Lucien felt fear. True fear.
He had met Deities, Demons. And yet none had filled him with the primal desire to flee.
His head rang, his heart hammered in his chest as the world seemingly turned darker.
"Lucien." Lucien dipped into a bow, cold sweat on his back. "I believe."
"You are not him." The crow's voice chorused, accusing.
He can see through lies, see through him.
"But I have chosen to be." He answered, standing up.
"Why?" The crow tilted its head, curious
"I do not see a reason not to?" Lucien shrugged
"But a reason to do so?" The crow's eyes glowed.
"Becoming nobility is a lot more amenable than being a peasant."
"And you are ready to throw away who you were so easily?"
"What I was, mattered little. What I am now and what I need to do to survive is the only necessity."
The crow perched into his shoulder, eyes staring through him. "You are peculiar."
"A better sentiment than I am used to." He surveyed the battlefield.
Eyes flickering across the flags and the knight laid before him.
He walked against the direction where they came, his body aching.
"Do you desire power, child?"
"Power is all I ever desired."
"Then what are you willing to give to get it."
Lucien's eyes locked with his, "Anything."
"Then let us make an accord, child. My power for a price?"
"And what power is that?"
"Blood, Control and War." The crow's voice echoed, a hundred voices shouting in laughter.
"And? That gives me little to do with." Lucien remarked, eyes narrowing at the light in front of him.
"It gives control over the blood of those that see themselves beneath you."
"That is quite the requirement, for the mere power over blood."
"Once you hold their blood, you hold their body."
"I see, and what will you attain with this accord?"
"Raze this world in my name, and remake it in your image."
"How demanding of you, Crow." He offered his finger, for it to shake it. "A demand, I am more than willing to pay."
"Then we have an accord." The crow flew straight into his chest.
Lucien groaned, his hand gripping his chest as his body roared in defiance.
"Your body is inadequate in handling my power, it would be best for you to remedy that."
The crow's voice echoed in his hand as he forced himself to stand.
"Remind me, once I find the time." Lucien spat out the blood, wiping it off with his hand.
Noticing the blisters in his body stitching itself together.
With a heavy breath, he pushed forward. "Do you know anything about Lucien? His life before this? His reputation, political disposition?"
"I know, simply the basics."
"Any info would help me in determining how to act."
"Act? Must you do something so unnecessary?"
"Unnecessary? I cannot have Lucien simply change overnight."
"You can," The crow answered, matter of fact. "Contracts with spirits have been known to change people before, and you have found yourself contracted with one of the Spirits of Apocalypse."
"A Spirit of Apocalypse?" He muttered, "What a quaint name."
"It is, isn't it? Humans and their desire to instill fear upon themselves is always amusing."
"Which one are you?" Sullivan muttered as hooves drummed closer in the dark.
"The Spirit of War and Conquest."
"Titles have little meaning, I ask what you did to deserve it."
"It shall be known in due time. For now, understand that the reputation of the power you hold shall be enough to have you escape suspicion. People have changed for lesser spirits."
"Then I shall trust you with this."
He walked through the treeline just to be met with a group of soldiers.
Their eyes wide, their spears raised and their voices hesitant.
"Prince Lucien?" A soldier asked, befuddled.
Lucien stared at them before bursting to a smile, "Hello, there. Do you perhaps know where my tent is? I have travelled quite far with a…" He brushed the blood off his shirt, "And a few mishaps that have left me in a less suitable state."
"Yes! Of course, your majesty." Their leader nodded as he stepped forward, his graying features more apparent, his scars pronounced. "Tell the Duke his Highness lives."
"Thank you, what is your name again?"
"Albert, your highness." The man bowed.
"Albert, of course. Carry on then." He gestured the man forward as he followed.
His gaze drifting to the camp around them.
The makeshift tents that were sagging to the dirt.
The air that stank with sweat, steel and rot.
While men squatted with their food as flies lingered.
And all of them, young, fresh faced, farmers, peasants… green.
It was all he expected from a medieval war camp, and yet disappointed him all the same.
"What happened while I was gone?" He asked, investigating his clothes, his weapons.
And he noticed the lack of mana. Perhaps, magic was given more sparingly here than first assumed.
Albert coughed, "After your charge, Your Highness. The duke assumed command and ordered a retreat."
"I see, that's good. Isn't it?" He laughed lightly, "I really thought I was gonna die there."
Albert chuckled, "It should have been hard to imagine anyone surviving it, really."
Lucien nodded somberly, "How long have you been a soldier? Albert?"
He awkwardly rubbed his cheek, "About a decade or so, your highness."
"Then you must know, who everyone here is? I never did get to known your names."
"I can introduce them to you if you want."
"Of course, of course. I did also wonder, who do you work for?"
"Uh… I'm the leader of Duke Valgrane's levy, your Highness."
"Just a levy? No title? You must have some kind of position now, don't you? After such service."
"The thought never crossed my mind." He answered quickly, too quickly.
As if denying something in his heart.
"It shouldn't be so hard, yes? To grant you a title above your peers."
"He has been nothing but loyal to me and my men."
"And that should be enough, shouldn't it?" He smirked.
He watches something in the man's eye flicker, perhaps ambitions or something more.
"That's… he pays quite well."
"There are more ways a man can pay for service." Lucien remarked.
They stood before his tent, their eyes locking as an understanding passed between them.
"Do think about it, the next time we meet." He brushed the tent flaps open. "Sir Albert."
Albert stood outside his tent, swallowing something at the mention of Sir.
The crow appeared from the shadow and flew to his shoulder, perched.
"Do you have a need for him?"
"Beware the man that has grown old in a profession where men die young." He took off his clothes, scars on his arms, burns on his knuckles. "Tell me about this Duke Valgrane."
"What is there to say? A noble of House Valgrane, fought in wars against Gallantien. And skirmishes with its lords, The crow cawed, "It's not much to mention."
Lucien studied the stranger's face in the mirror, his eyes crimson, his hair pitch black.
A face more handsome than he once thought, useful.
He turned to examine his back, the scars of lashes, the circular burns. This was peculiar, what kind of position did he have before to be so scarred? These weren't the work of war, more punishment, and the burn marks.
They came from cigars, that means abuse, emotional or physical. It matters not.
He turned to the crow, "He sounds like one of your ilk."
"I demand control, aggression, war. And that man holds none of those, nothing but passion and battle in his mind. A complete disregard for its subtleties."
"And such men can only bow to strength." Lucien took another shirt.
Closing up the scars, "Then, I can give him strength."
The crow cawed, "You believe you can cow him?"
"Of course, I'm assuming his reputation is pristine?" Lucien clasped down his collars and cuffs, the gold lighting from the lamp. "Such men wear their emotions on their sleeve. And desire nothing but a fight, and I can give him a fight."
"How delightful." The crow vanished as Sullivan stood, clothes pristine.
He straightened the color, tugged at the cuffs as he wipes up his hair. Looking every inch the prince he needed to be.
"Your Highness, His Grace is meeting with—" Albert spoke.
Lucien pushed the flaps aside and strode out. "Lead on."
Lucien greeted Albert with a smile, "So? Have you thought about it?"
Albert tried to look away, "I have, may I have more time?"
"Of course, of course. You have a desire to see how this council will go? Do you not?"
"That's…" Albert opened his mouth to deny it only to be met with Luccien's smile.
"Don't bother denying it." He chirped in a singsong voice.
Lucien's eyes locked with his, eyes piercing straight through him. "Do not disrespect me so."
Albert swallowed thickly, "I thank you, Your Highness."
"Don't mind it." He muttered as they stopped.
Before, a wide striped tent flanked by guards.
Murmurs spilled forth. With sharp, clipped words of strategy and suspicion.
Albert composed himself and strode in with a beaming smile.
"Good evening, gentlemen. It seems you have begun without me."
A few stood up to greet me and pay respects, their faces remembered.
Albert walked silently behind him, standing by the corner, almost hidden from view.
In the middle of the table a man sat, head taller than him, with a beard thicker than most.
An axe by his side that seemed to tower over the room.
"So, the Princeling returns. Had your little bath now did you?"
"Unfortunately, I was unable to. Since you all seemed to be in quite the rush."
The tent settled into an uneasy silence, before Valgrane guffawed.
"Yeah, yeah, didn't think you were ever gonna come. I thought you'd have your little nap."
"Yes, I thought almost dying from that charge would have earned me that courtesy."
He walked across the table, his steps slow and deliberate.
"Now, can you kindly move? It seems you have taken my seat."
"Your seat?" Valgrane barked a laugh that filled the tent as his vassal shifted. He scratched his beard, "Kids these days, just cause you suddenly grow a pair. You think you can usurp me?"
"Usurp?" Lucien smiled, unshaken. "No, no, of course not. Usurpation means it wasn't mine to begin with."
Valgrane growled, "Boy! I have half a mind just throwing you out myself!"
"And I've half a mind to throw you out." He smirked, in a way that seemed to infuriate the man further. "C'mon now, Is this not why I'm here? The reason you sent for me."
"What? You little—."
"Let's not forget why I was sent here. To deal with the problem you weren't able to."
Valgrane's face reddened, "Boy! You don't know fuck all at these land."
"I cared enough, didn't I?"
Valgrane gripped the axe by his side, rage radiating off him.
Lucien stared at his axe and stepped closer, "Do you love these lands, Your Grace?"
Valgrane stopped, "What?"
"Do you love the land you're defending? Nay, let me ask the same of your vassals?" His hand traced its edges, with enough strength to force it still. "Because your love for these lands is what brought me to you. You grovelled and begged for a help but all that came was me, just me."
Valgrane stared at him, his axe unable to move as Lucien chuckled. "Admittedly, it was a slap in the face, wasn't it."
His gaze turned to each one until it locked with Valgrane, "They spurn you and your efforts. But I didn't come for you, nor for them. I came for me, to prove my ability, my power."
His eyes glowed like blood, "I came to win."
They saw it in his eyes, understood his determination, his will.
And like those before them, the weak submits to the strong.
With that, something inside Lucien clicked.
The tent went still.
Every man froze in place, bodies rebelling.
The blood in their veins twisted, bound to something far greater.
Lucien's voice dropped to a whisper:
"I came here to win, all you have to do is follow."