Incursion

Sauron rushed towards Arwin and grabbed him by the collar, his face twisted with anger. He couldn't believe that this man had the audacity to force his way inside and beat up his knights, only to say something so absurd.

"A Dreadmoor bastard pretending to be a winthrope knight?!"

Arwin chuckled as he removed Sauron's hand from him.

"Huh... I did not expect this to happen," he said, lightly wiping off his clothes with his hand. His awkward smile quickly turned into blank.

Arwin took off his blindfold and adjusted it, covering his mouth and nose. Sauron felt uneasiness creeping on his skin as he noticed the wide, gruesome scar on Arwin's face. It was more than a third-degree burn; it looked terrifying.

"I still need to have a talk with you, but it seems like I have to go now," said Arwin, taking out a small flask filled with a purple liquid. He then dropped it on the ground.

"You...!"

"Besides this, I have also prepared a small gift."

'A gift?'

Arwin gazed upwards, looking at the second floor where the kids are inside. Realizing what he meant by that, Sauron's heart began to throb fast.

A resounding thud echoed through the room, catching the attention of Arwin. "And so it begins," he remarked.

!

The flask made a loud crashing noise as the liquid spilled onto the ground, releasing a pungent odor with a violet smoke.

'Poison...?!' Sauron thought, slowly taking a step backwards. Even though he was so angry he could crush the man's face that was right in front of him on the solid wooden floor, he quickly ran upstairs to check on the kids.

"You're going the wrong way, my lord!" Arwin shouted sarcastically.

Sauron busted the door open, panting like a dog. The room was empty, the children weren't in the room no longer. The window stood ajar, a chilling breeze creeping through the gap. His frustration growing larger, he dashed towards the open window and peered out. In the distance, he saw Arwin walking outside.

As he gazed out, the smoldering ruins of his village, the once-beautiful houses now reduced to piles of ashes and rubble. The smoke of their burning flesh rose above the air as his eyes swept over the the village. Bodies of his knights were seen lying, their blood seeping into the ground.

"Gwen! Juriel!" he exclaimed. There were the kids, unconscious as they got carried by Arwin's men towards a wooden carriage.

Arwin then halted and turned around as he stood at the entrance of the manor. He then raised his hands to his mouth to call out Sauron. "Meet me behind the mountains, and we will be waiting for you!" he shouted before turning back and getting into the wooden carriage with the kids.

Sauron's heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest. He couldn't comprehend the sheer evil that had brought this destruction upon his home. This person had not only taken away the innocent children, but had also unleashed this hell upon their peaceful village. He clenched his fists, his anger boiling within him.

"Remember my name! Arwin Fedora of the Dreadmoore knights, that is!"

"Cowards!" he shouted, his voice filled with frustration and fury. Sauron's heart raced as he quickly descended down the stairs, he was met by the raging flames as it sets the whole place ablaze, the flames consuming everything in its path.

The air was thick with smoke, making it hard to breathe. As he pushed forward, the paths were deliberately obstructed, making it impossible to escape.

'Every way is blocked...!' he thought as he covered his nose and mouth, coughing uncontrollably.

He pushed through the flames, his skin blistering and crackling as he trudged on. Desperation fueled his every step as he sought a way out. But in his haste, Sauron tripped and fell, the sharp pain of his scraped ankle. He struggled to stand up, but the pain was too great and he collapsed, his body wracked with pain and exhaustion.

In a panicked state, he bit the tip of his finger, causing blood to trickle down. With a torn piece of cloth from his tunic, he hastily scrawled something onto the cloth using his own blood as ink.

"Oh, Notoria, Mikail..." he whispered, his heart heavy with sorrow. "I'm sorry... Please, be both safe." Sauron's mind raced with regret as he thought about the lives he had failed to protect. He knew his life was nearing, but he never imagined it would come to such a pathetic end.

The man he once was would be ashamed to see him die in such a helpless state.

As he reached out his hand, his sight fell into darkness.

...

Amid the chaos and destruction at the heart of Stonehaven, flames raged on, consuming everything in path. Screams of terror and the clashes of swords echoed throughout the village as Mikail and his knights fought valiantly to defend their home.

"Gaah!"

"Curse these bastards!" the knights shouted as they fought back against the enemy's onslaught, pushing them back with each swing of their weapons.

The first troop led by Mikail held onto their ground as the enemy had already penetrated deep into the village.

"How could I have allowed this to happen!..." Mikail tightly gripped his sword and stood tall, "No. I must not allow my emotions to surface at this moment."

He turned his gaze towards his men, who continued to resist the attack despite the enemy's increasing numbers. Without hesitation, Mikail stepped forward and swiftly struck the enemies with his sword.

"Kuuhk...!" The enemy staggered back, now wary of Mikail's seething rage that heavied on each of his attacks.

"We must prioritize the safety of the villagers! Help them flee to safety!" Mikail shouted, instructing the knights of first troop as he helped hold their position against the enemy. The other knights nodded in agreement and moved out to aid the villagers escape to a safer vicinity.

The church they have proudly rebuilt has once again crumbled to the ground.

After subduing the unrelenting enemies, Mikail and his men rushed inside the church to aid the terrified people. They swiftly helped them to safety outside.

In the midst of the smoke and dust from burning roofs and collapsing walls, the knights coughed uncontrollably. "Mikail! What is happening?!" Notoria asked, her face etched with worry.

Mikail wished to explain, but their safety was more important at this moment. Quickly, he ordered his troop to prioritize aiding them to safety.

Notoria wished Mikail would come along, but the duty of being a knight at this very moment is heavily upon him, considering that he is currently the leader of the Stonehaven knights.

He smiled at Notoria and reassured her that he would handle everything before giving her a kiss on the forehead. Notoria returned the gesture by pulling his chin and kissing his lips before the knights took her away.

"I do hope I'll return to you once this is over," he whispered.

"Captain Hann!" The third troop returned to the village square, exhausted and battle-weary.

"Trevan! Have you secured the perimeter?" Mikail asked, his face filled with concern.

Sergeant Trevan St. Clair, one of the most trusted friends of Mikail, and as well as his vice-captain.

"The attackers... I couldn't discern who they were. But all of them wore black masks and gray cloaks!" he replied as he catched his breath.

Worried for his men, Mikail immediately ordered them to tend to their injuries, but Trevan refused. "Take only my injured men. I can still fight," said Trevan, despite being the most battered among the knights.

Mikail nodded, respecting his decision.

!!!

"DOWN!!!" A knight shouted from the frontline. The enemies have once again showered the village with burning arrows. Some were directly hit, and others burned to death, but the attack wasn't as effective as the knights were able to deflect the arrows with their shields. However, for those who weren't able to do so, their life was left in the hands of the goddess of fate.

"Ah... Thank you, Garrun," said Mikail as one of his knights quickly stepped forward to block an incoming arrow aimed at him.

The attack came from beyond the forested mountains in the south of Stonehaven.

"Oh, merciful Gods... have we heard anything from the second and fifth troop?" Mikail asked, concern etched on his face.

Trevan replied, "Not yet, captain. But they appear to be holding the west side of the line against the attackers. And the enemy seems to be slowly retreating."

"How is the lord? Have you already sent aid to him?" Mikail asked.

"Yes, captain! I have dispatched my most skilled men to assist him," Trevan replied.

Mikail felt unease creeping on his skin, but he forced himself to remain composed. "Very well. Please, keep me informed on their condition. And let them know to hold fast and abstain from unnecessary bloodshed. We must capture some of the enemy soldiers alive if it may be possible."

Trevan nodded and departed with his men to relay the message to the second and fifth troops.

In the meantime, Notoria wasted no time and exerted her utmost effort to tend to the wounded. "Hold on, be strong!" she exclaimed as she treated the wounded.

The grateful villagers expressed their gratitude, even though they couldn't even open their eyes anymore. The flames that had burnt their skin were not easily treated with just simple bandages.

The merchants who had brought medicinal potions with them kept the remedies for themselves, prioritizing their own minor wounds.

"I need this too! I cannot simply give it away for free!" the merchant exclaimed, demanding a higher price for a single restorative potion. Notoria begged, but their greed took over.

Some of the villagers had managed to flee the village, but their hopes of escape were swiftly shattered as the enemies, lurking among the bushes, hunted them down without mercy.

This was no ordinary bandit attack, for these men were skilled and heavily armed, overpowering the villagers with their advanced weaponry.

Mikail and his men marched towards the frontline with swords drawn and shields raised high. "Captain Hann!" Trevan bellowed upon his return. "The foes seems to be retreating!"

Mikail observed the enemy's diminishing numbers, but not due to death, rather, because they were fleeing.

"How many have we lost?"

"Roughly forty men, captain!"

Mikail's mind raced with thoughts. Who could have plotted this sudden and gruesome attack? And what was their goal?

"Clearly, they weren't bandits. They didn't pillage the houses, they didn't take anything. It seems they've intentionally created chaos to distract us," Mikail muttered as he tried to make sense of the attack.

"The lord...!" Mikail suddenly realized. He swiftly made his way towards the manor, leaving his men in the capable hands of Trevan.

"I'll have some of my men be at your disposal, captain!" offered Trevan. Mikail smiled and declined, opting instead to utilize the remaining men to hold the frontline and fend off the remaining enemies until reinforcements arrived.

...

Mikail raced towards the manor with all the speed he could muster, only to find it engulfed in flames and reduced to smoldering ruins. "No... No, no, no!" he cried out in despair.

He paid no heed to the scorching heat and searing flames that lapped at his skin as he charged forward.

"By the gods, please let them be alive!" he prayed, his heart heavy with dread.

There, he found Sauron lying unconscious on the ground, as though he had attempted to escape the burning manor. The thick, choking smoke had overcome him, rendering him unconscious.

"My lord!" Mikail exclaimed, rushing to his side. Though Sauron was still breathing, he was unresponsive. In his hand, he clutched a piece of parchment bearing a message written in blood: "The enemies took the children. Mikail please save. Forgive me."

Tears streamed down Mikail's face as he lifted Sauron's limp body and carried him outside to safety.

"These bastards will pay..." he muttered under his breath, his eyes filled with animosity. Behind the cloth Sauron held, another one was written on it.

Mikail clenched his fist tightly, his face contorting in hatred. "I will make sure these bastards pay with their own blood! Especially you, Arwin Fedora..." he seethed as he muttered.

His eyes widened with an ominous fury, the pupils dilating and the whites almost disappearing as his gaze became razor-sharp. His jaw clenched so tight that it threatened to break.

"Fucking Dreadmoor dogs...!"