Warlord Landon was on the last shred of his self-control. He was enraged and it boiled so much in his body that his hand began to shake violently, even as he held firmly onto a goblet of wine.
Thing is, the warlord had always prided himself as a man who never lost control. He was greater than his troubles, he always told himself, greater than whatever they could throw at him. But then, his troubles had never taken the form of the most infuriating swordsman that was the Knight before.
And truth be told, Landon had thought that trouble dealt with some days earlier when he sent the renowned assassin the Cobra after the Knight to kill him. But if the news the scouts had brought to him that morning was to be believed, he had thought wrong. The Cobra had failed; the assassin being the one to f
