SEVEN
704 Words
Alister’s throat bobbed. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
Nicholas’s voice cut through the tension.
“Enough of this nonsense!” he barked. “You’re a deserter, Lance! And yet you still have the guts to act like this in the Memorial Hall?”
Lance’s gaze flickered toward Nicholas, his grip on Alistair unwavering.
“A deserter?” Lance scoffed.
“I’ve spent the last ten years in the military."
"I’ve never once flinched in battle.” His voice dropped, each word laced with venom.
“Meanwhile, you people spent that time bullying and tormenting my family.”
His eyes returned to Alistair, the weight of his wrath crushing.
“You all deserve a miserable death!”
Nicholas suddenly burst into laughter, his voice filled with mockery.
“A warrior?" "You?” He sneered, shaking his head. “You’re nothing but a pathetic loser, Lance.”
“Stop lying,” Nicholas spat. “You weren’t fighting battles—you were hiding like a rat.”
His eyes gleamed with cruelty.
“You’re just a poor, homeless nobody, that’s why you came crawling back.”
Lance’s jaw tightened. His grip on Alister remained firm.
The chief stepped forward, his voice deep and commanding.
“Let Alistair go, Lance.” His gaze was cold. “And your family should kneel before us.”
A smug grin stretched across his face.
“Perhaps, if you all beg for mercy, I might consider sparing you.”
Then his tone darkened. “Otherwise, when I decide not to show you any mercy, don't say I didn't warn you."
Lance’s smirk deepened.
“Mercy?” He scoffed. “I’m curious. How exactly do you plan to show me mercy?”
His eyes darkened. “You’re nothing but a fly in my eyes.”
The chief’s expression twisted with anger, but before he could speak—
Malcolm stepped forward.
“Lance,” he sneered, “you forget something important.”
He gestured toward the chief.
“The chief's nephew is a warrior in the Prescott army.”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
Malcolm smirked.
“One call from him, and you, a deserter, will be a dead man.”
Alistair’s eyes lit up with hope.
A smirk returned to his bloody lips.
“Did you hear that?” Alister rasped. “You better let me go now, or—”
SLAP!
Lance did not even let him finish his sentence when his other hand struck Alistair’s face.
The impact sent him crashing to the floor.
Blood spurted from his mouth as he groaned in agony.
Lance tilted his head to the chief, cracking his knuckles.
“A warrior of the Prescott army?” He chuckled. “Even he would bow to me.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The chief’s face darkened. “How dare you disrespect a warrior of Prescott like that?”
Lance’s smirk didn’t fade. “You use his name to oppress people and act untouchable.” He crossed his arms. “Since you have so much confidence in him… call him. Let him know just how much trouble you’re in.”
The chief’s jaw clenched and his patience snapped.
“Men! Surround him!”
The guards hesitated.
They had seen what happened to the others who tried to stop Lance.
But they could not afford to defy the Chief, so they slowly surrounded him.
The chief’s face twisted with rage. “Tie him up!” he roared. “Hold him until my nephew arrives! I will end his life!”
Nicholas folded his arms, shaking his head.
“See where your stubbornness has led you, Lance?” His voice dripped with mockery.
Then his eyes gleamed with cruelty.
“But don’t worry,” Nicholas sneered. “Once you’re dead, the chief will take good care of your wife.”
Laughter erupted among the officers.
Evelyn's face twisted in disgust as Lance’s fists clenched.
His rage was reaching its breaking point.
Lance’s glare snapped toward Nicholas. His finger jabbed toward him, his voice boiling with fury.
“You bastard!” His tone was sharp and deadly.
His body trembled with barely restrained rage.
“My father saved your life years ago, and this is how you repay him?”
- Writer
