The Last Knight

Chapter 3: Zartorious IV Scouts

Horror awaited at the gate. The wind carried the coppery stench of blood as the Captain of the Southern Soil froze, staring in disbelief at the c*****e before him.

Beheaded soldiers of Lethrax, the village guards, lay scattered across the ground, their bodies a grim warning.

From the walls, where archers should have kept watch, jagged arrows jutted out, remnants of a deadly assault. Crossbows, he realized, had been trained with precision.

Silence pressed in, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind.

His ears rang with anger, his dueling blades still resting heavily on his shoulders. Step by step, he advanced, surveying his soldiers’ fallen posts and the path ahead. A trail of crimson led his eyes to the village streets.

“Blood path…” he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the scent of iron and charred wood. Doors hung broken from their hinges, windows shattered. Civilians peeked out, wide-eyed and trembling, until they recognized him, their captain. Relief flashed on their faces, fleeting and fragile.

But what could a single man do against an army? Against the Zartorious IV Scouts, whose full power had yet to reveal itself.

He walked forward without a second thought.

At the eastern lake of Durkenheim, Zartorious IV arrived. He remained mounted, his horse restless beneath him as his gaze swept across the shoreline. Blood trails carved through the earth, fresh, scattered, leading in different directions. Chaos.

“Captain Zartorious… there are more trails on the far side of the lake,” one of his knights reported.

Zartorious said nothing at first. His eyes traced the vast body of water. The lake stretched endlessly, its surface dark and still, reflecting the looming cliffs and distant mountains beyond.

”This lake connects to the cliffs… and the mountains beyond that,” he thought.

”Another heim… or a passage to one.” He turned slowly to face his knights.

“Spread out,” he ordered, voice calm but absolute. “It has been days since he fled. With his wounds, he would not move recklessly. If he changed course, it would be from east… to south. Nearest land.” The knights straightened.

“Deploy a bird to the scouts,” he continued.

“Grant mercy to civilians who submit.” A pause. “Those who resist…” His eyes hardened.

“Behead them. Let their heads be carried as trophies.” Silence followed.

Then... “Captain… they already have.” A woman stepped forward from the ranks, her armor marked with dried blood. Her right gauntlet tightened with a faint creak of steel while riding a horse.

“They’re ahead of us. The scouts have begun their sweep. Dozens are already dead.” Her gaze remained steady.

“If he is there… he’ll be killed like the rest.” The air shifted.

Zartorious’ expression did not change, but something colder settled behind his eyes.

“They won’t win.” His voice was quiet. Certain.

“They are not facing a villager… nor a broken soldier.”

He looked toward the blood trails again.

“They are facing a man who stood against a thousand knights… and was the only one left standing.” A brief silence.

“He is Dread.” The name lingered.

“The most feared knight across all kingdoms. Wounded or not… he remains a monster among monsters.” His grip tightened slightly on the reins.

“And he is not the only one.” The statement carried weight, unclear, but heavy. The knights shifted uneasily. The woman hesitated, then spoke again.

“…Then the Lieutenant,” she said carefully.

“He has a chance… doesn’t he, Captain?” The entire formation stilled. Every knight waiting. For truth. For reassurance. For something to hold onto.

“The Lieutenant?” Zartorious exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the blood-stained ground.

“He’s been sitting behind walls for too long. His body softened… his blade dulled.” His voice lowered. “War stripped him of steel and left him with nothing but thought. Wisdom, perhaps, but not the kind that wins battles.” He tightened his grip on the reins.

“When he was called back into war… he hesitated.” A brief silence followed. Then Zartorious straightened.

“The six of you,” he said, his voice cutting clean through the air. “You ride under my command.” His eyes moved across them, one by one.

“And while I breathe… I will carve a path for you. A life worth more than survival. A life where nothing is taken from you… because I will take it for you.” The promise lingered, heavy, dangerous.

“In the meantime…” His gaze sharpened.

“Karax. Himmed.” The two knights straightened immediately.

“You return to the walls of Durkenheim. The gate that connects to Taraxheim must not fall. Reinforce it. Hold it.”

“Yes, Captain,” they answered in unison, bowing from their saddles. “In the name of Zartorious… may safety be with you.”

“You are dismissed. Move.” Without another word, they turned their horses and rode off at once. Zartorious watched them go, then turned.

“Anissa. Jones.” The two stepped forward. “Find the Lieutenant. Support him.” A pause. Then his voice hardened.

“And find Dread.” The air grew heavier.

“Track him. Corner him.” His eyes darkened.

“End him.”

Anissa placed a fist to her chest. “Your word is law, Captain. May Zartorious be with you.” Jones nodded beside her, silent but resolute.

They rode off without hesitation. Now only two remained.

“Wilkes. Duke.” Both knights leaned forward slightly, awaiting command.

“Ride to the port. Our allies from the sea should have arrived by now.” His tone was calm, controlled. “Find out their next move. If they question our agreement…” A faint pause.

“Tell them it will be honored.”

“Yes, Captain. May Zartorious be with us.”

They departed swiftly, hooves striking hard against the blood-marked earth. Silence followed.

For the first time since arriving… Zartorious IV was alone. The wind moved again, carrying the scent of iron and death across the lake.

He turned his horse toward the far east. Toward where the trails grew thinner. Toward where something… or someone… still moved. Without another word, he rode.

Where Dread moved, the sun still shone.

Bright. Unbothered. As if the sky refused to acknowledge the blood soaking the land below.

The scent of iron clung to the air, thick and suffocating. What was once a clear blue sky now felt stained, like it was slowly being painted red by everything that had already been lost.

From the shadows of the Southern Soil, Dread watched. Silent. Unseen. His gaze followed the Zartorious Scouts as they moved across the land with precision, methodical, disciplined.

Not reckless. Not wasteful.

“They spared the civilians…” he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. “They only cut down soldiers.”

His jaw tightened.

“Squires didn’t stand a chance against those two.”

His focus shifted, locking onto them. Then, a flicker. The woman. Her head turned. Not fully. Just enough. Toward him.

Dread stilled. Every instinct sharpened at once. He withdrew deeper into the shadow without a sound, his breathing controlled, presence erased.

”Did she see me…?” A pause.

No movement followed. No signal. No reaction.

“…No. Coincidence.” But something in him didn’t settle.

”If she did sense me…” His eyes darkened slightly.

”She’s not just a knight. She’s an assassin.” A different kind of threat. He shifted his gaze and froze.

From the far side of the Southern Soil… a figure approached. Alone. Steady. Unstoppable. The Captain.

Dread’s eyes widened.

“No…”

The word barely left his lips. He moved. Immediately. No hesitation. No second thought. He slipped from his position, sliding down the roof in one fluid motion. His feet touched the edge, then he leapt, clearing the gap between buildings with practiced ease.

Another roof. Another landing. Silent. Fast. Precise. He didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. A dead end met him, but it didn’t matter. He dropped without slowing, landing on the ground below before pushing forward into a sprint, boots striking the earth in controlled bursts.

”He must not reach them.” His thoughts sharpened with urgency.

”If he clashes with them here...” Images flashed in his mind. Steel. Fire. Blood spilling into streets already soaked.

”The civilians won’t survive it.” His pace quickened. Breath steady. Eyes locked forward.

“I won’t let that happen.” The distance closed. Step by step. Faster. Closer.

Until, he saw him. The Captain. Clear now. Within reach. Dread pushed forward one final time, and stopped before him.

The world seemed to hold its breath. Dread lifted his gaze... And the Captain’s eyes widened.

Dread caught his breath just as he reached him. The Captain stood frozen. Not in fear... But in disbelief.

His eyes were locked ahead, unmoving, as if what stood before him refused to make sense.

“Don’t fight them!” Dread snapped, grabbing his shoulder, desperation breaking through his usual control. “If you do, this village will be wiped out!” The Captain didn’t answer.

His hand moved in a single motion, sharp, dismissive, knocking Dread’s grip away as he stepped forward. That was when Dread saw it. And everything inside him burned. Not far ahead stood a man, calm, composed... holding a severed head.

Lethrax. His lifeless eyes stared into nothing, blood still dripping from the torn neck. The man smiled. Cold. Amused.

“It seems this knight meant something to you,” he said lightly, almost conversational.

“My Zartorious Scouts spared his life.” A pause.

“He chose otherwise.” The smile widened.

“He killed ten of my squires.” Without breaking eye contact. He let the head fall. It struck the ground with a dull, wet sound.

Then, he stepped on it. And crushed it beneath his heel. Bone cracked. Flesh split. Silence shattered. The Captain’s hands trembled as they closed around the hilts of his dueling blades. His body screamed to move. To tear. To kill.

But he held it... Barely. Searching. Waiting... For the smallest opening. For one moment to end it.

“In the name of Zartorious…” the man continued, voice smooth with mockery. “May this one be granted peace in heaven.” He tilted his head slightly.

“And how convenient…” His eyes shifted. Landing directly on Dread.

“You were here all along.” Recognition flickered, followed by satisfaction.

“This makes things… much easier.” A faint chuckle escaped him.

“I didn’t expect you to travel all the way from Durkenheim so quickly.” Dread’s restraint snapped.

“YOU DAMN LIEUTENANT!” His voice tore through the air, raw, furious. Every step forward carried intent to kill.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT!” the Captain roared. “For him—” His voice shook with rage.

“For everyone you’ve slaughtered today!” The Captain moved. No more restraint. No more waiting.

Steel sang as both blades were drawn in a single motion.

“AND FOR THE SIN YOU’VE COMMITTED!” He exploded forward, fast, relentless, every ounce of rage driving him straight toward the Lieutenant. The man didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

He only smiled. As if this… Was exactly what he wanted.

The Captain’s blade came down. A killing stroke. Then... smirk. Dread saw it. A fraction too deliberate. Too calm. Too ready. He moved first.

Steel flashed as Dread drew in a single breath, surging forward and catching the Captain from behind, twisting, forcing his weight off balance. The strike broke.

The Captain flipped and was thrown back, skidding across the ground before crashing hard.

“HE’S NEVER ALONE!” Dread roared. The warning came just in time. The Captain pushed himself up, breath ragged, eyes darting, and froze.

They were surrounded. No footsteps. No approach. Just… there. Encircling them. The Captain’s gaze snapped forward again toward Dread.

And what he saw made his chest tighten.

Dread stood locked in place. His snapped blade got caught, pinned between the jagged edges of something massive weapon that looked like a pair of giant shears. A scissor-blade.

It gleamed cold under the sun. And it was held, effortlessly, by a woman in knight’s armor, a red cape flowing behind her like a warning written in blood.

Behind her, the Lieutenant smiled. Amused. Watching.

“A knight who wields a special weapon…” Dread said low, eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard of you.”A pause.

“The Cutter.” The name landed.

The woman didn’t respond. She moved. The scissor snapped upward with brutal force, sending Dread’s broken blade up as she stepped in, a kick followed... Fast. Precise.

Dread twisted with it, sliding back just as the blades opened wide where the air itself seemed to split where his neck had been a heartbeat ago.

He landed light. Silent. Distance formed between them. Stillness. But not calm. Dread’s eyes moved, counting, mapping, reading. Positions. Angles. Openings. None.

“She took advantage of my snapped blade and force my hand.” he thought as his grip loosened. Then... He sheathed what remained of his weapon.

Adjusting his sword stance, his gaze lifted again, cold, focused. They weren’t just surrounded.

They were inside a formation. And every piece of it… Was waiting for him to make the next move.

A shift. Subtle... But enough. Every enemy knight tensed at once. Even the Lieutenant.

“…It’s him,” one of them whispered, voice laced with awe and fear. “The famous knight… Dread.” Steel shifted. Feet adjusted. No one moved carelessly anymore.

“Don’t try anything,” the Lieutenant warned, his voice losing its earlier ease. “You’re surrounded, Dread. That broken blade of yours won’t save you now.”

Then... He saw it. Dread’s eye widened. Not in fear. In realization.

“The curse…” the woman behind him murmured, her voice low, strained. Sweat traced down her temple. “It’s been active since we encountered him, Lieutenant.” Silence fell. The air changed. Heavy.

Oppressive. As if something unseen had settled over them all. The Lieutenant’s expression hardened.

Caution replaced arrogance. Dread lifted his head slowly. And when he spoke... It carried weight.

“Lieutenant Clisson…” his voice was quiet, but sharp as steel. “And the Cutter… Yara.” A faint, dangerous smile formed.

“Impressive. Even in the middle of war… I gather what I need.” His gaze locked onto Clisson.

“And you…” The air seemed to tighten.

“You butcher behind lines. Slaughter the defenseless. Turn the living into slaves.” A step forward.

“You will fall.” Another.

“And when you do…” His voice dropped, cold, absolute.

“I will make sure this world becomes worse than hell for you.” A beat.

“I swear it.” Then... He moved. His blade came free. And as it cut through the air. Flame followed. A burning arc. Something ignited beneath their feet. Clisson’s eyes snapped wide.

“—White phosphorus?!” Too late. Light erupted. Then fire. Yara’s blades ignited first, sparking violently before flames spread outward in a hungry surge.

The ground itself seemed to burn. Men screamed. Armor glowed red. Fire consumed everything it touched. Clisson raised his arm on instinct, shielding his face as the inferno swallowed the formation.

“MOVE—!” someone shouted... But explosions followed. One after another. A group of knights behind them vanished in a blast of heat and force. Chaos erupted.

“LET’S GO!” Dread shouted, turning sharply toward the Captain. “NOW!” But the Captain didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving.”

His voice cut through the flames. Firm. Unshaken.

“This is my home.” Dread froze.

“My land. My village.” The Captain’s grip tightened around his blades. “If I die here, then I die here.” Flames reflected in his eyes.

“And here’s my advice to you…” His gaze burned into Dread.

“Stop stepping into lands that aren’t yours.” A step forward.

“Because everywhere you go, people die.” Dread’s chest tightened.

“And this…” the Captain continued, voice breaking under the weight of it, “this will be the last.”

“No, listen to me..” Dread started... Steel rose to his neck. The Captain’s blade pointed straight at him.

“My men are dead!” His voice cracked, draw, unfiltered.

“Lethrax is dead!” The name hit harder than anything else.

“He was a child when I found him!” His grip trembled. “I raised him here, I taught him how to live, how to survive this world!” His breath staggered.

“And in one day…” Silence broke around them as fire roared louder.

“In one single day…” His eyes glistened.

“You took everything.” Dread said nothing. Couldn’t.

“Because of a war we were never part of!” the Captain roared. “Because of a war YOU brought to us!” The words struck deeper than any blade. Around them... Knights burned. Men screamed.

The world collapsed into hell. Dread’s eyes lowered. Guilt settled in. Heavy. Unavoidable.

“…Just like I thought,” the Captain said, quieter now. Tired. Broken. “You’ll keep running.” His blade lowered slowly.

“Village to village. Soil to soil.” Each word felt final.

“And everywhere you go…” A hollow breath. “They die.”Dread couldn’t answer. Didn’t even try.

“Go,” the Captain said at last, turning slightly away.

“We can’t stop this anymore.” Flames rose higher. Swallowing everything.

“Hell has already reached my home.”