the last major conflict on the entire continent of Carolain, and the false reassurances of peace held the land in its fattening embrace. Ah, peace ¨C a mercenary¡¯s greatest enemy. Though if that same mercenary was willing to part ways with nearly everything that made him a decent man, peace could also be his very best friend. For the upstanding gentlemen of the Rosy Raiders, peace was akin to a mistress. From his position atop his dappled-gray horse, Hawkwood watched with relish as his men carried out the wholesale slaughter of the villagers before them. Men, women, and children alike were cut to ribbons as they tried to flee through the river towards the walls of Pirreno off in the distance. Hawkwood crossed his arms over his chest and could barely resist the urge to laugh. In truth, the Rosy Raiders didn¡¯t have to carry out their killings here. Instead, they could easily have waited at Pirreno; when the peasants reached it, they would find the walls of their safe refuge fully under siege. Still, this was something Hawkwood liked to call ¡°securing profits.¡± In his experience, peasants on the run would always take their most valuable possessions with them, and he liked to bring said possessions under his own control as soon as it was possible... He took a deep breath, and his nostrils flared. Out of the corner of his eye, Hawkwood saw what appeared to be a small family of three breaking away from the main group of villagers and trying to slip away upstream, along the near bank of the river. Hawkwood turned to face them and narrowed his eyes. A man, a woman, and what was undoubtedly their child. Men, women, and children... ¡°Fabian. Do you see that?¡± Hawkwood raised his saber and pointed at the backs of the fleeing family. There was a mad glint in his eye. Fabian, his second in command, nodded, the visor of his polished metal helmet rattling as he did so. ¡°I do, Sir Hawkwood. Shall I give chase?¡± ¡°No, no. I am claiming them for myself. Stay here on this bluff and make sure that everything proceeds smoothly.¡± Hawkwood paused and cast his gaze over the carnage in the river. By this point, he noted, the water had already begun to turn a sickly red. ¡°Though given the look of things, that shouldn¡¯t be too difficult to do.¡± He turned to Fabian and gave a short nod before lowering his visor. ¡°Nonetheless, Fabian, you will keep on the watch.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Of course, Sir Hawkwood.¡± ¡°Gyah!¡± Without further ado, Sir Hawkwood was off, the hoofs of his trusty steed raising a plume of dust as it kicked itself into motion. As he approached the figures in the distance, he saw them speed up; heads turning, feet moving ever faster in an attempt to get away, voices raised to the sky in a desperate plea for their god to spare their pitiful lives. Behind his deathly visor, Hawkwood licked his lips. The sound of wind rushing past his helmet and the feel of adrenaline surging through his veins... There was nothing quite like it. Few things in this world were as exciting as chasing down his prey. A hundred meters. The father of the small family was slowing down, waving madly with his hands, urging his wife and child ¨C a daughter, it appeared ¨C to continue on without him. Fifty meters. Hawkwood watched as the father, a middle-aged man with gray in his hair, stopped and turned. There was a hatchet in his hand. Ten meters. Hawkwood grinned and raised his sword, just as the fool before him charged towards his horse. He felt time slow and his heartbeat rise. Though common sense told him that a hatchet in the hands of a lowly peasant posed little threat to a seasoned warrior like himself, he had trained his body to always prepare for the worst. Hawkwood brought his saber down and, a second later, the man on the ground swung his hatchet. Fwish. The hatchet had missed. Unsurprisingly, the peasant had completely misjudged the speed of the approaching horse and had swung far too late. To be fair, a farmer in these lands had almost certainly dealt with wild boars in his lifetime and would be more than capable of timing a charge. Boars were very fast, Hawkwood reflected. As it was, however, horses were far, far faster. Hawkwood pulled on the leather reins in his left hand and slowed his horse to a walk. He gazed over at his handiwork and let out a sarcastic sigh. ¡°Ah, look at you. Do you see it yet, my friend?¡± Hawkwood breathed deeply, as if he were thoroughly enjoying the scene playing out before him. ¡°Do you see the afterlife?¡± The older man lay twitching on the ground, clutching desperately at the gash across his upper torso, one that stretched from one shoulder to the other. Blood was already pooling over his leather tunic, and the life was steadily draining out of his wide-open eyes. Shock. Fear. Anguish. It was beautiful. ¡°Mauriz!¡± The man¡¯s wife, who had been stunned into silence before, now screamed as the reality of what had happened finally dawned on her. Acting as if Hawkwood was no longer there, she ran up to her dying husband and fell to her knees by his side. She placed her hands on him, paying no heed to the crimson stains that now covered the sleeves of her blouse. In her despondency, however, she found herself frozen in place. Hawkwood watched as the woman stared into her husband¡¯s eyes, unable to do anything to save him or even to lessen his pain. ¡°Mauriz. Please, Mauriz!¡± The dying man, with the scant traces of energy still left in his body, raised a bloodied hand and rested it against his wife¡¯s cheek. With his final breath, he uttered a simple, yet impossible, request. ¡°My love. Save¡­ Myra. Precious¡­ Myra¡­¡± His eyes closed and his hand slipped away, the streak of blood he left on his wife¡¯s face the final act of a life cut short. ¡°Mauriz! Mauriz, no! Please, Mauriz! Come back to me, Mauriz!¡± Below his visor, Hawkwood grinned. Now then, time to finish off¨C ¡°Myra! Don¡¯t!¡± The mother¡¯s scream was quickly followed by the smell of burning cloth. Hawkwood narrowed his eyes. Where was it coming from? He turned around atop his horse, searching for a source. When he began to feel heat against his back, however, and his horse began to kick in terror¡­ His cape! Without thinking twice, he grabbed on to the neck of his cape and pulled it loose. With a whoosh, he swung out his arm and flung the cape away. It flew only a short distance before landing on the ground, and he watched in silence as it was soon reduced into a pile of blackened ash. ¡°So...¡± Hawkwood''s voice was icy. ¡°Where did that come from?¡± He looked at the mother, whose eyes were wide with fear. Then, he turned his attention to the daughter. ¡°Myra. Myra, run! Run! Don¡¯t look back! Ru¨C¡± The mother''s last word was cut short by Hawkwood¡¯s sword slicing into the side of her neck. Within seconds, she had crumpled to the ground beside her husband. The little girl screamed. Against her mother¡¯s final wish, she ran up to her parents¡¯ lifeless bodies, a look of confusion on her tear-soaked face. ¡°Mama? Papa?¡± Her cries for her family started as a whimper. Before long, they had turned into a howling wail, one borne of a crushed and broken little heart. Had he even an ounce of humanity left in his soul, Hawkwood would have stopped and reflected on the devastation he had wrought. However, he had forsaken his compassion long, long ago, and the only thing on his mind in that moment was how lucky he was to have found a young and budding magician. He licked his lips. ¡°Now then, Myra. My original plan was to sell you to the slavers. But seeing as you''re able to cast magic¡­ Heh. Now that will earn me a pretty little prize indeed.¡±