The fires still burned.
Smoke choked the sky, twisting into the storm clouds above. The once-proud kingdom was reduced to ruin, its streets littered with corpses.
And yet—the war was only beginning.
---
THE AFTERMATH OF SLAUGHTER
The Valkary stood at the ruined city gates, watching the last remnants of the captured civilians being herded into chains.
The people who had once called this kingdom home were now prisoners of war.
Nobles who once ruled now stood barefoot in the mud, their fine robes stained with blood and ash.
Soldiers who had survived the battle were stripped of their armor, forced to march alongside the civilians.
Children clung to their mothers, their silent tears falling onto the dirt.
Arthur's gaze lingered on them.
A woman clutched her child, eyes hollow.
A young knight stared at the ground, shaking.
An old man muttered a prayer that would never be answered.
Arthur exhaled. "We're really taking them?"
Dante smirked, his arms crossed. "Orders are orders."
Xeraniel chuckled. "Besides, it's a waste to kill all of them. Some might be useful."
Arthur said nothing. His fingers tightened around his blade.
Behind him, the city continued to burn.
---
THE PALACE FALLS
Inside the royal treasury, the last remaining guards had locked themselves in, barricading the doors.
They refused to surrender.
And Fenrick was getting impatient.
He rolled his shoulders. "Enough waiting."
Before Arthur could respond—Fenrick launched forward.
BOOM.
The palace walls shook as his fist crashed into the barricade.
The thick steel doors bent inward like crumpled paper.
Inside, the guards stumbled back, their faces drained of color.
"Hold the line!" one of them shouted—right before Fenrick's fist shattered his skull.
The rest didn't even have time to scream.
Arthur walked in, stepping over the bodies. His golden eyes flickered in the dim torchlight.
"...It's done," he muttered.
The kingdom was truly finished.
---
REPORT TO THE KING
The throne room of Astria's capital was silent.
The King sat upon his throne, his massive frame still, but his presence filling the chamber. His orange eyes gleamed beneath the torchlight.
Before him, Lucan knelt.
The room was heavy with anticipation.
The conquered kingdom had fallen faster than expected.
The King exhaled slowly. "And the Valkary?"
Lucan's expression remained unreadable. "They were... efficient."
The King's fingers tightened around the armrest of his throne.
"Good." His voice was deep, unwavering. "Then it's time for them to move on."
He leaned forward, his presence suffocating.
"The next kingdom will not fall so easily."
Lucan stood. "Shall I inform them?"
The King's eyes blazed.
"Let them know what war truly is."
---
THE ROAD TO THE NEXT WAR
By morning, the Valkary were already on the move.
Their forces marched through the wastelands, leaving behind nothing but ashes and memories.
The captives walked in silence, their heads bowed, their futures uncertain.
Xeraniel glanced back at them, smirking. "Think any of them will try to escape?"
Dante scoffed. "Let them try. Gives me something to do."
Fenrick cracked his knuckles. "They won't."
Arthur didn't respond. His gaze was distant, thoughtful.
At the front, Modred walked alone, his crimson eyes locked on the horizon.
Arthur glanced at him. "Do you ever stop?"
Modred didn't answer.
Because in his mind—there was only the next battle.
Only war.
And he would not stop until everything burned.
TO BE CONTINUED.