The thirteenth prince of the Kingdom of Eternia was stationed to oversee a peaceful, decently fortified, village. He was a handsome young man, rather quick-witted and had a taste for adventure and battle. How did his father grant him his wish? Well, by sending him to one of the last possible place he'd be attacked.
He had been given a task to improve the village's prosperity by a good degree in two years. Frankly, the prince was doing a decent job at it with his right-hand man Escalar guiding him. But… the thing he desired most was so far away…
Careful what you wish for is what they say, isn't it?
Well, to his disbelief, today would be the day he would taste a real battle.
"War is not a game," Escalar stated, seeing that his young master was staring into the distant, fogged sea. "Death is at every corner, wherever you look. I've seen the most eager of men collapse completely and fall to the sword from mental instability. It's a frightening place that-"
"I'm not a coward like them." The boy refuted, shaking his head. "I was born to be a courageous warrior like the Holy Knight Gladius… I know it!"
"The Holy Knight Gladius could turn the tides of an entire war with his presence while you've only ever excelled in sparring practice. It is good to have ambition… however, there is a point where it's a little bit much. Your father wants you to be a governing prince, not a warrior. Fighting would only get you killed early."
"Leave the fighting to the soldiers. You are a prince."
"The thirteenth prince born from a secondary wife." Artos Pendragon scoffed. "What does it matter what I want to do? My older brothers are all more relevant than I am. Being Gladius' squire would be a thousand times better than whatever I am now... I mean, look at this place."
Artos Pendragon observed the lands beneath him. The village itself was rather small and only housed three hundred people at the most. As the thirteenth prince... how could he not take this as an insult? Clearly, his father cared very little for him yet was considerate enough to keep him away from the battlefield.
'Such a strange contradiction...'
"Hais... there's no helping you sometimes." Escalar chuckled, brushing his hand across Artos Pendragon's long golden hair. "Maybe you'll someday understand the beauty of peace."
"The beauty of peace... that can never ever exist. Not as long as the filthy barbarians and war-mongering taians exist. Hell, even the Shogunate of Anzai is a threat to peace whenever great treasures are involved. There can never be true peace... not until Pangea is conquered by a single nation!"
"And how could said nation conquer the entire world?" Escalar inquired, looking as if he had heard an absurd notion.
"The Sword in the Stone..." Artos Pendragon muttered. "If a worthy King attains it, then he wouldn't lose a single battle."
"Legends... the legendary Excalibur was lost long ago and it's extremely unlikely to reappear ever again. The greatest source of power was the divine treasures sent down by God long ago. As you know, these divine treasures had vanished one after the other. Now, all we have are mighty generals who can turn the tides of wars... yet each nation has each of their own."
"With this stalemate, it's impossible for a single nation to conquer the rest. If one grew too strong, the rest wound band against it... it's all common sense, really."
"So what you're saying is it's better to just hold hands and allow ourselves to be trampled on?" Artos Pendragon shook his head. "The world shouldn't be in a state of constant chaos..."
"And yet that's how it is. We have to learn to live with it." Escalar countered, smiling bitterly. "You should feel fortunate to have been born a prince. Otherwise, you would've experienced far more difficulties than your royal father refusing to send you to the battlefield."
"Illness, conflict, poverty, war, hunger... there are so many harsh things you haven't truly experienced yet because of your great privilege."
"..." Artos Pendragon didn't exactly have a counter for that, nodding along. "Sure... things could be worse."
*HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM.*
Suddenly, a warhorn sounded as two ships made it past the mist... both carrying a black raven on their sails.
"Vikings... but this village hasn't been raided by them in over two decades! Why would they decide to..." Escalar muttered, turning to Artos Pendragon. "You have to shelter yourself in the keep. Don't leave... not until I tell you to."
"For the last time... I'm not a coward!"
"Just... listen to what I say and go!"
"Fine..."
Reluctantly, Artos Pendragon turned away from the two ships that were closing in on the village's small 'port' and essentially locked himself in the 'keep' above the village. It was the saddest excuse for a keep ever... it didn't even have a proper gate. However, he did not intend to stay there for long...
~
When the Vikings docked with the port, the villagers had mounted a defence to fend them off. However, very few of these villagers were real fighters. This truth came to light when they had to fight the Vikings...
Up close, every last one of them seemed like a heartless devil who ascended from the depths of hell to drag them back down. After the first villager was cut down like wheat to a scythe, the slaughter had begun. The villagers began to tremble in fear, leaving the small handful of soldiers on their own.
The soldiers of Eternia held their own for some time... but they were eventually trampled on by the Vikings who were greater in number and far stronger. Both their spirit and physical strength had the soldiers of Eternia severely outmatched.
Once they cut through the village's main defences, the Vikings mostly scattered to do their own looting.
...
Artos Pendragon grabbed some of the armour in the keep alongside a sword before marching out of the keep, imagining himself as the hero who'll lead his men to victory.
However... that was not at all the case.
When he looked at the village, all he saw was Vikings looting, razing and having a good ol' time. It was at that moment that his heart sank and the reality of war was finally revealed to his emerald eyes...
War... was a place of terror and death.
Glory, honour, bravery... what were these things?
Where was the shining knight that would save the day?
Because, when his hands trembled and knees buckled before over thirty Vikings... Artos Pendragon realised that he was not the hero who'd save anyone.
His eyes lost their colour as he slowly descended upon the village, watching villagers getting slaughtered along with their children. The women... he heard screams of anguish and struggle but it was all for nought, in the end.
'My people...'
Fury bubbled inside of Artos Pendragon's heart as he continued his descent. Sorrow... fear... suddenly, he no longer felt any of that. His heart blazed with an ever-growing flame for blood... no matter how strong... no matter how many of them there were... he decided that he'd fight to the death!
"Oh? Look, there's one more!" One Viking said in their nordic language, turning to Artos Pendragon with a smile on his face. To him, all he saw was a boy with a sword... and he was right to think so.
He moved forwards, charging towards Artos Pendragon.
Clang.
Deflecting the strike with his sword, Artos Pendragon had finally engaged in a real battle. However, he was outmatched in strength. The Viking pushed him back with ease before stabbing the boy in the leg.
Staggering back, Artos Pendragon winced at his new wound.
The Viking chuckled, bashing his sword against his shield in a taunting fashion. "WRAH!"
After one loud shout from the Viking, Artos Pendragon stepped back and the Viking laughed.
Feeling humiliated, Artos Pendragon's grip on his sword tightened. This time... he decided to go on the offensive.
His attack did not go well.
The Viking shoved his sword away with his shield, moved forward and smashed his helmet against Artos Pendragon's head. After being disorientated, the Viking finished him off with a punch to the gut.
Feeling dizzy from his blood loss and previous hits, Artos Pendragon fell to the ground.
...
When he awoke, his blurry eyes only saw the destruction of the village he had meant to govern. He saw some familiar faces as he was dragged away, too. Some villagers there... a girl he somewhat fancied there... and, most importantly, his advisor... Escalar was dead too.
'What... is there left for me?'
He looked down and observed that both of his hands were bound by rope. Along with him, there were several other slaves the Vikings had restrained for their own desires. Would they realise that he was the thirteenth prince of Eternia and sell him back for ransom? Or would he suffer a far worse fate...