home

search

•Chapter 8: The king of Veridia

  Before the first blush of dawn painted the horizon with pale rose, an unusual commotion broke the silence of the Valenbois forest. Ragnar, whose sleep had been light and punctuated by dreams of mana and lush fields, was awakened by a faint, flickering glow through the trees. Torches. Several of them, moving with a clear purpose towards the deeper woods.

  An instinct for caution seized him. The Valenbois forest was known to the villagers as a place where natural resources were abundant and where certain particularly precious wild harvests were kept secret. The presence of such lights at this early hour could only portend ill.

  Silently, Ragnar rose from his makeshift bed, gripping his new axe. He slipped out of his cabin and discreetly followed the lights into the darkness. The sound of footsteps and muffled voices reached him intermittently. Soon, he could distinguish the silhouettes of several men wearing dark armor, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. They spoke in a guttural, rough language unfamiliar to him, but the authoritative intonation and the tone of their exchanges left little doubt about their nature: soldiers.

  Drawing closer, concealed behind a thicket, Ragnar could hear snippets of their conversation. The words "dungeon," "rare crystals," and "gold" recurred frequently. They spoke of searching a specific location in the forest, clearly looking for something of value. The mention of a "dungeon" sent a shiver down his spine. This place had never been mentioned by Lysiane or Borin.

  Understanding the urgency of the situation, Ragnar turned back and ran at full speed towards Valdios Farm. Lysiane's house was plunged in darkness, a sign that she was still asleep. He pounded on the door with brutal insistence, his heart pounding in his chest.

  After several loud knocks, a light appeared inside, and the door opened to reveal a disheveled Lysiane, her hair tousled and her eyes still clouded with sleep, dressed in a simple nightgown. Surprise and worry etched themselves onto her face as she saw Ragnar's panicked expression.

  “Lysiane! You need to wake up! I saw soldiers in the forest… many torches. They’re talking about a dungeon, crystals, and gold. I think it’s the Kaldor army!”

  The alarm instantly banished Lysiane’s sleep. Her eyes widened, and she paled. “Kaldor… so soon? Impossible…” She quickly regained her composure, her face hardening. “How many are there? Where are they going?”

  Ragnar explained what he had seen and heard, his account choppy with urgency. Lysiane nodded, her mind racing. “We need to act fast. Wake my men. Take your weapons. Ragnar, you must go warn Borin at the inn. Tell him what you saw. We need to alert the whole village.”

  In moments, Valdios Farm sprang to life. Lysiane’s men, sturdy and armed with swords and axes, gathered quickly. Lysiane, after hastily dressing, gave them precise orders. To Ragnar, she gave a grave look. “Be careful, Ragnar. And come back quickly.”

  Ragnar ran towards the village, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. He hammered on the door of the Boar’s Joyful Inn, rousing a grumpy and incredulous Borin. When he heard Ragnar’s breathless account, his face fell.

  “The Kaldor army… here? So soon? This is a disaster!” Borin rushed outside, shouting the alarm to the few villagers who were starting their day. Within minutes, a feverish agitation spread through Valenbois. Fear and worry were etched on every face.

  Borin, despite his own fear, tried to calm the growing crowd. “Quiet! Quiet! We must stay united and listen to Lysiane. She’ll know what to do.”

  But as Borin tried to maintain some semblance of order, the sound of hooves echoed at the village entrance. A larger troop of heavily armored riders appeared. Their banners proudly displayed the roaring lion emblem: the royal army of Veridia.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  A man in richly adorned armor, mounted on an imposing black horse, detached himself from the group. It was King Theron himself. His face, usually impassive, was tight with anger.

  He dismounted with a natural arrogance and addressed the crowd in a loud, authoritative voice that resonated throughout the village. “Villagers of Valenbois! I have learned of your… resistance. Your insolence in the face of my legitimate agreements with the kingdom of Kaldor.”

  His glacial gaze swept over the anxious faces. “Let me be clear. Either you submit and accept your role in the exploitation of the resources of these lands, or… you will suffer the consequences.”

  At that precise moment, the Kaldor army squad that Ragnar had seen arrived in the village, bringing with them Lysiane and several of her men. They were bound, their clothes torn, and their faces bruised. Lysiane herself bore signs of struggle, her proud posture broken by captivity.

  King Theron smiled with cold cruelty as he saw Lysiane. “Ah, the ringleader. The rebel. Your attempts at resistance were… futile.” He ordered his guards in a curt tone, “Throw them in prison! Let them contemplate their rebellion.”

  The situation seemed hopeless. The people of Valenbois were trapped between the royal army and the Kaldor invaders. Anger and fear rose in Ragnar’s heart. He couldn’t stand by and watch Lysiane and the others be taken away.

  Gathering all his courage, he stepped forward timidly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Your Majesty… please… allow me to speak.”

  King Theron scrutinized him with an air of disdain. “And who are you, peasant?”

  “I am… a newcomer to the village, Your Majesty. Ragnar is my name.” He took a deep breath, trusting in the effect of his recently acquired title. “And I believe that… we should all listen to Your Majesty’s wisdom.”

  The effect was immediate. Several villagers who knew him from his work at the inn and his victory at the hunter’s game ceased their murmurs of indignation and turned to him, a glimmer of hope in their eyes. The effect of his “Respectable Citizen” title was surprisingly potent.

  King Theron noticed the attention the villagers paid to Ragnar. His face relaxed slightly, a flicker of interest replacing his initial disdain. “A newcomer, you say? And you seem more… reasonable than these hotheads.” He narrowed his eyes, studying Ragnar with newfound curiosity. “Do you have an opinion on this situation, peasant?”

  Ragnar sensed an opportunity. He had to play this carefully. “Your Majesty,” he began in a respectful but assured voice. “Your reign is synonymous with prosperity and justice. The villagers of Valenbois may be… frightened by change. But with your guidance and wisdom, I am sure they will understand the benefits of your agreement with the kingdom of Kaldor. We must all work for the good of your kingdom.”

  His words, though spoken with apparent submission, contained subtle flattery and an implicit promise of cooperation. King Theron seemed receptive to his words.

  A slight smile touched his lips. “You are a surprisingly eloquent and… perceptive peasant. I like your attitude, stranger. You understand the importance of order and obedience.” He pondered for a moment, then his eyes lit up with an idea. “Tell me, peasant Ragnar. You seem to have a certain… knack for calming spirits. I happen to need someone… helpful and discreet at my royal palace. A position as… a server, for example. What do you say?”

  Ragnar felt his heart beat faster. This was an unexpected opportunity, a doorway into the heart of power. It might allow him to help Lysiane and the others from within. He bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, it would be an honor to serve you.”

  King Theron smiled, satisfied. “Excellent. From today, you come with us to Veridia. You will learn the ropes at court. And who knows… perhaps your talents will take you further.” He gestured to his guards. “Release this peasant. He is under my protection now.”

  The crowd of Valenbois watched the scene with a mixture of confusion and relief. Ragnar, the stranger, had managed to appease the king and avert immediate bloodshed. But at what cost? He was leaving Valenbois, leaving behind his land and his new friends, to serve a king whose cruelty was palpable. Was his ambiguous pact with power the key to their salvation, or the beginning of a new form of servitude? The dawn of the invasion had given way to a dawn of uncertainty, where the whispers of rebellion mingled with the echoes of a ruthless royal court.

Recommended Popular Novels