Shadow Sword of Vengeance

Lucien went on walking around the town, Misk silently at his side. The streets were hushed, and an air of tension hung suspended in the atmosphere like a cold fog. The inhabitants went about their daily rounds with nervous sidelong glances, as though dreading secret eyes peeping from the dark. 

Soon enough, Lucien rode up to the town's central inn, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. He opened the massive door and stepped within, the golden light of candle flame throwing long shadows over the rustic decor. The low, tense voices filled the air. 

He walked silently to the last table in the corner, out of the way of their eyes. He took a seat, his back relaxed but his ears alert. 

In the middle of the room, there was a conference going on. The elites of the town—rich merchants, valued warriors, and powerful men and women—sat around an expansive table, in a subdued yet fervent debate. The concern was written on their faces, frustration in their voices. 

Lucien settled back a bit, eavesdropping carefully. 

"The problems are only getting worse," one of the men said, his voice filled with anger. "The soldiers are oppressing civilians, working alongside mercenaries as if they were same. If anyone dares to oppose them, they execute them publicly—claiming it to be in the name of the law while giving their full support to those brutes." 

Others nodded grimly. 

"With no true protection, crime is getting out of hand," the man went on. "Stealing is becoming more frequent, and robbers are walking around free while innocent men like me are paying the price. And the king? He's barely even recognized the issue, much less done anything about it!" 

There was a heavy silence after he spoke, until another man finally broke it. His tone was quiet, but there was iron underlying it. 

"We must take matters into our own hands," he announced. "If the king won't act, then we will. We should create societies—bands of our best fighters—and drum up support from the surrounding towns. If we create a big enough movement, the king will be forced into acting. And if he doesn't…" He glared around the room. "Then he'll be deposed from his throne." 

Whispers of assent rippled through the group, but one man, wiser and older, shook his head. 

"This might work," he conceded, "but will the other towns support us? It's a risky bet. If we lose, they won't just arrest us—they'll kill us all." 

"Killing all of us?" Another man laughed. "What are you talking about? That's not the sort of king we have. You think before you say something." 

"Not that type of king?" The first man laughed harshly. "Then explain to me—what is he doing when his people are being killed by mercenaries and even his own soldiers? What has he done about it? Nothing. And still, you have his back?" 

Tension hung in the air like a storm on the horizon. Lucien said nothing, observing, listening. The burden of their words weighed heavy in his mind. Change was on its way—whether by rebellion or violence, it was only a matter of time, and they started cursing each other. 

Across the valley, on a solitary hill, the pupil of the Sin of Pride sat in serene reflection, his eyes cast downward upon the fields below. The wind rustled through the grass, imbuing him with an aura of power. 

Soon enough, a young man came walking up to him. He inclined his head respectfully before speaking. 

"You summoned me, Master Majestic?" He asked respectfully. 

Majestic, the Sin of Pride's disciple, gazed at him with an unyielding stare. 

"I called you to be given a particular task, my young brother," he declared, his tone overflowing with unshakable self-assurance. 

The young man stiffened, his eyes sparkling with devotion. "Command me, Elder Brother, and I will not hesitate." 

Majestic let out a soft sigh, as if the issue was not worthy of his consideration. "There is an individual… a minor pest, who seeks to ruin our great cause. I would not usually take a single breath over someone as small and unimportant as this one. But handling him myself would be beneath my powers. So, I am giving you this responsibility." 

The young man's pride swelled within his chest. "I am privileged, Brother… but why me?" 

Majestic's face remained unwavering. "Because you are my blood. Of all my disciples, you are the strongest. The same power that runs through me runs through you, which makes you greater than all the rest. It is only proper that you deal with this issue." 

His face broke out in a slow, anticipatory smile. He made a fist, sensing the flood of purpose rushing through him. 

"Give me the details, Brother," he replied, his voice tinged with excitement. "And I will kill him." 

After taking information from Majestic. He left to prepare for the journey ahead.. 

Soon enough, the aged Soist heard the news. 

"I knew he wouldn't go himself," Soist grumbled, running his hand over his beard. "Still, even his brother is to be reckoned with. This mission will prove no task for him either." He stopped, deliberating, before issuing his command. "Send word to him—Lucien has been seen in the town along the River of Dragons. He is to set out immediately." 

The message was delivered quickly. Having received it, the young warrior did not hesitate. He turned to his assembled disciples, and with a haughty, authoritative voice, spoke to them. 

"I, the Great Majestir, shall teach you what it is to be a true warrior!" His words were full of unshakeable confidence, his eyes shining with intent. "Observe well, for this shall be a lesson in strength, in mastery—one that you will never forget." 

His disciples stood in awed attention, hanging on his every word. 

"We depart in an hour," he went on. "Ready your weapons, collect your equipment. The road begins soon." 

Without delay, the disciples departed, their movements quick and disciplined. Swords were honed, armor strapped on, steeds saddled. 

Their journey started without any delay on their horses following Majestir and praising him