A corrupt King sits the throne. The last generation of heroes have gone extinct. The lands are as green and as promising as they ever were. The Gods watch with interest and they wait. As next the next uprising comes from the most unlikely of places. A slow burn novel.
Lombard noted the look. "And so, I ask, who swung their blade against my orders?"
"Captain… Forgive me, but was it really so wrong for them to exact justice for our comrades that were murdered?" A sergeant spoke up.
"Ah, so it was you that killed them?" Lombard asked.
"No… It wasn't," the soldier spluttered.
"And why is it you know to fear the consequences of your actions, mm? Before I have even decided on a punishment – you know that you will indeed be punished. If you understand that – I would hope the rest of you do as well," Lombard said, his eyes scanning the crowd of gathered soldiers. Nearly half the camp was there – with the rest attending to duties, so they couldn't join in right away.
His pale blue eyes fell on a certain man in the crowd. "It was you, was it, Bornemouth?"