All noise stopped. The rain poured heavily, yet gently at the same time. What was once a lush grassland was now stained with blood curdling mess of bodies in heavy rain.

  Yet despite Light Wielder’s power, there was a still a good chunk of the orc horde left. Only half of the Black Horde remained safely out of the blast radius of both ancient weapons. They were slowly backing away unsure of what to do.

  Tom was watching on top of the hill with the rest of the human reserves murmuring to himself, “No… He did it… Albert…No.”

  Tears streamed out from his weathered eyes.

  Desmond awoke feeling the patter of rain hit his face. He was nauseous and groggy as he sat up. He felt a sharp pain in his right side as he tried to lift himself up. Desmond threw up blood, undigested food, and mucus once he painfully rolled over onto his stomach making his helmet fall off. He sat up slowly grasping his right side as he unbuckled his sword harness and belt. He noticed how silent everything was. He gingerly climbed out of the charred ditch. He became speechless.

  “How long was I out for,” he thought to himself. “Why is there… By the gods.”

  Death was all he saw.

  He began walking around trying to take in what had transpired. Everyone and everything was dead. Men dead in their shield wall, men and orc dead on top of each other, orc lines sprawled out like knocked down corn, and so forth. Mangled bodies were piled all over the place, burnt and seared corpses of both humans and orcs infested the air, and streams of blood were washing along the ground staining the remaining grass red like tiny little canals winding between the bodies.

  Desmond wandered ten yards before he tripped on something. It was a half burnt body. He noticed a pale face with freckles. He gasped in shock.

  He found Johnathan’s body.

  Desmond looked at his friend laying burnt and torn to shreds as his guts seeped out of the torso. No emotions. Only shock and sadness were present on Johnathan’s face. Desmond knelt down and closed Johnathan’s eyelids. He grabbed the necklace that Johnathan had and looked at it. It was a locket with a picture of his wife and kid in it. A beautiful, redheaded woman holding a toddler was on one side. The other side had a picture of him and Desmond fresh from graduation from school. Miraculously, it was not damaged.

  Desmond put the locket into his pocket. He faintly said holding back tears, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for this… I – I’ll make sure she gets this back… Johnathan!”

  Desmond cried to himself for a moment, but he forced himself to look around to see if there were any survivors. He told himself, “Come on! Stay strong and look for others.”

  Sadly, it seemed to be in vain looking for survivors.

  Desmond thought to himself that he was the only one left alive due to how silent the battlefield was. He was hoping that he would hear any signs of life. Instead, he only heard the rain wash down and cascade off the bodies. His mind could not fathom what he was seeing and his heart was beginning to sink.

  He stopped walking. Desmond wanted to scream, but then he noticed something strange.

  He noticed a circle around a bloodied body with an impressive, red crested, plumed helmet with gold highlights on the armor. An immaculate long sword with no hand guard shined in the rain as it was embedded in the ground. There was a perfect circle with a 10ft circumference around the body. Desmond then realized who’s body and who’s sword that was.

  It was Prince Albert II.

  "He's alive! Fucking how," Desmond pondered as he began to jog over to him.

  Albert was grunting and spitting blood while failing to sit up. Somehow, he was still alive, but he sustained multiple, traumatic wounds all over him. He was covered in blood and muck from head to toe. His gauntlets were burnt away and his palms had the skin scraped off along with burnt Elvish runes seared into them. He had multiple slash marks to his sides, front, and back along with multiple crossbow bolt wounds. His legs were broken, slashed open, and bleeding slowly. His armor was slightly burnt - primarily all over the breastplate and arm braces. He had a stream of blood coming out of his mouth. His left eye was swollen shut from a burn most likely from Light Wielder. His helmet was cracked along the T-shaped face opening. His red cape was torn to ribbons and was caked in blood and dirt. He was cursing under his breath as he tried to sit up.

  Light Wielder was planted in the ground with nary a scratch or imperfection on it. However, it stopped glowing blue. The Elvish runes on the blade and handle were a fading blue color that seemed to flash and breath slowly just as Albert was breathing slowly.

  Desmond gently sat next to Albert and held his right hand. He wasn’t sure what to say. He looked at Albert with a mix of shock and worry.

  “My lord?” asked Desmond quietly. “My lord are you…”

  Albert looked up at Desmond with a surprised look. He thought everyone was dead. Yet here was Desmond. Albert’s surprise slowly turned into a grin. He said with aching pain after spitting out some blood, “A footman lives… Have we won?”

  “My lord?”

  “Have we… We won this battle?”

  “It appears so, my lord.”

  “Are you… Ugh… All that’s…That’s… That is left?”

  “I don’t know, sire.”

  “I’m sorry for this… Fuck… I’m sorry… Quite a day for rain isn’t it?”

  “My lord?”

  “It’s… Forget it,” murmured Albert as he was fading in and out of consciousness.

  Desmond kept tapping his face to keep him awake.

  “My lord,” said Desmond worryingly. “Stay awake on me! Don’t die now! You can’t! Fuck, why wasn’t I a cleric or medic? There’s got to be a med kit somewhere? Fuck!”

  “It’s okay… It’s okay,” whimpered out Albert. He gave painful yell as he turned his neck to look up at Desmond more directly and at the sky. “How old are thee?”

  “What? I am twenty two. Why’d you ask?”

  “Hmm… You are young… That scar,” Albert noted softly gawking at the scar across Desmond's eye.

  He briefly remembered seeing Desmond in a fighting tournament with wooden swords and Desmond was defeated placing third falling to a disguised Prince Albert. He hid his face behind a black gaiter claiming he had horrible wounds to his face. He picked up Desmond and gave some words of encouragement to him. Albert was mostly impressed by Desmond’s speed and raw tenacity, but noted how his technique needed refinement.

  Albert continued once he finished his past remembrance, “You look familiar…"

  “Sir?”

  “No matter… Just random thoughts… Want to be knighted?”

  “Sire?”

  “To be knighted. You earned it if you survived this bloody, fucking mess… I knight thee… To hold truth in this world, to protect the innocent, to stare death in the face, to never hesitate in times of need, and to do what is right because it is right,” said Albert as he painfully tapped both of Desmond’s shoulder pauldrons leaving behind bloody handprints.

  Desmond remained silent upon hearing this from Albert.

  Albert said through gritted teeth, “You are a SIR now! Remember that…That is my thanks to you… I know it’s not much, but you earned it."

  "Sire?"

  "Tell the others that… Tell them I died with the men honorably and I… Thought of family and my wife… You tell them… I knighted the ‘true hero’ of today… You have this title now…What – what is your name, sir?”

  “I am Desmond Rollo from Smallwood… Footman of the army. Corporal, sire.”

  “Hmm… Well, Sir Desmond… I know Smallwood is a lovely and peaceful place… Really good fly-fishing spots and farmland… Someday you’ll be free from your duty and will go back there again… For now…You are a hero as a thanks for your service and duty to this empire… I see something great in you,” Albert said smiling.

  A calm woman’s voice in the back of Albert’s mind was telling him something important about Desmond. The voice mentioned Desmond and Light Wielder and, for a brief second, Albert saw a light blue line, almost string-like, emit from Light wielder and attach itself to Desmond’s right hand.

  Albert chuckled for a moment painfully.

  He continued, “I wish I could see it… But you fought well, Sir Desmond… You live and that is a sign of victory… Must be a good fighter then?”

  “I hold my own is all. I’m nothing special, sire.”

  “Yes you are… You live and you’re still young and tough. You and the rest fought well… They were all good men. Don’t let their deaths be meaningless.”

  “Thank you sire. I will tell them what you’ve told me,” said Desmond with a half-smile.

  He knew that the title meant nothing to him, but all he could do was look helplessly at Albert and do nothing to help.

  There was a muffled grunt and shifting of bodies about 40 yards away from Albert and Desmond. There, standing in the rain, was Vul’Goth in broken armor covered in blood and mud. He was slightly burnt on his right side. He was holding onto Earth Breaker tightly in his left hand. His right arm, from the elbow down, was burnt and torn away from the blast. Vul’Goth tied a belt around the stump along with a bandage to stop the bleeding momentarily. One of the horns on his helmet was cracked and the other was broken off. His one sharp tusk was gone from his mouth. A stream of blood dripped from his underbite and left eye.

  Vul'Goth breathed heavily for a few moments as he stared at Albert and Desmond.

  Vul’Goth limbered silently towards the two. Desmond frantically grabbed a broken orc sword nearby and charged at Vul’Goth. Prince Albert’s muffled protests were ignored by Desmond. Vul’Goth instinctively blocked two very sudden strikes with Earth Breaker as harsh metallic clanging echoed across the dead, rainy land. Desmond was kicked back a few yards.

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  Vul’Goth dropped Earth Breaker and growled with annoyance, “Enough!”

  Desmond thrusted the broken sword forward again with a cross-step feint and downward slash. Vul’Goth instantly grabbed the edge of the jagged sword with his bare hand stopping all momentum in Desmond’s attack. A deep gash was made as Vul’Goth gripped the blade tightly and firmly. Vul’Goth’s face remained emotionless, but his eyes were deeply surprised.

  “He grabbed it,” Desmond thought in surprise shock. A deep, piercing pain erupted from his right side. “Damnit! My ribs… I couldn’t move my body in time because of it. Fuck! I’m starting to shake.”

  Desmond grabbed his side with his left hand trying his best to maintain force from the shaking sword.

  Vul’Goth noticed this and gave an inquisitive grunt.

  Desmond continued in his head, “How did he… He is the orc who uses Earth Breaker. It’s glowing red… He’s the War Chieftain… That’s why! With only one arm he stopped me… He caught the blade with his bare hand and stopped me! I’m nowhere near his level of… He really is – I was never a match for him! But why is he letting up? He could end me right now. Why hasn’t he?”

  “Hmm,” Vul’Goth thought in surprise. “That speed. That sudden quickness. Raw determination… He’s experienced… He’s young… That eye scar… What has this young one gone through? With more training he would be on the same level as Alby. Impressive! Not even at full strength. He can’t twist his torso. His breastplate is cutting into the wound… Even with one arm I’m still better… But… He would’ve gotten me if he weren’t injured. I'll enjoy fighting him in the future."

  Desmond snarled harshly through gritted teeth, “Touch him you die, orc fuck!”

  “This battle is over," Vul'Goth retorted in common. "It’s over! LET IT GO!”

  “What,” Desmond replied in shock.

  Vul’Goth ripped the sword away from Desmond’s limp hand and tossed it frustratingly to the ground. Vul’Goth took multiple deep breaths composing himself. His blue eyes were silently remorseful in understanding as he looked at Desmond’s broken expression. In that moment, Vul’Goth saw a lot of himself in Desmond when he was younger. Reminded him of when he lost his first orc-B?hk wrestling match when he was a teenager trying to earn Wurgol’s praise.

  Desmond began to tear up and was accepting defeat in that moment. He grabbed his right side and stepped back awaiting a crushing blow. He closed his teary eyes awaiting his fate.

  Nothing happened.

  Instead, Vul’Goth gingerly picked up Earth Breaker clipping the handle to his belt. He patted Desmond on the shoulder with surprising gentleness.

  Prince Albert yelled out after spitting out blood, “Sir Desmond! Come here, please… The fight is done! Just sit next to me and hold my head up. Please, sir?”

  “Sir,” Vul’Goth smirked curiously.

  Desmond walked over and did as Albert asked. He held Albert’s right hand tightly as he stared at Vul’Goth anxiously. Vul’Goth towered over the two. He didn’t say a word at first. Vul’Goth looked at Desmond and gave him an approving nod of assurance after a deep, painful sigh. Vul’Goth knelt down to look at Albert’s face.

  Vul’Goth said jokingly, “So that’s what it does? Thought it just cut through anything and nothing more… Good to see you again, Alby…Walk free… There will be a feast in the stars for you.”

  “Fancy seeing you again, Vol… Yeah, you never knew? So that’s… That’s what yours looks like?”

  “Yes. You never knew,” replied Vul’Goth with a grin. “What did you expect?”

  “I thought it only shot pathetic balls of fire… Funny… The rain finally came just like you said it would all those years ago,” said Albert in a sarcastic and painful tone.

  He looked back up at the sky for a moment thinking of their first talk together. He cried for a moment and then looked back at Vul’Goth with a coy smile. Desmond was still holding Albert’s hand as he supported Albert’s head with his other hand.

  “You know… When we were in that desert? We said that if we were to meet again, we would have a drink together?”

  “I remember,” said Vul’Goth quietly.

  He pulled out his leather canteen and took a gentle sip. He handed it to Desmond who in turn gently gave it to Albert. Albert swallowed it and asked in a surprised tone, “Red wine… Merlot from the Griff regions… Figured you were more of Dwarven whiskey type?”

  “I have my tastes… You and your army fought well.”

  “As did yours,” said Albert as he looked back up at the sky with tears streaming down.

  The rain was beginning to lighten up and the sun was peeking through the clouds. The light shined on Albert and Desmond leaving Vul’Goth in the dark. There was a blue butterfly flying just above the three of them. Albert and Vul’Goth noticed the butterfly. Desmond noticed the butterfly as well and was a little confused.

  A calming woman’s voice came over Albert and all he heard in his mind was, “Walk free with me. I’ll walk you home, my dear. He’ll be your successor. He'll vanquish the evil. I promise... Thank you… For everything, my steward… Thank you.”

  Albert said to Vul’Goth as his breathing slowed, “Beautiful… I’ll be waiting for you, Vol… I’ll be waiting to greet you again in the next life… I’ll be… I’ll be… Wait…Ting… Vol…Waiting… My… Friend…”

  Albert’s eye closed as his breathing stopped. A single tear dripped out and gently crashed towards the ground. Vul'Goth closed his eyes knowing Albert was gone.

  Desmond tried shaking Albert saying, “My lord? My Lord! Sire? Wake up! Wake Up! You have to… No… Please!”

  Vul’Goth took one last sip from his canteen finishing it. The blue butterfly landed on Albert’s helmet for a moment. The sprinkling rain began to dissipate fully and the clouds began to clear as the sun light beamed through the land. Desmond tried desperately to wake Albert up, but to no avail. Desmond looked at the blue butterfly confused and shocked. It flapped its wings a few times and then flew off back into the sky disappearing in the sun once again. Desmond swore to himself that he saw a faint glint of a blue crystal in the butterfly’s legs as it flew away.

  Vul’Goth stared solemnly at Albert with remorseful acceptance. Desmond placed his fingers along Albert’s throat to feel a pulse. There was nothing. Vul’Goth murmured an Orcish prayer and he placed his canteen on Albert’s chest gently. He stood slowly up after. Vul’Goth looked down at Desmond with apologetic eyes. Desmond looked back at Vul’Goth with a broken face full of pain.

  Vul’Goth said softly, “His spirit is free. He died a true warrior… I know this pain…I know."

  "..."

  "Tell whomever is still alive on your side that I’m withdrawing the rest of my forces and heading back to my lands. My second army will halt and turn back and not advance further north. Too many casualties."

  Desmond remained silent.

  "Tell them that I, Vul’Goth the Fire Maker, give tribute and respect to the fallen Prince Albert II by doing this… Enough bloodshed. No more. There will be no orc raids or attacks for the next month. A temporary ceasefire out of respect… That is my promise and tribute for the fallen Prince. I swear it!”

  Vul’Goth beat his chest, gave a loud, emotional roar to the sky, and turned around. He waved his arm and gave a loud whistle. He gave a nod to Desmond noticing the faint blue glint in Desmond’s right hand.

  Vul’Goth thought to himself, “He has a long journey ahead of him… That glint in his hand… He is the new champion, eh? It's his now, I suppose. You’re in her hands.”

  Desmond was left in silent shock. Vul’Goth began walking away with tears streaming down from both his blue eyes. He stopped for one last moment and didn’t turn around. Desmond watched teary eyed wondering what he was going to say or do.

  Vul’Goth said to Desmond loudly with a slight voice crack, “Sir… Your Prince… Was one of the best fighters I ever fought against… He was… A good friend… A blood brother... I wanted you to know that.”

  Vul’Goth walked away.

  As he was walking away five Grave Guards and one orc shaman rode up to meet Vul’Goth on their worgs. Two of them stopped and looked directly at Desmond with their halberds drawn forward. Their worgs were growling at Desmond. Vul’Goth made a jester with his hand and said something in Orcish as he sat atop a worg. The two guards backed off and began riding back with Vul’Goth to the rest of the horde. The shaman’s hands glowed bright green as Vul’Goth’s bloody stump was being healed.

  The rest of the orc army turned around. Their drums and horns stopped. All that was heard was the clanking of metal and heavy footsteps heading south.

  Desmond sat there clutching Albert’s hand with a shocked and confused look on his face. Slowly, his face turned to anguish. The emotional toll from the battle finally hit Desmond like a falling boulder from a cliff. He began to breakdown crying.

  30 minutes passed as Desmond sat next to Prince Albert’s body. He didn’t say a word. Just a silent cry as he took in what had transpired. A strong wave of guilt and anguish washed over him as he cried. Desmond punched the ground a few times and tried to force himself to calm down to no avail.

  He then heard the clopping of hooves from behind him. Tom, a handful of heavy knights, and one other robed man rode in to collect Albert’s corpse. Desmond sighed with a mix of relief and annoyance.

  Tom looked down at Desmond and asked, “Are you all that is left? The reinforcements are now a few miles away. I saw you talking with Albert and Vul’Goth. Are you alright? What is your name?”

  Desmond didn’t say a word as he sat down looking at Albert’s body.

  Tom noticed the tears on Desmond’s face as Desmond looked at him with defeated eyes and a cold stare. Tom immediately felt the pain Desmond was feeling and was holding back his tears behind bloodshot eyes. The robed man took out a long, orange crystal and raised it horizontally at the body of Prince Albert, Light Wielder, and Desmond. The crystal glowed bright for a second and then the man put the crystal away.

  Tom rolled his eyes and said, “Now’s not the time for that… You three? Grab Light Wielder if you can.”

  Tom wanted to see what would happen with this. He knew that the sword was a gift from the gods and had enchanted properties to it. However, he suspected that only the ones whom Light Wielder deemed worthy were able to wield it so easily. He hypothesized that any normal person who tried would immediately be weighed down by the sword. He wanted to watch. A few of the knights were struggling to pull Light Wielder out from the ground. One went flying backwards after a failed attempt. Tom looked at Desmond who ignored everything around him.

  Desmond got up and walked over towards Light Wielder as he clutched his side. He pulled Light Wielder from the ground easily much to the shock of the knights who failed. Tom’s eyes widen with curiosity.

  The robed man smirked and noted calmly, “He’s the replacement I suppose?”

  “We shall see. Need to know if he is worthy.”

  “Tom… Don’t rush it. We have time.”

  “Hmm,” Tom replied scratching his beard.

  Desmond was first shocked by how light the sword felt and how easy it was for him based on how deeply embedded the sword was. He wondered why the three clearly stronger knights failed and he didn’t. He surmised that this was the Prince’s sword for a reason. He then looked at his right hand as there was still a dim glow of blue just peeking out.

  “Maybe I’m stronger than them? Can’t be,” Desmond thought to himself. “But why’s it so light in my hands? Maybe that’s why it’s called Light Wielder… Fuck, my ribs!”

  He handed the sword over to Tom shoving one of the knights out of his way. Tom was surprised by Desmond’s ability to handle Light Wielder because it felt very heavy in his hands. Nearly fell off his horse when handed he was handed it. Desmond figured Tom almost fell because he was old.

  Desmond wiped a few tears from his eyes and looked at his bloodied right hand. There was a faint blue light in the middle of his palm shining like a rough diamond in mud. He was a little confused, but thought nothing of it for now. His shock from the battle raged on in his mind overwhelming all other emotions.

  He looked at Tom with a cold expression, “He knighted me before he died. I’m all that’s left… I’m Sir Desmond Rollo… From Smallwood.”

  There was no warmth or feeling left in Desmond as he said that to Tom. Tom was taken aback by it for a moment. Tom lowered his head with a look of morose empathy. Desmond looked out onto the battlefield refusing to look at Tom.

  “Okay… Okay,” said Tom knowingly. “I am the wizard Thomas Eluthar. Mage. Magic advisor to the king So sir? Did Vul’Goth ask or tell you anything?”

  “He told me that he is withdrawing from these lands for now. He will not attack or raid for the next month.” Desmond was looking away from everyone as his eyes scanned the battlefield. “His second army detachment will do the same as well.”

  “I see.”

  “And that he pays tribute and honor to our Prince by doing so. A month long ceasefire.”

  “Okay,” said Tom with a curious stroke of his beard. “I believe it’s time to go home. I’ll ride with you to the medical tents.”

  “Home… I haven’t seen it in… Years… None of us have… One more fucking month and we all would’ve had leave! We all would have,” said Desmond in a broken voice.

  Desmond walked a few yards away wanting to be alone for a moment. He thought back on his parents and imagined them waiting for him as his father drank coffee while reading the newspaper and his mom was petting the family cats as they both sat on the porch. He wanted to be there, but he knew it would never be the same for him.

  He whispered to himself, “Come back alive, they said… Right.”