Wrath of Arthur: The Cursed Bloodline

Arthur continued his travels to Cravendorn Kingdom, Four days later…

Arthur walked with his cloak tugged close to his body, sword on his back, boots crunching over scattered leaves.

He was somewhere between the border towns of Cravendorn—where thick woods stretched endlessly, and the only sounds were rustling trees and distant birds.

He stopped by a small stream to refill his flask, kneeling beside the cold water.

"Nice sword you've got there, young man."

Arthur alerted.

Two figures emerged from behind the trees, dragging a few freshly hunted rabbits slung over their shoulders. Both wore tattered leather gear—grimy, stained with dirt and age. Hunters.

The older one grinned, a jagged scar across his chin. "We don't see many travelers around here alone. Bit risky, don't you think?"

Arthur stood up slowly, one hand hovering near his sword hilt.

The second hunter, a lanky man with a crooked nose, smirked. "We are just making conversation. But that bag of yours… looks like it carries something heavy that could feed us for a week."

Arthur stood up slowly, one hand hovering near his sword hilt.

The second hunter, a lanky man with a crooked nose, smirked. "We're just making conversation. But that bag of yours… looks like it carries something heavy. Could feed us for a week."

As the men crept closer, Arthur's eyes widened for a second. Recognition hit him like a jolt. But almost instantly, his expression shifted—calm, composed… and then a cheeky grin stretched across his face.

"You guys don't remember me?" he said with a cold edge. "What a jackpot. I came here searching for traces of my past—but looks like my whole damn past just walked up to me."

The two hunters paused, blinking.

Arthur tilted his head. "Ayy… you bastards. I'm that kid. The one you sold to that trader in Cravendorn when I was four."

Their faces tensed. They looked at each other, trying to remember.

One of them—scar across his chin—let out a mocking laugh. "So what? We'll just do it again. You still look like a teen with good fit —bet you'll go for decent mone—"

In a blink, Arthur lunged forward in a flash, grabbed the man's face mid-sentence, and slammed him down into the dirt with a thud so hard it shook the ground. The hunter twitched on the spot, completely out cold.

The other one was still staring straight ahead… not knowing what just happened. His eyes slowly slid sideways—only to see his partner unconscious, limbs twitching, mouth agape.

Arthur straightened, brushing the dust off his hands.

The second hunter's eyes went wide with terror. He started stepping back slowly, his hunting gear and rabbit meat sliding off his shoulders, hitting the forest floor with soft thuds.

Arthur took one step toward him.

The man flinched.

Arthur smirked slightly. "you are next."

Terrified, still trembling, the hunter fumbled for his blade—then pulled it out and blindly swung through the air, panicking, even though Arthur was out of reach.

Arthur moved with a sharp, fluid motion—ducking the wild swing with ease, then vanishing in a blur. In a flash, he appeared behind the man and landed a clean, brutal kick to his back.

The hunter flew forward, crashing to the ground and rolling a few feet before coming to a stop, coughing and groaning.

Arthur approached again.

The man, barely conscious, raised a shaking hand. "P-please… don't kill me. Take whatever you want—I'll give you anything!"

Arthur stopped, eyes narrowing.

"Anything, huh?"

He drew his sword slowly—the first time he unsheathed it in front of anyone. The dark roughed up steel.

Arthur placed the blade coldly against the hunter's neck.

"Then tell me—where did you find me? Where did I come from? Where are my parents?"

The man's breathing grew shallow. "You… you're the kid, right? The one with that small wooden sword… it had some name carved on it."

Arthur nodded silently.

The hunter continued, voice trembling. "We—we found you alone. Southeast outskirts forest of Cravendorn. We're from a small village nearby… called Torvale. You had fancy ornaments on you, you said you are lookin for your parents. But there was no one else around. You would've died there alone…"

He gulped.

"So we… we sold you to that trader. At least you had food, a roof. I—In a way, we saved you…"

Arthur's face hardened. "Stop talking."

He stared down, lost in thought for a second. Torvale… southeast forest…

He exhaled and snapped back to the present.

"If I ever find out you did this to another kid, that will be your last day…"

Arthur raised his sword, turned it flat—and slammed sideways into the man's head.

The hunter slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Arthur slid his blade back into its sheath and walked on—his eyes sharper than ever.

He reached the Cravendorn as Arthur showed the gate pass that Sir Vale had given him, the guards glanced at it before waving him through.

Cravendorn.

Still massive. Still loud. Maybe even larger than he remembered. The huge buildings towered on either side, banners of trade houses fluttering above the narrow alleys.

As he walked through the capital streets, Arthur spotted a man lifting his boot toward a slave women who had tripped. Before the kick landed, Arthur stepped in silently—just far enough to be noticed. The man looked up, and the glare Arthur gave him was enough.

The man backed off without a word.

A few streets later, he noticed a lean little kid standing outside a restaurant, his eyes fixed on a roasted meat skewer turning above the flame. Arthur pulled out a gold coin from his pouch and gave it to kid without saying anything. The boy stared in disbelief as Arthur walked away.

Still the same.

They hadn't changed at all.

He moved deeper into the capital.

Until he stood in front of it.

The same building. Same crooked sign barely hanging.

The Ruchies warehouse.

Where the trader used to store his goods—and his slaves.

Arthur stared at the door for a second.

Then he walked in.

Ruchie, the fat trader, sat behind his cluttered desk, gold coins clinking through his fingers as he counted with a greedy grin.

He glanced up casually—then squinted.

His grin widened arrogantly.

"Well, if it ain't my little slave," he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "What happened? Miss me? Came back to be my slave again?"

Arthur stepped in without a word, posture firm, calm—but his left hand rested on his sword's hilt.

With every step Arthur took forward, Ruchie's smirk thinned. The clinks of gold stopped. His arrogance slowly faded into a twitch of unease.

"Jeez," Ruchie said, trying to sound casual. "What are they feeding you, huh? You got tall… and all muscle too. What are you here for, young man?"

Arthur stopped a few feet from his table, his eyes sharp. Still silent.

Ruchie leaned forward now, less smug. "Look man, Don't take rash decisions..."

Arthur finally spoke, low and steady:"I'm here for the golden locket. The one you took from me."

Ruchie blinked, trying to play dumb. "Golden locket? Took?"

Arthur didn't blink."The one I wore when you bought me from those hunters."His hand shifted—just enough for the blade at his waist to shine as it slid slightly from its sheath.

Ruchie's smirk vanished. His eyes darted to the sword, then back to Arthur's cold stare.

He swallowed. "Yeah… that one. I, uh—I still have it. But it's mine now. You were part of the trade, remember? I can't just—"

Arthur cut him off by dropping a heavy sack of coins onto the desk. The bag thudded loud, bursting slightly at the seams.

"Don't bother counting," Arthur said. "Just get the locket."

Ruchie nodded, muttering under his breath as he stood. He shuffled upstairs and returned a minute later with a small, old box. Inside, the golden locket—dull with age, but unmistakable.

Arthur took it gently. His fingers lingered on the edges as if feeling the weight of memory.

He gave Ruchie one last look—a cold, unreadable glare. Not of hate. Not of thanks. Just… a warning.

Then he turned and walked out the door without a word.

Arthur sit on a quiet mountaintop just outside Cravendorn. The wind breezed around him, making his cloak flap behind him. Looking down on capital of Cravendorn.

In his hand, the golden locket.

He stared at it in silence.

His fingers brushed the clasp.

This was it. The moment.The truth of his past—of the faces he was starting to forget—lay just one flick away.

He about to open the locket.