The City Holds Its Breath
Rookhaven was a city used to whispers of war.
Assassinations, betrayals, and power struggles had carved its history.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, the city stood still, waiting for the first strike in a battle that would decide who ruled.
And at the heart of it all—
Jarek Thorn.
The Duke's Next Move
Inside a dimly lit room, Jarek leaned over a detailed map of the Vale estate.
Sylva, Tobias, and his top fighters stood around him.
"We can't wait," Sylva said. "If we give Orlan time, he'll bring in more forces."
Tobias scoffed. "We just wiped out half his men. What's he gonna do? Beg for help?"
Jarek wasn't convinced.
Duke Orlan wasn't a man who begged.
"He won't beg," Jarek said. "He'll strike first."
Silence settled in the room.
Ralston, one of Jarek's lieutenants, tapped the map. "Then we take him down before he can."
Jarek nodded. "We attack. Tonight."
Tobias whistled. "No hesitation, huh?"
Jarek grinned. "Hesitation gets people killed."
The Plan
The plan was brutal in its simplicity.
• Group One: Jarek, Sylva, and Tobias would launch a frontal assault, drawing the bulk of Orlan's forces.
• Group Two: Ralston and his men would infiltrate through a servant's entrance.
• Group Three: Another faction would spread chaos in the city—ensuring the town guards were too distracted to reinforce the Duke.
The moment night fell, they moved.
The Assault Begins
The Vale estate stood tall against the dark sky, torches flickering along the stone walls.
Guards patrolled heavily, armed and ready.
But Jarek's men were faster.
Ralston's group struck first—silent, deadly.
One guard dropped.
Then another.
By the time the alarm rang—
Jarek was already at the front gate.
"NOW!" he roared.
His men surged forward, smashing into the Duke's defenses like a crashing wave.
The first line of guards barely had time to raise their weapons before Jarek was among them.
Steel met steel.
Blood splattered against the courtyard stones.
And Jarek kept pushing forward.
The Assault Begins
The Vale estate stood tall against the dark sky, torches flickering along the stone walls.
Guards patrolled heavily, armed and ready.
But Jarek's men were faster.
Ralston's group struck first—silent, deadly.
One guard dropped.
Then another.
By the time the alarm rang—
Jarek was already at the front gate.
"NOW!" he roared.
His men surged forward, smashing into the Duke's defenses like a crashing wave.
The first line of guards barely had time to raise their weapons before Jarek was among them.
Steel met steel.
Blood splattered against the courtyard stones.
And Jarek kept pushing forward.
A Battle for the Throne
Tobias moved like a shadow, weaving between enemies with lethal precision.
Sylva?
She was a storm of death.
An arrow to the throat.
A dagger to the ribs.
The outer defenses crumbled.
But the real challenge?
It was waiting inside.
Orlan's Last Stand
Jarek kicked open the manor doors.
And there—
At the top of the grand staircase—
Stood Duke Orlan Vale.
Flanked by his elite guard.
His face was calm.
But his eyes burned with rage.
"You really think you can take my city, Thorn?"
Jarek smirked. "I don't think, Orlan. I know."
Orlan sighed.
"So be it."
He gestured—
And his elite guard charged.
Jarek met them head-on.
Blades clashed.
Blood splattered.
And the throne of Rookhaven stood within reach.