The stench of metal, blood, and smoke clung thick over the battlefield, dense enough to choke a man. Back then, the young mercenaries reveled in the chaos, demons on horseback with wild eyes and red-soaked cloaks. Blood sprayed the earth like paint on old parchment, turning the dry dirt into a mural no poet would dare describe in full.
As the last desperate clashes echoed across the field, a new rhythm emerged heavy, thunderous steps. He made lesser men falter with a glance. As the battle simmered into its final moments, peasant fighters began dropping their weapons. Some still resisted, clinging to hopeless defiance.
A rather large, imposing man stepped out of a tent, olive-skinned, still whole in those days… and deadly. His beard, thick as a lion’s mane and black as coal, framed eyes that made lesser men question their lives in an instant. He walked with the weight of a man who knew how stories end.
As this menacing figure stepped toward the defeated, He paused as his gaze landed on a peasant still clutching his weapon this particular peasant caught his eye — a boy with the eyes of a warrior but the body thin wiry serf.
"State your name, boy!" the general barked.
The peasant replied in a confident tone “I’m Agraios son of Georgos”.
“Well Agraios are you aware of the consequences for such treachery your men are tired your arms meager if you were to forfeit your weapon now I might spare your life” replied the general in a cold calculating tone.
“Do you take me for some sort of Malakos?” chuckled Agraios, and then he swung at the general with venomous intent.
With a swift dodge and a flick of the general’s blade, Agraios’s head was parted from his body, as surgically as an Echo physician removing a crippled arm. Without even turning around his cheek now painted in blood “We’ve got a bounty to claim in Antioch.”
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Turning around He stepped toward his second-in-command, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered: “Round up the ringleaders and have them executed. Release the rest.”
As the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, the smell of the battlefield, metallic and smoke-filled, had become a mere distant memory. With each step the general took toward the gates of Antioch, the city’s bells rang louder and louder. The scent of barley hung musky in the air as people settled down for the night, the sky above a collage of oranges, blues, and pinks.
The head of Agraios, now grey and cold to the touch, dangled from a rope like a demented trophy. It swayed from the saddle of a large, imposing stallion, fur as dark as coal, hair as white as snow. Behind it marched a company of thirty men, clad head to toe in tanned leather armor. Some wore shirts woven from a strange material, faintly glowing, as if stitched from phantom light.
As they neared the city walls, a booming voice called down from above, laced with the sharp accent of city folk.
“WHO’S AT THE GATE?”
The general raised his head and roared back.
“IT’S ME — GENERAL CYRUS OF NAPOLI!”
The great gates groaned and shuddered before slowly rising. As the army marched through, Cyrus lifted his chin and called out again, this time with a mocking tone.
“I BEAR GIFTS, YOUR CONSULATE!”
The courtyard doors burst open. A pungent mix of frankincense, candle smoke, and aged papyrus poured out like a dust storm.
Out stepped a rotund man dressed in intricate red and black robes that resembled a dress, trimmed in gold accents. Behind him marched guards clad in full classical Al Pashi armor — fitted to mimic the human form, their cuirasses shaped like torsos of bronze statues.
The man’s voice boomed cheerfully once his eyes locked with the dismembered head from across the courtyard.
“GLAD I COULD COUNT ON YOU TO PUT DOWN THE REBELLION!”
Cyrus, replied flatly.
“Well, that is my job, no.”
“Oh please don’t be so modest you are one of if not my most reliable mercenaries.” The consul chuckled. “But you look like you need a drink... and maybe a few lucky ladies.”
“Maybe another time,” Cyrus replied, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, come now. You’ve been at war for a solid three days. The least you could do is relax a little. Besides, I bear gifts... but you’ll need to attend the party, of course.”
Cyrus gritted his teeth and let out a breath before answering.
“Okay. But I’m going to catch some sleep first.”
