"I will not rule a kingdom content with survival—I will forge an empire worthy of eternity."

  -King Alexios the Hungry Lion

  My P.O.V

  We arrived near Talbeck Castle, but there was no time to rest. Our allies were trapped inside, their supplies dwindling, their defenses wavering. We had to act swiftly.

  The sky above was gray with heavy clouds, as if the gods themselves held their breath for the carnage to come. Our march had been long, and now we stood at the edge of war. Below us, spread out across the field, were Count Magerius’ forces—his banners fluttering defiantly in the wind, his men scrambling to prepare for battle.

  From atop a small rise, I surveyed the battlefield. Magerius had noticed our approach and was already repositioning his forces. I watched as he split his army—one part remained at the siege, while the bulk of his troops turned to meet us in the open field. A reckless decision, but one that gave us an opportunity.

  I turned to my men. Among them stood the 200 Royal Guard Lancers—men who had once been forced to fire arrows at the Siege of Lion’s Crest, but now, at last, they would fight as they were meant to: on horseback. Though few in number, their sheer force could not be underestimated. One well-timed charge, and they could turn the tide of battle in an instant.

  Count Magerius P.O.V

  So, the whore Duchess finally dares to stand against me. No matter—I will crush her where she stands. I do not know how she scraped together this ragtag army, but it makes no difference. They are no match for my strength.

  I turned to my marshal, Ser Belos.

  “Ser Belos,” I said.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “I am leaving you in charge of the siege. We must hold this position at all costs. I know it is risky to divide our forces, but we fight two different battles now. If you let Talbeck’s defenders break free, they will strike me from behind. Do not attempt an assault—simply hold the line. Do you understand?”

  Ser Belos bowed his head. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good.” I turned my gaze toward the approaching enemy. “Once I crush that feeble duchess and her pitiful army, we will celebrate in Talbeck.”

  My P.O.V

  “The fool is splitting his forces,” Ser Gildas muttered beside me. “If we strike now and send a small detachment to relieve Talbeck, we can trap him between two fronts.”

  I shook my head. “If we divide our forces as well, we risk catastrophe. We must be smarter than that.”

  My eyes drifted to the Royal Lancers, and an idea began to form. The terrain—rolling hills with sparse cover—could work in our favor. If the cavalry could maneuver undetected, they could strike the siege camp and scatter the enemy before they knew what hit them.

  I turned to Ser Gildas and Ser Rodirik. “I have a plan, but it relies entirely on your speed and precision.”

  Irene frowned. “What are you thinking, Alaric?”

  I ignored her for a moment and focused on Aria instead. “Stay close to Irene’s guards. Do not stray from them. If anything happens to you...” I hesitated, then shook my head. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

  She nodded, her expression unreadable.

  I turned back to my army. The Izan levies stood ready, their faces a mixture of determination and fear. I drew my sword and raised it high.

  “March with me!” I bellowed. “We will break this siege and reclaim Talbeck!”

  A deafening roar erupted from the ranks, and we surged forward.

  As the distance between us and Magerius’s forces shrank, the air suddenly darkened with a volley of arrows. Hundreds of men collapsed where they stood, their bodies littering the ground. But there was no time to mourn. We pressed on.

  And then, steel met steel.

  Swords clashed, men screamed, blood splattered across the grassy terrain. The battle had begun.

  Steel clashed against steel. The screams of men and the ringing of blades filled the air as our forces met Magerius’ in a brutal clash. My men held their ground, pushing forward with shields and spears, while the enemy’s front ranks struggled to contain our advance. Blood splattered against the mud as soldiers fell, trampled beneath the chaos.

  A group of enemy infantry charged at me, their swords raised. I braced myself, parrying the first strike and slashing my attacker across the chest. Another came at me from the side—I barely turned in time to block, the force of his blow nearly knocking me off balance. Before he could strike again, an arrow pierced his throat, and he collapsed, choking on his own blood.

  Magerius’ men fought fiercely, but I could already see the cracks in their resolve. He had spread his forces too thin, dividing his army between fighting us and maintaining the siege. If we could keep the pressure on long enough, his mistake would cost him everything.

  In the chaos, I stole a glance toward the hills. The cavalry was moving into position.

  Ser Gildas, don’t fail me now.

  Count Royland P.O.V - Fort of Talbeck

  It is a sound strategy to force the enemy to split their forces, but knowing that does not change my predicament. My men are starved, exhausted, and battered from the relentless siege. We have fought off wave after wave of assaults, each one weakening our resolve. Supplies are dwindling, and morale is stretched thin. If we sortie now and fail, there will be no second chance.

  But then, as if the gods themselves took pity on us, I saw it—a pang of hope. A cavalry force moving towards us, banners snapping in the wind. The black-and-gold standard of the Royal Guard, the proud lion of House Feldyn, and with them, the banners of Iza. They were moving swiftly, their lances lowered, their charge imminent. Relief had come at last.

  We needed to act before the rebels could form ranks to meet them. I rushed to the walls, gripping the cold stone as I turned to my officers.

  "Archers, loose! Give them hell! Do not stop until I give the order!" I commanded.

  Arrows rained down on the besieging force, catching them completely off guard. Confusion spread through their ranks as men fell screaming. Their commander, Ser Belos, bellowed for order, but it was too late.

  "Men of Talbeck! Open the gates! We strike now!" I roared.

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  With Genedarius at my side, we led the charge out of the fortress. The rebels had not expected an attack, let alone one so sudden. Many were caught still holding siege ladders, others were scrambling to grab their weapons. We carved through them with ruthless precision, cutting down the traitors where they stood.

  Ser Belos tried desperately to form a battle line, but the cavalry was upon them. The sound of thunderous hooves filled the air, and then—impact. Bodies flew as the Royal Guard smashed into the rebel ranks like a tidal wave. Some men were thrown so violently that their bodies slammed against the walls of Talbeck. The sheer force of the charge shattered the enemy’s formation, and the battlefield became a slaughter.

  My P.O.V

  The clash of steel was deafening. The battlefield was a chaotic maelstrom of screams, blood, and death. We had managed to hold our own, but the cost was steep. For every man we cut down, we lost two of our own. The ground was slick with mud and blood, turning each step into a struggle.

  I wiped the sweat and grime from my brow and roared, "Do not waver! Hold the line!"

  I searched the battlefield frantically, my heart pounding. Where are you, Ser Gildas?

  Then, like the answer to a desperate prayer, I heard it—the battle cry of men fresh to the fight. From the other side of the field, where the besieged army of Talbeck had once stood trapped, a flood of warriors came surging forward, renewed with purpose. Ser Gildas had done it. The cavalry had broken the siege, and Count Royland’s forces were now pouring into the field, cutting down Magerius’ men from behind.

  Magerius, no fool, saw the tide turning. He bellowed orders for retreat, and his forces began to scatter. Some managed to flee with him, but nearly half of his men were captured or lay dead upon the battlefield.

  Victory was ours, but it did not feel like a triumph. The cost had been heavy, the land now painted red with the blood of Iza’s sons. As I gazed across the battlefield, the weight of it all settled upon my shoulders. Another battle won, but at what price?

  Duchess Irene P.O.V

  As I observed the battlefield, I realized something—I had underestimated him.

  Alaric had orchestrated this battle masterfully, reading Magerius like an open book. He did not simply rely on brute force or blind aggression; every move had been calculated. His ability to predict the enemy’s reaction, to position his forces so precisely, to force Magerius into an untenable position—it was extraordinary.

  So this is the bastard they scorn? The man the crown cast aside? I struggled to comprehend their foolishness. If I had a man like Alaric at my side, I would have conquered the realm by now.

  I turned my gaze toward him. He stood amidst the bodies, sword still in hand, eyes distant as he surveyed the field. There was no arrogance in his posture, no celebration. Just a quiet, somber acceptance of what must be done.

  He fights for them, yet they despise him.

  I need to know more. Who truly is Alaric of House Feldyn?

  My P.O.V - Fort of Talbeck

  The battle was over, yet as I stood among the fallen, I found little reason to call it a victory. Nearly 500 of my men lay dead, their bodies strewn across the blood-soaked fields of Talbeck. Most of them were from the Royal Army—men who had followed me into battle without hesitation. And now, they would never return home.

  I gritted my teeth and exhaled slowly. The price of war was always high, but this… this felt heavier than before.

  I scanned the battlefield, my eyes searching for familiar faces. Relief washed over me when I spotted Aidan and Francis, their armor stained with blood but still standing. Aidan leaned on his sword, his breaths labored, while Francis wiped the sweat and dirt from his face. They were exhausted, but alive.

  I gave them a nod. “You fought well.”

  Aidan forced a smirk. “Still breathing, aren’t we?”

  Francis let out a dry chuckle. “Barely. Another hour, and I’d be meeting the gods.”

  I clasped his shoulder. “Then be thankful you’re still on this side of the battlefield.”

  Nearby, prisoners were being rounded up. Some had dropped their weapons and surrendered the moment Magerius fled, but others had tried to escape. Those who ran were cut down. The message was clear—there would be no mercy for traitors who refused to yield.

  As we made our way toward Talbeck’s gates, I couldn’t help but notice the wary gazes of those around me. The men had fought for me today, but did they truly stand with me? Or had they merely followed out of necessity?

  Inside the castle, the mood was lighter. Count Royland and Count Genedarius stood waiting in the courtyard as we entered. Their eyes lit up with relief when they saw Duchess Irene, and they moved forward to greet her.

  “You have our gratitude, Your Grace,” Royland said, bowing slightly. “Talbeck would have fallen without your aid.”

  “We are in your debt,” Genedarius added. “Our forces were exhausted—we could not have held much longer.”

  Irene inclined her head graciously. “You fought well, Count Royland. You held the line when others would have broken.”

  Then they turned to Aria, their expressions shifting as they acknowledged her royal status. They bowed deeply.

  “Your Highness,” Royland said, his voice laced with respect. “It is an honor to see you safe.”

  Aria gave them a warm smile. “You have all fought bravely.”

  And then… silence.

  Their gazes flickered to me, then away just as quickly. As if they weren’t sure how to proceed.

  As if I didn’t exist.

  Of course. I was a bastard. A stain upon the House of Feldyn.

  Irene, however, did not let the silence linger. “You should be thanking Alaric,” she said firmly. “It was his plan that won this battle.”

  The counts hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. They had likely heard my name before, whispered in court as an insult, a curse, a cautionary tale. But now, standing before me, they had to confront the truth of who I was—and what I had done.

  Aria took a step forward, her voice steady. “He is my brother.”

  Her words carried weight. A silent command. A demand for recognition.

  Royland exhaled sharply, straightening. “We thank you…” He hesitated.

  “Alaric,” I said simply.

  Royland cleared his throat. “We thank you, Lord Alaric.”

  The words were formal, forced, but they would do. I had no use for empty courtesies.

  Irene studied me carefully, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’ve surprised me, Alaric,” she murmured. “You fight like a man with nothing to lose… and yet, you plan like a man who has everything to protect.”

  I met her gaze. “Maybe I am both.”

  She smirked, but there was curiosity in her eyes. “If I had a man like you by my side, I would have conquered the realm by now.”

  “Good thing I’m not yours, then.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “A shame.”

  But my mind was already elsewhere. The battle was done, but the war was far from over.

  Eadric was coming.

  And this time, I would be ready.

  Ser Hector’s P.O.V - Near Talbeck

  The dirt road to Talbeck was littered with the remnants of battle—discarded weapons, broken shields, and bodies left to rot under the setting sun. The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, the echoes of war still fresh. My small entourage moved cautiously, our horses stepping over the lifeless forms of men who had fallen just hours ago.

  As we rounded a bend in the road, I spotted a group of weary riders in the distance. Their armor was dented, their banners tattered, and their faces marred with dirt and exhaustion. It didn’t take long to recognize them—these were the remnants of Magerius’ army. And leading them, looking as if he had swallowed bile, was the man himself.

  I urged my horse forward, closing the distance.

  “What the hell happened?” I called out, my voice cutting through the heavy silence.

  Magerius’ head snapped toward me, his eyes flashing with something between anger and humiliation. “Ser Hector? By the gods, what are you doing here?”

  I reined in beside him, my gaze sweeping over his battered men. “Duke Eadric sent me ahead as a messenger,” I said evenly. “The time has come to march on Divina, and he expected your support. But from the look of you, I doubt you have much left to give.”

  Magerius scowled, his grip tightening on the reins. “Damn you! It was that whore Irene—she had that **bastard** commanding her army.” He spat the word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. “Your former liege.”

  My body moved before I could think.

  With one swift motion, I unsheathed my sword, the tip flashing in the dying light as I leveled it at Magerius’ throat.

  The men around us stiffened. A few of Magerius’ soldiers reached for their weapons, but my own men mirrored the movement, ready to cut them down at my command.

  Magerius’ eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “Hector, have you lost your damn mind?!”

  “That man just crushed your army,” I growled, my voice deadly calm. “That ‘bastard’ outmaneuvered you, broke your siege, and forced you to flee like a whipped dog. So tell me, Magerius—what does that make you?”

  Magerius’ face twisted in rage, but I saw something else in his eyes, too. Fear.

  I held my sword steady, the silence stretching between us like a drawn bowstring.

  One of his men shifted uneasily. “Ser Hector,” he said hesitantly, “we’re on the same side.”

  I turned my gaze toward him, my sword still unmoving. “Are we?” I asked, my tone sharp as steel. “Because if we are, you will remember that I do not tolerate **cowards** slandering men who have earned their place on the battlefield.”

  Magerius let out a harsh breath. “You’re a damned fool,” he muttered.

  I lowered my sword, the blade slipping back into its sheath with a soft click. “Perhaps,” I said, “but at least I’m not a beaten one.”

  The tension remained thick, but Magerius said nothing more. His men avoided my gaze, their earlier bravado replaced with unease. They had expected me to laugh, to mock Alaric alongside them. Instead, I had reminded them of something they had all seen firsthand—Alaric was not a man to be underestimated.

  I turned my horse away, nodding to my men. “We ride,” I commanded, and without another glance at Magerius, we spurred our horses forward.

  As we left them behind, my thoughts churned. I had shown my hand. There would be whispers, rumors that I still held loyalty to my old friend. Perhaps even Eadric would take notice.

  I had made my choice.

  And soon, I would have to face the consequences.

  "Arthur was the storm that built a throne; Alexios was the fire that burned too bright."

  -Gulvian Proverbs

  TALES OF KINGS: KING ALEXIOS the HUNGRY LION

  A direct descendant of the legendary Arthur the Conqueror, King Alexios earned his moniker, the Hungry Lion, not merely for his unrelenting ambition but for his insatiable thirst for conquest. Where Arthur had united the fractured realms of Gulvia, Alexios sought dominion beyond his ancestors' wildest dreams.

  His reign began with the complete subjugation of the Sami people, pushing their remnants into the cold northern reaches of the Endless Mountains, where they would never again threaten Gulvia’s borders. With his homeland secure, Alexios cast his gaze outward, setting his sights on the lands of Western Errissia. Through relentless military campaigns, he brought the disparate kingdoms and city-states under his rule, forging a mighty empire that no king before him had ever dreamed of controlling.

  Yet his hunger did not wane. With Western Errissia unified, Alexios turned eastward, setting his sights on an even greater prize—the Messaine Empire, a formidable power across the Great Sea of Errissia. No ruler of Gulvia had ever attempted such a bold invasion, let alone succeeded. But Alexios was not like other rulers. With a fleet unmatched in size and an army hardened by years of war, he crossed the treacherous waters and launched his legendary Eastern Campaign.

  Victory after victory followed. Messaine strongholds fell before him, and his banners flew over foreign lands once thought untouchable. His name struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, and in the span of nine years, he achieved what no Western Errissian King had before—he became the first ruler to Conquer Messaine Empire but he never fully subjugated it.

  But fate proved cruel. In the eleventh year of his reign, at the height of his glory, Alexios met his end in a foreign land, far from the throne he had fought so fiercely to expand. His sudden death shattered the empire he had built, and in the years that followed, his conquests crumbled as quickly as they had risen. The Messaine city he had conquered rebelled, the Eastern provinces fell into chaos, and Western Errissia fractured into warring factions once more.

  Though his empire did not endure, his legacy lived on. He was the first Gulvian king to set foot on distant shores, the first to bring the Great Sea under his dominion, and the first to die on foreign soil. His name became legend, a symbol of boundless ambition and the fleeting nature of power.

  Even in death, the Hungry Lion’s roar echoed through history.