The old man hobbled back toward the village, his cane striking the ground with each step.
Thud—thud—
The rhythmic sound carried through the silence as Alpheo followed closely behind, flanked by Jarva and the thirty men under his command.
The farms they passed were eerily still. No workers toiling in the fields, no grain swaying in the breeze—only empty stretches of land, stripped bare of their harvest.
Alpheo's sharp gaze swept over the scene. So, they've already stored it away.
His lips curled slightly at the realization. That meant the village warehouse must be filled to the brim with food—a comforting thought. At least we won't be starving anytime soon.
But even with this minor victory, caution still whispered at the back of his mind. There were pursuers on their heels, after all, and the road ahead was uncertain. His head turned slightly, catching sight of his men.
They walked with restless energy, fingers twitching at their belts, eyes darting toward the village huts with unspoken hunger.
Alpheo knew that look.
Frustration. A deep, gnawing desire. Not just for food or loot—but for release.
Years of deprivation, of being at the mercy of others, had made beasts out of them. And now that they finally had power, they ached to use it. To take. To crush. To remind the world that they were no longer the ones cowering in the dirt.To finally hold a woman , be with her willing or not
And Alpheo?
He felt it too. The thrill. The intoxicating rush of knowing that, for once, he held the leash instead of wearing it.
But he knew better than to act on impulse.
A man's desires were like a rabid dog straining against a leash—thrashing, snapping, desperate to be set loose. But a fool let the beast run wild. The smart man knew when to feed it, when to hold it back. Otherwise, his own strength would destroy him.
That was the difference between a leader and a brute.
Alpheo was thankful he hadn't brought the entire force inside the village. One unruly fool could have turned this into a bloodbath, and that was the last thing he needed. Not out of kindness—the years had stripped him of that—but because drawing the wrath of the local lords was a mistake he couldn't afford.
"Now is not the time to make more enemies."
Voltaire had supposedly said that on his deathbed when asked to renounce the devil. A final, clever jest from a man whose wit never dulled.
Alpheo had always found it amusing.
But here, in this village, it wasn't wit that would keep him alive. It was restraint.
Once, long ago, he had been a man people trusted—a good neighbor, a helping hand. That man was dead. Beaten and whipped out of existence.
In his second life, kindness was just another weakness waiting to be exploited.
And he had no intention of being a tool ever again.
The old man turned suddenly to Jarva, muttering something in his rough tongue. Jarva listened before translating.
"He says we are to wait here."
Alpheo nodded, his gaze drifting past the village to the green stretch of land beyond.
The sight of vegetation was almost foreign after days spent marching through barren, sun-bleached terrain. Where there was green, there was water. Where there was water, there was life. If he sent men to forage, they'd likely find something. But Alpheo dismissed the thought—not worth the effort. Time and energy were better spent elsewhere.
As the old man hobbled into the village, disappearing behind mud-bricked homes, Alpheo felt Jarva's presence beside him.
"So, what's next?"
Alpheo turned to the towering man. "Next to what?"
Jarva spread his arms, gesturing toward the village, the rolling fields, the road ahead. "Why march as mercenaries when we have enough gold to live without hunger? We could find wives, build homes, raise families—many of us, for the second time."
Alpheo arched an eyebrow, amused. "Why the sudden interest? Feeling cold feet?"
"I've refrained from asking until now," Jarva admitted with a shrug. "But I've made my choice, whether you answer or not. Still, I'd like to understand. Why risk your life fighting other men's wars?"
Alpheo chuckled—a low, dry sound. It caught even Jarva off guard.
"Other men's wars?" he echoed. "You think men fight their own wars? No—wars belong to those in power. The rest of us? We're just pieces on their board. Pawns to be moved, spent, discarded."
Jarva listened in silence, accustomed to Alpheo's darker musings. There was always something unsettling about the way that he spoke—as if he had glimpsed the world from above and found it lacking.
"Have you ever wondered why war exists?" Alpheo's eyes lifted toward the sky, as if questioning the gods themselves."Do men with crowns and fine clothes get hard at the thought of expanding lands they'll never work? Or does the sight of spilled blood make them feel alive?" He let out a breath, shaking his head."Or maybe it's simpler—the thrill of domination, the sheer ecstasy of bending another to your willThe primal desire to overpower others...."
Jarva said nothing. He knew better than to interrupt when Alpheo slipped into these moods.
Alpheo's gaze snapped back to him, sharp and piercing.
"You asked why?" His voice was quiet but laced with something dangerous. "Because I was born for more."
He stepped closer, tilting his head to meet Jarva's gaze.
"I was wasted as a slave," he murmured. "Just as I would be wasted on a farm. No—there's something inside me, Jarva. A hunger. A knowing. Like a predator that understands, by instinct, that it must feast on flesh. I know I am meant for more, and I will take it."
His voice deepened, growing almost feverish. "My mind does not work like the rest. I have ideas, Jarva. Ideas that could change this world." His fists clenched. "It's hard to explain—easier to show. But for that, I need men who trust me. That's why I spoke that day. That's why you followed me and follow me still. And I meant every word I had uttered that night."
Alpheo exhaled, steadying himself. Then, his voice turned softer, but no less sharp.
"I want to sit on a throne and move armies with a flick of my hand. I want to set my enemies ablaze and carve a dynasty into the bones of history. I want my name whispered across the world, until men tremble at its mere mention
. I want them to fear my banner fluttering in the wind, knowing it heralds their end."
His eyes gleamed with something unnatural. "This world has cast me aside for too long. Now, it is my turn to burn it"
Then, he paused.
His expression softened—just a fraction—as he tilted his head at Jarva.
"That is what I want. A mad dream, perhaps, like a worm daring to reach the sky."A smirk flickered across his lips. "But you asked, and I answered. Now tell me, Jarva—what is it you desire?"
Jarva's expression shifted, the weight of Alpheo's question settling on him like a thick fog. Years of enduring life's hardships, of being treated as little more than a beast of burden, had stripped him of the luxury of contemplating desires. Who asks a mule what it desires, other than food and water? No one.
"I don't know," Jarva confessed, his voice almost a whisper, betraying the vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.
Alpheo cocked an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "What was that?"
"I don't know what to do with my life," Jarva said, the words tumbling out with surprising honesty. "I expected to die where I was, eventually—just another whip to the back, the blade waiting for me. I never thought we'd make it this far. I thought the escape was just another way to get our necks closer to the noose. I was tired of it all… and now, I'm lost. Lost by the weight of the possibilities ahead. I don't know what to choose." His voice trailed off. "And yet… I'm curious."
Alpheo's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Curious about me, are you? You're wondering if I'm just spouting nonsense, if I really have the means to achieve everything I've talked about. If the worm dreaming of becoming a butterfly won't get eaten by the frog on its mad journey?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it.
Jarva blinked. "Seems like you already know...''
Alpheo threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich with dark amusement. "That's me," he said, his tone almost casual. "I work, I watch, and I learn. People—they're like books, Jarva. You just have to open them up, give them a nudge, and their stories will unfold. ''
He met Jarva's gaze, the intensity of his words like a spark igniting something inside him. "Stick with me, and I'll show you the masterpiece that my life will become."
Alpheo's eyes flickered toward the sky again, as if drawing inspiration from the very air around him. "Life is a tale, and I'm the bard who will sing it."
Jarva shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "You're mad, Alpheo."
Alpheo's gaze remained fixed on the heavens, his voice low and full of certainty. "The entire world is mad, Jarva. And I'm the only one who can see beyond it."