He That Brings The Crimson Dawn

"Of course I would trample on the weak…

Would I trample on the strong?"

"Of course I would steal from the weak…

"Would I steal from the strong?"

"Since the beginning of time…"

"The weak have always been trampled on by the strong."

"A thousand years ago…

"And even a thousand years from now…"

"The weak will be stolen from by the powerful."

"The only truth in the world is the powerful wrecks the weak."

"The powerful… plunders the weak."

"This is… the only truth that does not change."

Gil Tae Mi from the Korean TV show Six Flying Dragons/Roots Of The Throne.

….

The Crimson Dawn.

It was a title Por Severn gained a long time in the past after he single-handedly slaughtered 20 men in a night attack.

He was a man who brought a blood-red dawn to his enemies.

A brutal killer.

A murderer.

Just because it was legal murder does not change the fact that it was murder and that each life taken can haunt a man for the rest of his life.

Otherwise, PTSD would not be such a prevalent problem amongst ex-servicemen even in the real world, as you had to look into the frightened eyes of each man killed who each had his own loved ones.

Those who were their friends.

Those who were their family.

Those who cared for them.

Those who waited with baited breaths for their return.

When Por told his comrades of his decision to retire 8 years ago so that he could look after his wife and son, they tried their hardest to stop him from making what they saw as a reckless decision.

He was one of the best fighters in the group, able to reach the peak of the expert rank by 40 years old. He was close to becoming a master fighter, using his vast combat experience to dominate his opponents and the battlefield. After all, apart from a few of the top mercenary groups in a kingdom or nation, very few had master fighters amongst their ranks.

Even expert fighters were somewhat of a rarity, let alone Por Severn, who could take on two men of equal rank to him without breaking too much of a sweat.

"Stand down, old man. You wouldn't want your kids to cry like that girl back there, would you."

The veteran raider and elite soldier of Jarl Hrodgæir Lifolfsson chuckled when he saw the sword in the ageing man's hands, sneering at his audacity, but what was slightly unsettling for the ruthless raider was how calm Por seemed to be even when facing so many armed men and how the sword seemed to be one with his very being not flinching in the slightest unlike the other villagers did when threatened as some even shook and pissed themselves out of fear.

"Tor, take your sister and mother and head for Waeldestone. They'll be safe there under the lord's protection."

Por smiled kindly at his son before turning back to the raiders. His piercing gaze, filled with bloodthirsty killing intent, sent a chill down the veteran raiders' spines—a sensation they had not felt in a long time. Instantly, this mysterious villager put them on guard, as he may have far more familiarity with the cold hand of death than expected.

"I'll deal with this."

Por said, his voice taking on a dark dominance his son had rarely ever heard or experienced. It was ice cold and spoke of a distant past of threats and violence, seeming to turn from an ageing, kindly old man to a vicious asura in a second. The calm way this man seemed to face death was deeply unsettling for many of the raiders who would value their lives over all else.

Not understanding that for Por, there was something far more important than his life.

This was his family.

His bloodline.

Those who saved him, their loving caress melting the ice that surrounded his heart, retrieving him from the mental hell he was trapped in, which just reaped life after life.

They saved Por from his greatest enemy and what can be man's greatest enemy.

Himself.

They helped him overcome the darkness that lives within each man, whispering like a worm to be let out and bring chaos to the world.

Something that Por would sacrifice his very self for and woe on to those who threaten what was precious to he that brings the crimson dawn.

Tor Severn Por's son quickly took his sister and mother and left the remaining three family members, beginning to run to the town whose walls were beginning to come into sight, a welcome sight to the fleeing villagers.

Por stood calmly as the two veteran raiders, intimidated by the man's presence, began to circle around him, their mail jingling slightly as they took positions both in front and behind the calm former mercenary so that they could pincer him from two sides and quickly kill this problematic villager.

Their other comrades were busy, and the seconds lingered as neither side moved until one of the raiders did something to force Por's hand.

A third raider had appeared, running briskly towards Por's family, only for a sword to emerge from his chest, the shining steel tip piercing through the mail that protected him, the armour ripping like paper as blood flowed down from the newly made hole in the man's chest. Appearing behind him like a shadow was Por. His fiery red hair was now tinged with blood, and the two raiders gazed upon him in shock. He seemed to teleport from their encirclement to appear behind their comrade, who slumped to the ground. The sword in his back was twisted before being removed.

Red veins appeared around Por's iris, which turned from dark brown to almost black, and a calm rage flowed through them because if looks could kill, then all that would remain would be the raider's mangled corpses.

The other raiders all stopped what they were doing to look upon this demon, who was seemingly able to move and kill freely like a ghost. Each did not believe what they were seeing, not knowing that the man's potential had finally been awakened after being dormant for so long because his family's life and freedom were on the line.

They say that of all the emotions in the world, love is one of the strongest.

The demon, the man who brings the crimson dawn, finally awakened once again to the point that he finally ascended to that realm, that skill level that all people dream of.

The realm that would allow him to protect not only his family but his fellow villagers, too.

He ascended to the ever illusive master rank.

A rank only a tiny percentage of the entire world's population, if not less, ever reach.

"He's a ma-."

One of the raiders began to shout in shock before a red line of blood appeared on his neck, where Por's sword cut it. The blood gushed from the wound, flowing like a raging river as a hand grasped at it, trying in vain to prevent the vital life force from leaving his body and the blood he constantly coughed up.

The last thing the raider saw was Por's ruthless black eyes and his comrade's dying corpses littering the ground before his body lay still and lifeless, and his soul was taken to the underworld.

Por cut down one man after another, blowing them away like a fierce gale wind, effortlessly parrying his assailant's attacks. His well-oiled and bloodened steel sword cut through their mail armour like paper as his enemies folded before him and ran for their lives from this combat demon they had mistakenly angered.

It was destined to be a very crimson, bloodstained dawn after all.

….

"Captain Sigert, we have a problem!"

One of the veteran raiders cried out to his leader, his eyes full of fear as he pointed at a bloodstained man who was slowly walking towards them and where the other captured villagers were blood dripping from his blade, leaving a trail of corpses in his wake.

"Aiya! What sort of problem could make you– oh, I see...."

Sigert, the leader of these elite raiders, said with annoyance until he followed his frightened subordinates' finger. His expression, once lazy and unconcerned, turned darkly serious in an instant, and he understood why the veteran raider looked the way he did.

Full of fear for a bloodstained demon.

"That problem."

Segert said a single feel of the man's aura was all Sigert needed to reach an accurate conclusion.

This man who was approaching was a master-level fighter and a very pissed-off one at that. It seemed that the danger his family was in had unlocked the man's potential.

He was most likely an ex-soldier or mercenary from the way he handled and was so familiar with the sword. One who had retired and only wanted to live a peaceful life with his family until the raiders showed up and forced him to lean back on the skills that he had suppressed for so long.

'Why did we have to awaken a tiger?'

Sigert complained internally, mainly because he would have to come out personally to deal with this problem, but he was not worried; instead, his eyes flashed with excitement.

For Sigert was not who Demarcus or many of the other raiders thought he was, who were under the impression that he was nothing more than a captain sent to lead the Jarls veterans.

No, he was a trusted master-level fighter under the command of Jarl Hrodgæir, sent by the nobleman to watch over Demarcus, report on all his doings, and determine whether he would be an asset to slowly nurture for long-term use or eliminate when the time was right.

Sigert was excited because he finally had a worthy opponent he could go all out against, as the men with him were the Jarl's elite and loyal soldiers, and while many would be unable to deal with the power of a master fighter, each was trustworthy and would not leak Sigerts secret in fact many of the veteran raiders new of his skill at arms, and it was the reason why he was sought out as soon as things began to go awry.

Sigert drew his axe and walked towards the enraged black-eyed man, his other hand clutching a round shield. Sigert was far better armed and armoured than the angry man before him, giving him the confidence to win the upcoming fight. It was only a shame that by the time they could catch up to the fleeing villagers.

Both men stopped ten meters from each other, taking the other in one calm while the other was rage-filled with his calmness long lost during the bloodbath he had committed. The two dozen or so corpses disfigured to various behind him show the result of his angered outburst.

Some of the corpses had limbs missing, arms and legs severed and scattered about, while others were headless, the bloody carnage able to affect even the most disciplined of soldiers. 

"Are you the one in charge of these men?"

Por asked, his voice tinged with his unstable emotions, which threatened to break out of control at any second. His body shook in an attempt to prevent the man in his mid-forties from going berserk once again.

"I am, but I am not the one who gave them their orders. If I had known that someone like you was among the villagers, I would have left you lot alone. After all, we came to get rich, not to throw our lives away fighting one pissed-off expert."

"Unfortunately, that water is already spilt, so how about you leave now with the rest of the villagers and run behind those safe walls of your lord's, and we can all go our separate ways."

"After all, we already have enough villagers, and I have no desire to fight you." 

Sigert asked diplomatically, as he did not want to fight with a master fighter even if he was newly ascended. As in the condition that his opponent was in at the moment, he would be able to bring out far more power than his level would generally permit.

"Are you saying that if I were not here, then you would continue ripping families apart?"

Por asked, his voice colder than the artic as he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down and suppress his raging anger.

"Of course, and you, you have also oppressed the weak, have you not?"

"Those who cannot defend themselves."

"Those so-called innocent civilians you are so valiantly defending now."

Sigert argued back, answering Por's question.'

"What crime have they committed? For what reason will you take and enslave them?"

"Because they are weak?"

Por shouted, his emotions close to bursting.

"Yes, I take them because they are weak."

"Because in a world like ours…."

"Being weak and unable to defend yourself is the worst crime in the world."

"Worse than treason for a man who commits treason and usurps the throne successfully becomes king and the new ruler of a country."

"Worse than murder as it is the best of the murderers that rule over us as a sanctioned murder is still a murder."

"But you understand that better than most, don't you?"

Sigert smiled, having come to understand the man in front of him and what he fights so hard for.

"Of course you understand."

"For your actions are not just to protect your family, isn't that right."

"No, it is an act of repentance."

"For the terrible crimes, you have committed in this life. For the lives you have destroyed."

"Some of which are worse than even my own." 

Sigert chuckled before coming to the most important question that needed to be asked.

"So tell me, will you spill more blood, dying the world a crimson red, wielding your blade of justice to take more lives, sending the dependents of those you have killed into heartbreak and poverty."

"Or will you turn back while you can?"

"For you must remember…."

"You are not the only one with loved ones, with a family you must protect and provide for!"

"For one more man killed in your anger is another family that will wail and cry for a son or daughter that will never return."

"Tell me, hero, can you live with that weighing on your conscience."