Reconnaissance

The flames had been completely extinguished, only smokes of their houses remained. But the despair still hung heavily over the village of Stonehaven. Villagers cried their hearts out, mourning the loss of their friends and loved ones.

The bodies of the fallen were lined up on the ground, cloths were draped over their bodies.

The knights gathered around a bonfire, looking weary and lost.

Some villagers wanted to leave, but feared the enemies that lurked on the road.

Few knights have already departed in secret after receiving payments to help escort some merchants for only a small amount of gold coins. But many remained, grieving for their fallen comrades.

For two days, the village had been mired in hopelessness and helplessness.

Uncertain of how many more days they will have to live in constant fear of what tomorrow may bring.

...

As Mikail quietly pushed open the door, he stepped into the room. Notoria was kneeling, her head resting on the edge of the bed as she slept, still waiting for Sauron to wake up. Mikail noticed the bandages that now wrapped around Sauron's injuries, Notoria seemed to have tended his wounds.

As he looked upon her sleeping face, he couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation for her, remembering how she had once waited for him to wake up as well.

Despite living a difficult life, she still faced it with confidence and empathy, always putting others before herself, even when she was hurting the most.

Mikail walked over to Notoria and gently lifted her into his arms, carrying her to another room and laying her down on the bed.

"Ars..." she murmured, still worried for her brother. She had clearly been pushing herself too hard over the past few days, given how deeply she was sleeping.

Mikail exited the room and stepped out into the chilly air, where he was greeted by Trevan and his troops, their armor and swords were prepared. "We're ready, captain," Trevan said.

The house was ringed by heavily armed knights, standing guard and watching for any signs of danger that might threaten the safety of Notoria and Sauron. Mikail scanned the area to ensure that all was secure before making his way to his horse.

As he prepared to mount his steed, Mikail suddenly remembered something important. "Wait a moment," he said to Trevan. "It has slipped my mind, I have forgotten something. You should proceed first, I will meet you by the road later."

Trevan nodded as he led the troops away.

Mikail returned to Sauron's room to bid him farewell, but was taken aback when he saw that Sauron was already awake and sitting on his bed. "My lord," Mikail said, but Sauron remained silent, gazing out of the window.

Not wanting to disturb him, Mikail bid him goodbye in silence and made his way down the stairs. Before leaving, he called for a maid to attend to Sauron for a while.

Mikail could see the pain in Sauron's eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

'The hunt will soon begin.'

...

Mikail had arrived at the designated meeting point. The first and third troops were already assembled at the forest's edge, fully armed and armored.

"Let's go."

They began their trek through the forested mountains, avoiding the use of horses and walking the main roads to avoid raising any suspicions or dragging attention to the enemy.

As they traversed the mountains using the path Mikail and his men took before, he grabbed a piece of cloth from his hip. It was stained with dried blood, written on it was the location of the enemy's camp. Anger filled his face, but they continued with the journey smoothly.

The sun had set, and night had fallen upon them. Although they had crossed the mountains, they had yet to come across the enemy's camp. There was nothing peculiar happening on the other side, similar to their recent scouting.

Tired and weary, Mikail and Trevan's men rested for the night, preparing to continue their scouting mission the next day. Mikail made sure to keep a watchful eye over the camp, not wanting a repeat of what happened during his last journey.

He sat on the grass and listened to the conversation among the other knights.

"Have you heard? The second commander is planning to visit Stonehaven!"

"It seems strange for him to get involved."

"Shh! Keep your voice down when you speak of him, Captain Hann might overhear."

Mikail thought to himself, 'I can hear all of you...' but he didn't really mind the small gossips they made to entertain themselves for the long night.

He gazed up at the stars in the dark sky, lost in thought as he pondered the second commander's unexpected decision to join the conflict.

"..."

After a moment, Trevan approached Mikail. "Captain Hann," he called out as he sat beside him.

Mikail suggested Trevan that it would be better for him to take a rest for they will have a long day ahead.

Trevan chuckled at Mikail's concern as he remarked on the amount of pressure that Mikail was putting on himself. Mikail didn't noticed that he had been carrying a heavy burden for the past few days as well, and Trevan's small talk helped to lighten the load before he left to get some rest.

'I've been concerned about others pushing themselves too hard, yet I didn't realize that I, too, have been doing the same. How selfish of me.'

Mikail wished he could be like Trevan, who remained with hope and smiled even in the face of hardships. He pondered his own flaws as a leader as he closed his eyes and laid down on the soft grass. Not noticing how the gentle caress of the wind on his skin lulled him into a deep sleep.

...

It was another day. Despite only having slept for a few hours, Mikail felt more alive than ever before.

"We shall continue our journey. Prepare everything and leave no trace behind," he commanded.

As they moved further into the forest, they stumbled upon a small stream. The group took a temporary break to fill their wooden containers with water from the stream.

The cold, refreshing water was enough to quench their thirst and revitalize their bodies. The men had their laughs as they watched Trevan catch a fish for their meal later.

"Hasn't it been hot lately?" one of the knights remarked.

"Yes, it has. Fortunately, the water is cool," another knight replied.

As they talked and dismantled their armors, the knights eagerly dipped themselves into the shallow, streaming water to cool off.

Mikail looked at his surroundings and d saw a man sitting by the corner. He was not that sure, but he could've sworn he knew that the guy's face was familiar. With a sense of curiosity, he stood up and approached the man, who was diligently sharpening his blade until it glistened in the sunlight.

"Surely that razor-sharp blade will cleave an enemy in twain with but a single blow," Mikail spoke in a jovial manner.

The man responded in a monotone voice, "Greetings, Captain Hann," his focus remained fixed on his weapon.

A moment of uneasy silence passed between them before Mikail decided to break the tension, asking the man's name as he sat next to him.

The man proceeded to stroke his blade with a stone three times before answering, "I go by Kaelsa or Kael, whichever you prefer."

"Kaelsa...? Sounds familiar."

"..."

It was quiet, with only the sound of Kael's blade grinding against a soft stone filling the space between them. Mikail attempted to initiate another conversation, but Kael abruptly stood up.

"I shall take a swift walk, perchance to test my blade... Sir."

"Ah, very well."

Mikail let out a deep sigh, wondering if he was too dull to converse with or if he just simply disliked the idea of him being a captain.

***

Born of noble birth in the family of Winthrope, Mikail was the son of a noble Winthrope man and a commoner knight woman who died during childbirth.

Mikail's life as a "noble" wasn't all silver spoons and happy days. His relationship with his father was distant, with no memories other than practicing swordplay at the age of nine.

Mikail's father blamed him for the death of his mother, and as a child, this had a huge impact on his behavior. He sequestered himself from others, having no friends or connections; Mikail spent most of his time in the library with books as his only considered friends.

As he grew older, his passion for swordplay intensified. Many days passed where Mikail would spend hours training alone, honing his skills with the sword and practicing the techniques he had learned from the countless books he had read.

One day, while Mikail was practicing his swordplay alone, his maid caught him in the act. She saw potential in him and reported it to the higher ups. From that day on, Mikail received formal training in sword fighting and combat tactics by his father himself.

At the age of thirteen, Mikail became a squire in the knighthood, serving only a few months before his father's death on the northern border against the Skogs.

Despite their lack of a father-son relationship, or what most people would consider a blood relationship, Mikail felt empty.

He didn't understand why he felt so empathetic, even towards a man who saw him only as a soldier who should risk his life to protect coward and greedy nobles hiding behind thick walls.

As the years went by, Mikail grew into a formidable fighter of the Winthrope knights, taking the lives of countless enemies. But his life was not all dark and sad. He met Sigfred, the second captain of Winthrope knights, and Yaras, his subordinate.

For years and years, Mikail met more friends and their bond grew stronger.

However... Mikail still felt an emptiness inside him that he couldn't shake.

That is until the Royal Skogzgard infiltrated the northern border of Novamantus once again. Mikail, who had become an emotionless killing machine, felt a fire ignite within him at the mere mention of the Skogs.

The war on the northern border of Novamantus has been ongoing for two days now, prior to the sudden attack by the Royal Skogzgard on the Dreadmoore fortress.

Mikail was sent to the front line with Sigfred's troop, and despite being a squire, he led his own troop of knights for the first time. Driven by passion and an unexplainable anger, they pushed the Skogs back, restless for days and nights.

Even in their sleep, they couldn't keep their eyes closed for more than three hours, as the enemy would seize any opportunity to gain an advantage.

Clang!

"Hya!"

Explosions from the trebuchets rained down upon them for days and nights until the Novamantus emerged victorious after the 25 long days of war in the southern front of Skogzgard territory. Many brave men perished, but their sacrifices were not in vain.

Again and again, this would repeat for years to come. This is the mental pain that war can inflict on someone's mind and heart.

"Glory to the Queen!"

Th men shouted triumphantly, laughing and clinking their drinks together in celebration. They merrily ate their food, while the others mourned for their fallen friends and comrades.

Mikail was among them, silently grappling with his grief. He sat alone, staring blankly at his hand as the rain fell, his mind haunted by the faces of his friends who had perished in the never-ending wars.

Despite the victory, it wasn't enough to ease the pain and bitterness he had bottled up. The faces of his fallen comrades haunted him, and he yearned for more than just victory. Mikail wanted more than just victory for his homeland that he protects.

He wanted revenge for himself.

Mikail could not shake off his feelings and was determined to end them. He mounted his horse and chased the fleeing enemies to their base camp, believing that their numbers had diminished greatly after their defeat.

He pushed his way past the Skogzgard southern border and killed countless of men, injured or not, hoping to ultimately find their army's leader.

Despite being exhausted and weak, Mikail's foolish emotions drove him to chase the enemies to the edge of the walls. He fell from his horse but he still kept going.

"Kaagh!"

The sound of Mikail's blade cutting through the thick metal, deep unto their flesh and bone filled the air. The squelch of their blood and organs spilled out onto the ground.

Now reaching their camp, Mikail had finally caught their leader who sat on a large barrel. The man had a large scar on his left eye and a thick, matted mustache.

The man took a gaze at him, not uttering a single word. Mikail gave a cold and menacing glare back, blood dripped from his mouth as he spat in front of him.

The Skogzgard knights pointed all their weapons towards him. Mikail was surrounded, outnumbered by hundreds of armed men.

The enemy's attacks were unrelenting, and for every move Mikail made, another sword swung and arrows flew towards him. He fought back with all his might, fending off the enemies and taking out twenty more knights by himself. But the numbers kept growing.

"This bastard is a monster, cap," said one of the Skogzgard knights. Mikail's body was pierced with arrows and wounded all over but he still stood tall, drenched in blood of the enemies and his own.

Despite his injuries, Mikail continued to fight, panting heavily as he pushed back the enemies.

It was clear that this was the end for him. But even in this moment, he couldn't help feeling a sense of fulfillment.

This was the heroic end he had always dreamed of, dying in battle while doing what he loved... and hated the most.

"Haah... Haah... Haaah!" With each swing of his weapon, he pushed the enemies back further. His blade was already dull, but he cut down the enemies despite their numbers.

'I am Mikail of Winthrope!'