The air was still thick with the scent of blood, smoke, and decay as an injured and recovering Drakar stood in the heart of the ruined Bloodburn Kingdom with bandages wrapped around his fractured limbs.
He refused to lose more face by resting on a bed and wanted to stand strong to show everyone who conquered everything here.
What was once a proud and thriving kingdom now lay in ruin, its grandeur reduced to rubble under his ruthless rule.
The once majestic Demonstone Castle, the symbol of Bloodburn's might, had been defiled and burned, its towering spires shattered, its blood-stained banners now trampled beneath the feet of his soldiers.
All around him, his men plundered mercilessly, tearing through the remains of noble estates, dragging away anything of value, and claiming the last of the surviving maids and servants for their own pleasures.
