Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

With a groan, Fioldron Ferrcrona rubbed his temples, a heavy headache pounding from within, echoing and bouncing everywhere inside his skull, despite his body being healed, something had been left behind, he had held strong in the face of death, but wounds beyond the flesh had been inflicted nonetheless, Loimos's accursed voice was still ringing in his mind.

"Curse you…" he murmured in the darkness of his room, the room he had used a few times in the past when visiting Agilulf Wanneck for whatever businesses, this was where he had been brought after receiving the miraculous healing of Rosemary's flames.

This room was outrageously large, and somehow managed to not seem uncanny with a bunch useless empty space, the merchant king had always known how to accommodate just about anyone, but something else had been brought to his room as per his wishes, something that even when half-way unconscious and broken in body, he had not forgotten to point out.

His eyes met with the slits, flesh tingling just by looking at it, both power and the history of Starkefolten were staring right at him, he had failed to defend his nation once to many times, he had been too weak to lead this glorious kingdom, his sword was feeble, strength insufficient, beaten down by a single undead, a mere courier at that. Read the latest on My Virtual Library Empire

A king felled by a messenger, there was nothing more humiliating, and yet, no one seemed to hold any contempt for him, his people had seen him and his champions setting outside the safety of the barrier and challenge the dead, the people valued courage and valour, but that was wrong, they should have valued strength and power.

What good is a crown when its weight is too heavy to bear? Fioldron Ferrcrona had not bent his will to The Prince Of Death, he had not bent his honour to Loimos, he had resisted until his very flesh and bones gave out, and it was all much too less even then.

In this world where there were countless ways to grow more powerful, the majority still saw no benefit in it, and amongst those that tried, many were met with unbreakable obstacles preventing them from stepping into the domain of true champions and heroes.

The iron king was one of such people, holding not any type of talent, but he had something close at hand, the legacy of Starkefolten was right within reach, its infernal interior called for him.

"In retribution, my flesh shall singe…" he walked up to this artefact and placed his hand up against the chest piece, feeling his headache receding, but no, now was not the right time, the pain was to be immense and without limit, but he mustn't grow used to it, his agony had to be ripe and at its peak when the dead came knocking, his full wrath fueled by suffering had to befall them.

A knock came upon the door, taking him out of his daydreaming, suddenly feeling much better now his determination solidified, he beckoned them to enter, channelling some mana into a nearby crystal to illuminate his room, now that he thought about it, he had been staring at something in complete darkness, truly, its call was strong.

"Your majesty" it was Lunate.

'Ah' the iron king said nothing, suddenly remembering about his hidden daughter, indeed, he had to be burned for her sake as well, for the sake of the blood and flesh he did not recognise as his heir, fearful of what would be thought of him when it was known that he had failed to uphold the vows of marriage.

Although, it was almost certain that many already suspected it, the black hair, the dark blue eyes, even their faces, she was a spitting image of the iron king, it was simply that none dared to bring it up, lest that obvious connection turned out to be a coincidence.

"Have your injuries healed properly?" she asked, her hands behind her back.

"Yes, no need to worries, I am as good as new, probably better than I was before in fact, the flames of the volcano witch are truly exceptional" he reassured her, not mentioning the near constant headaches he would get, or the odd visions of Loimos he would sometime get in his nightmares, certain that it was not simply his fears, but that the undead had somehow taken root within his mind and was tormenting him, he would never admit to such things that could not be cured by anyone.

It would be worrying his people for no reason.

"Are you not training with the others, Lunate?" he changed the subject, the girl held one hand up.

"I have been familiarising myself with our other allies, and also, I have brought a woman knowing of rites luck, you might be familiar with her, my lord, her name is Milanit, it might not be much, but we require all that we can, do we not?" she smiled slightly, glancing at the item Fioldron Ferrcrona still had his palm up against.

An enormous suit of armour of lustrous black alloy, decorated with lines of gold, the entire suit seemed unfit for a human to fit in, a greatsword that would be perfectly at ease within the iron hand of this armour.

Lunate did not comment upon it, even though she should be in the know about it, acting like nothing was seen, bowing her head and taking her leave, no comments despite knowing what this suit meant, and what it entailed for the one that wore it.

She retreated back into the dark hallway, heading back to her fellow champions after strolling the halls and paying a visit to areas where people of Starkefolten had gathered, silently navigating the obscurity with the same ease as though she was born into it.

Fioldron Ferrcrona Turned his attention back to the suit of armour, a fair bit taller than himself, the armour pieces were not individual, the entire thing was put together and was not to be separated, much too heavy and large to be possibly worn by a human, but it was for one of this species that it had been created, this one had a semblance of a crown upon its helm.

The last of Starkefolten's once most powerful force, the last steam knight, the only suit that had never been worn and kept hidden within the guts of the royal castle, the steam knight meant for the king in person, but back when they were in use, the king had not had the grit to step in the inferno.

He would not make the same mistake, he would sacrifice his flesh.