Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

The tension between them was heavy, the heat of the nearby fire doing little to warm the cold that hung in the air. Aszer's face shifted, his proud smirk faltering as he noticed the weight in Yrsa's gaze.

"Could there be a problem?" Aszer asked, his voice laced with unease, though he tried to mask it behind his usual arrogance.

Yrsa's eyes didn't leave him, the reflection of the fire flickering in their cold depths. "I have received word from the north," she began, her tone cutting. "Your soldiers, the soldiers of Byzeth, have been harassing and robbing our people. Our trade with you has been a scam—a mockery of the agreements we made."

Aszer blinked, his mouth opening in protest. "I know nothing of this," he said, his voice a touch too quick. "Surely if we sit down and talk—"

Yrsa cut him off mid-sentence, her voice sharp, unwavering. "You are the king of Byzeth. It was your job to know. Such disrespect, such an attack on my people, is a sin punishable only by death."

For a moment, Aszer stiffened. His lips pressed together, his bravado visibly cracking.

"What… what are you saying?" His voice trembled, though he fought to maintain composure.

A sigh escaped Aric, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of the soldiers gathered around them. He stepped forward, slowly, with the quiet authority of someone who understood the weight of the moment.

The soldiers, around four hundred men now, turned their eyes to him, watching with uncertainty as the prince approached the center of the gathering. Aric stopped, his hand rising to his face as he slowly removed his bloodied mask.

The wind was cold on his skin, the chill biting at the fresh wounds that had yet to heal. His gaze swept over the soldiers—men who had fought, bled, and lost, all under the banner of Byzeth.

Chapter Stay:

"Soldiers of Byzeth," he began, his voice steady yet laced with a deep sorrow. "Some of you may know me, and some of you perhaps not… but today, now, I speak to you not as your general, but as the prince of the very empire you have been raised to rebel against."

The men shifted uncomfortably, their eyes locked on Aric as he continued.

"You have been dwindled to below half the men you were when we first marched out of Byzeth. Most of you have lost someone—comrades, friends, brothers, and even sons." Aric's voice tightened. "And for what? Only to take settlements outside kingdoms? But such is war. Victory is never certain, but death… that is assured."

A bitter chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head, his eyes hardening as he looked at the faces before him.

"I understand why you picked up the sword you grip so tightly, why you donned that armor to fight under the banner of your king. For glory, no? For the chance to be remembered as warriors, men of honor."

He paused, letting the silence stretch, his next words heavy with scorn.

"You're all fools. The lot of you. They will sing no songs about you. No stories told of your bravery. You will be just another corpse among a thousand others, left on the battlefield and forgotten, because that… that is war."

Aric turned, his eyes landing on a corpse lying in the dirt, its body mangled and lifeless. He kicked it once, the dull thud echoing through the silence. "Where is his glory, huh?" he kicked it again, harder this time, his voice rising in anger.

"Where is his glory?"

He kicked the body a third time, frustration pouring out of him. "What use is his honor now? ANSWER ME!" Aric's voice cracked as he screamed, the rawness of his own past grief and anger flooding the space between them. The soldiers stood frozen, wide-eyed, not daring to move.

After a moment, Aric stopped, his chest heaving. He stood still, staring at the corpse before him, his voice softening as he composed himself.

"There is no glory in death. And no honor in loss. Such privilege is not reserved for foot soldiers like you. In war, there are only winners and losers, and everything else is bullshit."

His words hung in the air as he turned back to the soldiers, their faces pale in the firelight.

"Yes, when the people of your village hear the news that you are another corpse on the battlefield, they will feel pity for you. 'Oh, what a great boy he was.' 'He was a strong man.' 'We will miss him.' They'll say these things, perhaps for a day, maybe a week, if they liked you."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Aric's lips. "But soon enough, they'll return to their lives. And they will sing no songs about you. They will tell no story of your name."

He turned to the soldiers once more, his voice growing colder.

"And your wives… they'll break down when they hear the news. They'll cry, they'll mourn. But after weeks, maybe months, even they will move on. And the nice lad from down the street, the one who always helped her at the market, he'll start keeping her company, because she's just a lonely widow now."

Aric's eyes burned with a fire that matched the flames of the torches around them. "And soon enough, he'll have her bent over by your reading desk, gripping her hair tightly as she screams his name—not yours. And in that moment, she won't speak of how much of a man of honor you were. She won't care. And where will you be?"

He pointed to the ground, his voice harsh.

"A fucking corpse, rotting in the snow."

The soldiers were silent, their faces pale, the weight of Aric's words sinking in like a dagger to the chest.

"The imperial squad arrives soon," Aric continued, his voice steady now, a cold resolve taking over. "And I am certain they need no introduction. The moment they come, we all die. And there is no glory or honor in that. So instead, I offer you the chance to fight for victory another day."

Aric's gaze swept across the men, his voice firm.

"Denounce this rebellion. Denounce your foolish king who has led you to it. Accept me as your ruler, and I will lead you back to your families, so you may fight another day—a day when you actually stand a chance of victory. For that is the only way to honor and glory."

Suddenly, Aszer rushed forward, fury blazing in his eyes.

"You dare betray me?"

Before he could reach Aric, Yrsa stepped between them, her movements swift as a shadow. She blocked Aszer's path, her hand resting calmly on the handle of her axe.

Aric didn't flinch, his eyes never leaving the soldiers.

"Byzeth army, what say you? Would you rather die today, or live to fight again?"

There was a moment of stillness, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Aszer's eyes darted around, panic creeping into his expression as he realized the gravity of the situation.

Aric raised his voice, the intensity in his tone demanding an answer.

"What say you?!"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

One by one, the soldiers dropped to a knee, their armor clinking softly as they bowed their heads.

"We shall follow the prince," one voice called out, breaking the silence.

Then, another voice echoed it. "We shall follow the prince."

And soon, all four hundred men had knelt, their loyalty shifting in that moment, from a broken king to the one man who spoke the truth.