She was brutally murdered and vowed to repay them

The taste of copper was the first thing to return, followed closely by the suffocating scent of burning cedar. Commander Kaelen's breath came in ragged, wet gasps. His armor, once a proud, gleaming silver plate that struck fear into the hearts of the kingdom's enemies, was shattered. A jagged shard of his own broken greatsword protruded from his chest, pinning him to the stone floor of the grand audience chamber. Above him stood the people he had bled for. King Valerius didn't look like a conqueror; he looked like a coward, his eyes darting to the side as he signaled the Grand Mage to finish the deed. Beside the throne, the high nobles—men and women who had cheered Kaelen's name at triumphs—watched with cold, calculated indifference. They called it treason. Kaelen knew it was a purge. He simply knew too much, carried too much loyalty from the common soldiers, and possessed a strength that made the crown tremble. "A pity," the King murmured, turning his back. "May history forget you, Commander." The Grand Mage raised his staff, a blinding white light fracturing Kaelen's vision. The pain of the spell tearing at his soul was absolute, a searing agony that promised nothingness. As the light consumed him, Kaelen's final thought wasn't a prayer. It was a vow. If there is an afterlife, I will tear it apart to crawl back and slit your throats. Gasp