The mercenaries moved like shadows in the night, striking with precision and ruthless efficiency. Over the course of weeks, Leon's plan had unfolded perfectly. Supply lines were severed, key allies of the lord had defected, and his forces were scattered, confused, and turning on one another. The once-mighty empire that had stood unshaken for years was now crumbling from within.
Yet, as the final blow approached, Leon knew the hardest part was still ahead. The lord was cornered, desperate, and a desperate enemy was always the most dangerous. Tonight, they would end it. There would be no more subtlety, no more whispered betrayals. It was time for blood.
The air was thick with tension as Leon, Rourke, and their men prepared for the final assault on the lord's estate. It loomed ahead like a fortress, heavily guarded despite its internal collapse. Fires from the earlier skirmishes flickered in the distance, casting an ominous glow over the landscape.
Leon stood beside Rourke, the mercenary captain tightening the straps of his armor. Mara was nearby, sharpening her dagger, her face a mask of grim determination. The plan had been set in motion, and there was no turning back.
"We strike hard and fast," Leon said, his voice calm but resolute. "The lord's forces are weakened, but they're still dangerous. We can't give them time to regroup."
Rourke nodded, his face serious. "Understood. My men are ready. We'll hit them with everything we've got."
Leon's eyes flicked toward the estate. "Remember, Havran is mine. He's the one who's been torturing the slaves, breaking them. I'll deal with him personally."
Rourke grinned darkly. "Fair enough. You've earned that right."
The signal was given, and the mercenaries moved into position. The final assault began with a deafening explosion as Rourke's men breached the outer wall with explosives. The sky lit up with fire, and the battle that followed was immediate and brutal.
The air was filled with the clash of steel and the screams of men. Blood slicked the ground as mercenaries tore through the lord's defenses, cutting down guards with savage efficiency. The once-organized ranks of the lord's forces had become a chaotic mess, many of them panicked and unsure who to trust after weeks of sabotage and deceit.
Leon moved with precision through the battlefield, his eyes scanning for Havran. He had waited for this moment—waited to face the man responsible for so much suffering. And tonight, Havran would pay.
As he moved through the blood-soaked courtyard, Leon's sharp eyes caught sight of Jerik, the overseer who had once sold him out, now desperately trying to rally a group of guards. His face was pale, and fear clung to him like a second skin.
Jerik spotted Leon, and for a moment, their eyes met across the battlefield. The terror in Jerik's eyes was palpable. He knew he was a dead man walking.
Leon didn't waste time on him. "Rourke!" he called out, his voice cutting through the din of battle.
Rourke appeared at Leon's side, his sword stained with blood. "Jerik?" he asked, following Leon's gaze.
"Take him alive," Leon ordered. "He'll be more useful that way."
Rourke grinned and nodded. "With pleasure."
Before Jerik could flee, Rourke and his men descended on him. The overseer didn't stand a chance. They bound him quickly, dragging him off toward the rear of the battlefield where he would be held as a prisoner.
Leon pushed forward, his focus now on finding Havran. The sounds of battle surrounded him—shouts, screams, the clash of weapons—but he moved with singular purpose.
He found Havran near the estate's main hall, overseeing what was left of the lord's elite guards. The man's face was twisted with rage and fear, his once-confident demeanor now shattered.
Leon approached him, sword drawn, his steps deliberate. "Havran."
The overseer turned, his eyes widening when he saw Leon. "You," he spat, his voice venomous. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."
Leon's face was cold, his voice low and dangerous. "You had your chance. Now it's mine."
Havran drew his weapon, a wicked curved blade, and charged at Leon with a snarl. But Leon was ready. He sidestepped the attack with practiced ease, swinging his sword in a clean arc that caught Havran across the chest.
The overseer staggered back, blood pouring from the wound, but he didn't go down. With a roar, he lunged again, his movements wild and desperate.
Leon blocked the blow, the clash of their swords reverberating through the air. They fought viciously, their blades slicing through the night, but it was clear Havran was no match for Leon's precision and skill.
With a final, brutal strike, Leon disarmed Havran, his sword flying from his hand. Havran fell to his knees, gasping for breath, blood staining his clothes.
Leon stood over him, his sword poised for the killing blow. "This is for every life you destroyed," he said, his voice filled with cold fury.
Havran sneered, even in his final moments. "You think you've won? The lord will—"
Leon didn't let him finish. With a swift, decisive motion, he drove his sword through Havran's chest. The overseer gasped, his eyes widening in shock before the life drained from him.
Leon pulled his sword free, watching as Havran's body crumpled to the ground. He felt no satisfaction, only a grim sense of justice. The man who had caused so much pain was dead, but there was still work to be done.
The battle continued to rage around him, but the tide had turned in their favor. The lord's forces were retreating, their morale shattered. The mercenaries were relentless, cutting down any who resisted.
As Leon made his way toward the main hall, Rourke appeared at his side, blood splattered across his armor. "Havran?"
"Dead," Leon replied, his voice flat.
Rourke nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. Jerik's been captured. He's already squealing about the lord's defenses."
Leon's eyes hardened. "We finish this. The lord dies tonight."
They moved together toward the main hall, where the lord had barricaded himself with what remained of his loyal forces. The mercenaries had surrounded the building, their swords gleaming in the firelight as they prepared for the final assault.
The doors to the hall burst open with a thunderous crash as Rourke's men stormed inside. The fighting was brutal, bodies falling in quick succession as the mercenaries cut through the last of the lord's guards.
Leon spotted the lord at the far end of the hall, standing before a grand throne. His once-proud face was now twisted with fear and desperation. He held a sword, but his hands trembled as he watched his empire collapse around him.
Leon stepped forward, his gaze locked on the lord. "It's over."
The lord raised his sword, but there was no strength in his movements. "You… You think you can destroy me?" he spat, his voice shaking with fear.
Leon's face was expressionless as he approached. "I already have."
With a final, brutal strike, Leon drove his sword through the lord's chest. The man gasped, his body jerking violently before crumpling to the ground, his blood pooling around him.
Silence fell over the hall as the last of the lord's loyalists either surrendered or fled. The battle was over.
Leon stood over the lord's body, his heart heavy. The man who had ruled with cruelty and fear was dead, but the cost had been great. The mercenaries moved through the hall, securing the area, but Leon barely noticed them.
Rourke approached, wiping blood from his blade. "It's done," he said quietly.
Leon nodded, though there was no triumph in his voice. "It's done."
Outside, the night was still, the fires from the battle casting long shadows across the ruined estate. The mercenaries had won, but the true victory belonged to those who had suffered under the lord's reign—the slaves, the servants, the oppressed. They were free now.
Leon sheathed his sword, the weight of the night's events settling over him. The lord was dead, but the scars of his tyranny would remain for a long time. There was rebuilding to be done, lives to be healed.
As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, Leon stood in the courtyard, watching as the mercenaries began to clear the battlefield. The war was over, but his work was far from finished.
Mara joined him, her face tired but resolute. "We did it," she said softly.
Leon nodded, though his thoughts were distant. "Yes. But there's still more to do."
Mara looked at him, her eyes filled with understanding. "We'll rebuild. Together."
Leon turned to her, a faint smile touching his lips. "Yes. Together."
And as the sun rose over the ruins of the lord's empire, Leon knew that this was only the beginning of a new chapter—one of hope, healing, and freedom.