Chapter 12

As Zarku emerged from the shadows, his malevolent grin stretched across his grotesque visage. The soldiers' futile attempts to fight back only fuelled his sadistic pleasure. The soldiers were trapped, ensnared in a nightmarish dance of fear and imminent demise. It didn't take long for Zarku to obliterate the remaining soldiers in that area.

Zarku now carries his master's essence in him knowing that his master, Astaroth, has left this place. He has entrusted the massacre to be executed by Zarku alone. A sinister grin crept across his twisted visage as he understood that this level of carnage required no direct involvement from his malevolent lord. The darkness within Zarku surged with a newfound purpose, urging him to continue his relentless pursuit.

Moving stealthily through the dense, haunting forest, Zarku honed his senses to detect any lingering threats. The crackle of leaves underfoot echoed like a morbid symphony, the rustling of branches serving as a harbinger of impending doom. Each step he took felt like trespassing into a realm where the laws of life and death had been irrevocably distorted.

As the moon sank beneath the horizon, shrouding the forest in inky blackness, Zarku's relentless hunt continued unabated. The air grew heavy with the stench of blood, mingling with the scent of fear and despair. The haunting cries of nocturnal creatures echoed through the night, blending with Zarku's maniacal laughter that resonated from the depths of his twisted soul.

By the break of dawn, the forest bore witness to the harrowing aftermath of Zarku's relentless campaign. The lifeless bodies of fallen soldiers lay strewn across the cold, unforgiving ground, their eyes frozen in a permanent state of terror. The sun's feeble rays pierced through the dense canopy, casting long, ominous shadows that seemed to dance in macabre celebration.

Zarku, intoxicated by the scent of victory, had mercilessly extinguished the lives of an estimated twenty thousand souls that fateful night. The putrid stench of death hung heavy in the air as if the very essence of life had been devoured by his murderous presence. Amidst the carnage and despair, a lone survivor emerged, a testament to fortune's fickle favor. Edward, by sheer luck, had managed to elude Zarku's wrath, narrowly escaping the clutches of certain demise. As the echoes of agony and suffering gradually subsided, Zarku's thirst for blood remained unquenched. Satisfied with his gruesome triumph over the fallen soldiers, Zarku reveled in the twisted pleasure of his master's task fulfilled. A chilling grin twisted his lips as he turned, his steps slow and deliberate, leading him towards Castle Clovershire.

The Kingdom's defenders, a formidable force of forty thousand, fortified the ancient, ominous walls of Castle Cloveshire. A sense of dread permeated the air, weighing heavily upon their hearts, there had not been any news that the goblin had been stopped by the advance party led by the third and four knight commanders. Deep within the fortress's fortified gates, an elite platoon of sentinels stood vigilant, their unwavering loyalty pledged to the mad and corrupted King. Their souls bound to protect their sovereign, they braced themselves for the impending onslaught, knowing they would be consumed by the encroaching horror.

From the towering vantage points of the castle's two watchtowers, the ghastly march of the goblin horde became visible, a nightmarish spectacle that sent shivers down the spines of those who beheld it. King Borosik, consumed by a mixture of frustration and unease, was infuriated by the fact that despite dispatching the twins to halt the goblin army's advance, the relentless creatures continued their relentless march, drawing ever closer.

King Borosik, his nerves on edge, paced back and forth in his opulent chamber, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows upon his troubled countenance. Doubts gnawed at his sanity, for the twins he had entrusted with the task had not returned, and their absence fuelled his darkest fears. A chilling breeze swept through the chamber, extinguishing the candles in a flurry of ominous darkness. The room plunged into pitch-black, save for a faint, flickering light that emanated from a sinister, ornate mirror that adorned the wall. In its murky depths, a distorted reflection stared back at the king, mirroring his inner turmoil.

As Borosik's eyes fixated on the mirror, a haunting image materialized within its depths. The visage of the twins, Edward and Eadgar, emerged, their faces contorted in a mix of terror and despair. Their once noble armor was now marred with dark stains, and their eyes gleamed with an otherworldly glow. In a disembodied, chilling voice, the reflection of Eadgar whispered, "We have failed, my king. The goblin army... they are not what they seem. Their ranks have swelled with creatures more terrifying than any nightmare, and they march with a hunger for blood that cannot be quelled."

With a resounding slap, Borosik struck his face, jolting himself out of the hallucination that had gripped his mind. The unsettling presence of the goblins was beginning to gnaw at his sanity, manifesting in twisted visions that seemed all too real. A creeping unease slithered through his veins as he scanned the dimly lit chamber, his eyes darting nervously from corner to corner. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to amplify his growing paranoia.

"Dreadful creatures," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustrations. "These accursed goblins are getting under my skin, tormenting me with their insidious presence. Where in the depths of this world is General Lance?" "I have not heard from Ezio since he left this castle," the king murmured, a creeping sense of unease settling upon him. Deep down, he understood the implications of the silence that now engulfed him. In the dark world of assassins, a lack of communication could only signify one of two chilling possibilities: betrayal or death. The very thought of betrayal seemed unfathomable, leaving only the haunting presence of the latter reason lingering in the king's mind.

Suddenly, a chilling echo of footsteps reverberated through the dimly lit corridor. The guards stationed outside the king's chamber jolted to attention, their hearts pounding in their chests as they recognized the approaching presence.

"Good evening, General Lance," the guards uttered, their voices trembling with a mix of fear and respect. "Please halt. We will inform the king of your arrival." The footsteps ceased abruptly, right outside the chamber door, as if the air itself held its breath. The guards, their faces etched with unease, relayed the news to the king within. "Your Majesty, General Lance is here," one guard announced, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, the king's voice resonated through the chamber, tinged with an undercurrent of urgency. "Send him in," he commanded, the desire for crucial information is evident in his tone. The room seemed to grow darker as if shadows danced in anticipation of the foreboding news.

As the heavy doors swung open, General Lance stepped into the chamber, his presence cloaked in an air of solemnity and alarm. He dropped to one knee, bowing before the king, his eyes veiled with a mix of loyalty and despair. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows upon his face.

"Victory to Yosnad," he greeted, "Sire, I bring grave news. The scouts have just reported..."

A tense pause lingered in the chamber, the anticipation heavy in the air. The king leaned forward, his eyes staring into the general's eyes. The flickering candle flames seemed to mimic the unease within their hearts.

"The twenty thousand men," General Lance continued, his voice now a mere whisper, "led by Knight Edward... they have been... wiped out."

"It appears that something or someone had arrived with an overwhelming display of power and dark magic, unleashing a merciless onslaught." General Lance pauses to swallow and then continues.

"The scouts are still investigating the source of this malevolence, for this level of power surpasses that of the goblin king himself. The goblin king, despite his cunning, lacks the sheer firepower required to obliterate twenty thousand soldiers in a single night. "

King Borosik closed his eyes, a line of sweat running down his back as he leaned back onto his throne. His mind raced, consumed by a foreboding sense of impending doom. His heart pounded in his chest, matching the erratic rhythm of his thoughts. General Lance remained on his knees, his body tense with anticipation, desperately waiting for the king to break the suffocating silence.

"The twenty thousand that were lost... Did the scouts mention in their reports how they died?" King Borosik's voice trembled with a mix of dread and anticipation as he inquired about the fate of his fallen soldiers.

"Sire," the general began, his tone heavy with unease. "The scouts reported a grisly scene of horror. Many of our brave soldiers were burned alive, their bodies engulfed in merciless flames. Others suffered unimaginable physical mutilations, their limbs, and heads torn from their lifeless forms. And some bore ghastly wounds—gaping holes in their chests, inflicted by a force of immense brutality."

Borosik's frown deepened, mirroring the mounting horror within his heart. He motioned for the general to pause, his mind struggling to comprehend the nature of this unfathomable enemy.

"These are different forms of attack," Borosik finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and fear. "How did the scouts deduce that such atrocities were the work of a single adversary?"

"The scouts we sent out, one of them possesses a mixed bloodline, born of an elf and a shaman. This unique lineage grants him exceptional skills in tracking and coordination with the forest's elemental forces," General Lance shared with the king.

"It is through this forest's essence that he gained a horrifying revelation that these devastating damages were inflicted by one entity, one that moves with supernatural speed, mercilessly striking down our men with an otherworldly force."

"Unfortunately, the report fails to offer any insights into the appearance of the attacker," General Lance grimly stated. "The good thing is, we did not lose Edward in this attack, the twins are now together, Edward had managed to transport himself to Eadgar before the attack happens." "I have spoken to Edward immediately when the scout reported, it seems it was pure coincident that Edward had left his camp just before the attack came."

General Lance knows that his king is a person very sensitive to betrayal, and the general need to ensure that the seed of doubt about Edward does not take root in the king's heart. "Eadgar had sent a letter to his brother to request for the entire twenty thousand men to join him at the front line."

General Lance continues, "There is... one other piece of news, Your Majesty," "Alfred and his men... they have succeeded in holding off the white ogres. The threat has been vanquished from that front." "Alfred and his men are still patrolling the mountain to ensure no other ogres are coming down the mountain. "

King Borosik's eyes snapped open, his gaze meeting General Lance's piercing stare. The general's words slithered through the air, sending a shiver down the king's spine. The chamber was cloaked in a suffocating silence, the weight of their conversation hanging like a pall of dread.

In a voice laden with weariness and uncertainty, the king broke the silence, "summon Alfred and the twins," he commanded, "bring them back to the castle immediately. There's... something different about this battle. I can sense it like a sinister presence clawing at my very soul." He paused, the air heavy with an unspoken foreboding. "I must speak with them myself."

The general acknowledged the order, his face betraying a flicker of unease. He knew that the king's trust in Edward had waned, plagued by a gnawing suspicion that something may have taken root within him and caused the death of twenty thousand men. It is not out of love or concern that the Borosik has for the death of his men, but his deep fear of betrayal from his subject. With a bow, the general turned to carry out his task but the Borosik stop him.

"What of the goblin king?" the king inquired, "Has there been any sign of his presence at the frontline?"

General Lance shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the floor. "There have been no direct sightings of the goblin king thus far," he replied, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "However, we have spotted Zeeke, his lieutenant, orchestrating their forces, preparing for an onslaught."

The king's face darkened, a storm brewing within his eyes. "Very well," he muttered, his voice laced with a chilling determination. "You may go and make the necessary preparations. But wait!" He paused, a new glint of madness dancing in his eyes. "Gather all twelve commanding knights. Summon them to my presence immediately."

General Lance's eyes widened in astonishment, a bead of cold sweat trickling down his brow. The activation of all twelve knights at once was an unprecedented move, a sign that the king's descent into madness had reached new depths.

"Sire, gathering all twelve would be a time-consuming task, and we must consider the delicate nature of their current secret infiltration missions. Abruptly recalling them would jeopardize their operations and attract unwanted attention from our watchful neighbors. They would seize this opportunity to scrutinize our strength, waiting for any signs of weakness."

The king's brows furrowed as a sense of unease settled upon him like a shroud. He understood the risks of exposing their covert activities, yet the impending threat demanded a swift response. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon his shoulders, threatening to crush his resolve.

"I understand, bring Alfred and the twins and whoever else that is not on secret missions and can come back"