ARESIA: Fall of an empire

CHAPTER FIVE: BLOOD AND TEARS

The morning of the war arrived. Dante and Cyrus emerged from the palace, climbing onto their horses. They started their journey to the soldiers' camp, their faces set with determination.

The sun's rays cast a pale glow over the landscape, providing a stark contrast to the somber mood that hung in the air. The soldiers had been training tirelessly for days, awaiting this moment.

Dante and Cyrus arrived at the camp and surveyed the scene. The soldiers were already assembled, their faces a mixture of determination and anxiety. Meanwhile, Commander Elgin was engaged in last-minute preparations, barking orders and directing his men.

Dante, addressing Commander Elgin, called out, "Commander Elgin, come into the tent."

Elgin, hearing Dante's call, broke away from the preparations and entered the tent.

Cyrus, quickly retrieved the battle plans and handed them to Dante, who spread them out on a table for closer examination.

Dante, studying the plans, announced, "Alright, we'll use the tortoise formation due to our disadvantage in numbers. Cyrus and I will fight our way to meet Kang."

Cyrus, his mind focused on the task, nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on the battle plans spread out before them.

Dante, pointing at specific areas on the battle plan, continued to outline the strategies, outlining key points for their soldiers' positions and movements. "We'll have our archers and catapults positioned here," he indicated on the map. "Our swordsmen and heavy infantry will form the front line, providing the bulk of the defense. Our cavalry will flank the enemy from the left."

Dante, seeking confirmation, turned to both Cyrus and Commander Elgin. "Are we clear?" he asked, his tone serious and firm.

Cyrus, his mind focused on the plan, nodded in agreement. "Yes, my lord," he confirmed.

Commander Elgin, having absorbed the details of the plan, responded with a confident nod as well. "Everything is clear, my lord," he assured Dante.

Dante, stepping out of the tent, addressed the assembled soldiers. "Soldiers," he called out, his voice carrying a tone of authority and determination.

The soldiers, their ranks lined up in disciplined order, stood at attention, their eyes fixed upon their leader.

Dante faced the assembled soldiers, his voice carrying weight and conviction. "Today, we do not fight merely for honor," he declared. "We fight for our mothers, our sisters, our families. We fight for our homes and our land."

Dante's voice rose, filled with fervor. "We will not allow the barbarians to mock us. We are Aresians, the children of war. We have faced challenges and emerged victorious every time!"

The soldiers responded with a resounding battle cry, their voices blending into a powerful roar. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" They echoed, their spirits

ignited with determination and pride.

Dante, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of the situation, issued his orders. "Prepare the chariots and ready the troops! We march on Desert Kadul!"

The soldiers, motivated by Dante's words, immediately sprung into action. The air filled with the sounds of clattering armor, shouting commands, and the thundering hooves of the horses.

Dante, poised and focused on preparing for battle, turned his gaze to the approaching sight. A royal carriage was making its way towards him, its arrival unexpected and intriguing.

He watched as the carriage drew nearer, curiosity mingling with his war preparations.

Phílos, his young face filled with eagerness, dashed out of the carriage and ran towards Dante.

"Father!" he called out, his voice carrying excitement.

Dante, his heart warmed by his son's presence, opened his arms and embraced Phílos tightly, feeling a mix of joy and concern at his unexpected arrival.

Iris, with a concerned expression, approached Dante. "You left without bidding farewell," she remarked gently. "Are you still upset with me?"

Dante, his face softening, looked at her with a mix of exhaustion and resignation. "Iris," he said quietly, his voice tinged with weariness, "I have a lot on my mind right now, with battle about to commence. I'm not angry, I'm just...preoccupied."

Phílos, his young eyes wide with curiosity and determination, tugged on Dante's armor, "Father, can I come to battle with you?"

Dante looked down at his son, his heart filled with a mix of pride and worry. "Phílos," he said, his voice firm but affectionate, "the battlefield is no place for a child. It's dangerous and brutal."

Phílos, his eyes earnest, presented a small forget-me-not flower. "Take this, Father," he said, offering the delicate blossom. "Remember us when you're in battle."

Dante's expression softened as he regarded the flower, its pale blue petals a symbol of his son's innocence and hope. "I will, my boy," dante promised, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and concern. "I promise, I will."

Iris, her eyes glimmering with both sadness and affection, managed a soft laugh amidst her tears. She recognized the weight of the gesture, knowing that the battle ahead held uncertainty for them all.

Dante embraced Phílos tightly and pressed a tender kiss to Iris's forehead. With a heavy heart, he spoke. "My dear, take Phílos back to the palace."

Iris, her eyes brimming with tears, nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She gently took Phílos' hand and led him back toward the royal carriage, both saddened by the separation but determined to follow Dante's request.

Phílos, his eyes filled with sadness, looked back at his father as if saying, "Be safe, father." He gave a small wave, his young face reflecting the weight of the moment.

Dante watched as Iris and Phílos boarded the royal carriage, his heart heavy with both pride and worry. The impending battle loomed large, but he knew that his family's safety was paramount. With a final, silent prayer for their wellbeing, Dante turned his attention back to the soldiers, focusing on the imminent conflict and the hopes of victory for his people.

The army, led by Cyrus, Dante, and Emperor Dante, marched forward with unwavering resolve. The air resonated with rhythmic footsteps and fervent voices, as if the very ground itself shuddered beneath the weight of their determination. Chariots thundered, carrying soldiers into the heart of battle, their presence signifying the might of their advance. Battle songs filled the air, their chorus echoing across the landscape, a declaration of the impending confrontation with Desert Kadul.

With each step, the army moved closer to their adversary, their footsteps an ode to their commitment and valor. The chants grew louder, a battle hymn that thundered through the desert, promising vengeance and triumph. Every heart beat as one, each breath infused with unwavering resolve. They were an army united, fueled by the desire to reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

As the army arrived at Desert Kadul, their gaze was met with the sight of a vast barbarian force stationed on the opposite end. A chilling shiver ran down the spines of those who saw it. The scale of the opposing army was formidable, its presence intimidating and dominant. The Aresian soldiers felt a pang of uneasiness, their minds racing with the realization of the daunting task ahead.

Lord Kang, the formidable leader of the barbarian force, called out from a distance. His voice carried the familiar tone of mockery as he quipped, "Ah, Dante, my old friend! What a pleasure it is to see you once more, though I wish it were under less... dire circumstances."

His words dripped with sarcasm and the hint of impending conflict.

Dante, his voice filled with disdain, retorted, "The feeling is far from mutual, Kang. You've consistently proven yourself a fool and a coward, hiding behind your minions, lacking any regard for honor or decency."

The air seemed to sizzle with the intensity of their exchange, their words laced with resentment and the promise of imminent violence.

Kang, his voice booming across the desert, challenged Dante. "Oh, Dante, spare me the rhetoric. Surrender the northern territory, and let's put an end to this. We could dine and banter, just like old times, you know?"

His proposal hung in the air with a tinge of mockery, as if the outcome were already predetermined.

Cyrus, his voice cutting through the tension, interrupted with unwavering resolve. "Over my dead body will we hand over our northern territory. It is ours, and it will remain ours."

His response was firm and unyielding, a clear indicator of Aresia's refusal to yield their territory.

Kang chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Ah, Cyrus, Cyrus, Cyrus... How I've missed your stubborness. Such unwavering loyalty to your land, truly admirable."

Cyrus's expression hardened as he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. "One more thing, Kang. I'd rather be six feet under than share a table with you. Your company is not worth the price of surrender."

Kang, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent, whispered to himself, "As you wish..." with a malicious grin. Then, loudly, he shouted, "Attack! Charge!"

The Barbarians, energized by their leader's command, rushed forward.

Dante, his voice resounding with authority, shouted, "Attack! But maintain formation, men!"

The Aresian soldiers responded to Dante's command, charging forward as instructed, their ranks still holding their disciplined stance.

The two armies collided, their weapons clashing in a cacophony of steel and war cries. The desert floor trembled as they engaged in fierce combat, each side fighting with fervor and determination.

The battlefield transformed into a chaotic and brutal melee. The air became thick with the clash of swords, the cries of wounded warriors, and the thuds of bodies hitting the ground. The desert ground turned red with spilled blood, and the once-pristine landscape was scarred with carnage.

Commander Elgin, amidst the chaos, locked eyes with Dante, his voice strained but resolute. "My lord, go! I will hold the line here. You must find and slay Kang!"

Dante nodded in understanding, his gaze steely with determination.

Cyrus, his tone tinged with concern, offered support to Commander Elgin. "May the gods be with you, friend," he said before sprinting alongside Dante in the direction of Kang.

The duo, focused on their objective, moved swiftly across the battlefield, determined to reach Kang and end the conflict.

As they advanced, the intensity of the conflict seemed to grow, as if the barbarians sensed the imminent confrontation. They hurled themselves at Dante and Cyrus, desperate to stop their progress.

Despite the barrage of attacks, Dante and Cyrus pressed on, cutting through their opponents with lethal efficiency. Their focus was unwavering, their eyes fixed on Kang, their destination.

A barbarian archer, aiming at Dante, released an arrow which missed its mark and instead embedded itself into Cyrus's side.

Cyrus let out a cry of pain as he collapsed to the ground, his blood staining the sand.

Dante's heart twisted with alarm as he heard Cyrus' cry of pain. He rushed to his fallen comrade, his face etched with concern.

"Cyrus!!" Dante called out, his voice carrying a mix of anguish and fury.

With desperate speed, Dante pulled Cyrus away from the fray and supported him with one arm. Simultaneously, he continued to fight off the attackers, his swordsmanship a whirlwind of lethal precision.

"Hold on, my friend," Dante growled as he fought, "We're getting out of this alive."

Dante placed Cyrus carefully on the ground, concern etched on his face. "How are you? Are you okay?"

Cyrus managed a pained chuckle, his voice strained. "Never been better," he rasped sarcastically.

Dante reached for the arrow still lodged in Cyrus's side. "I'm pulling it out," he warned, his expression a mix of apology and determination.

Through gritted teeth, Cyrus gave a nod of understanding. "Okay... Do it."

Just as the arrow was extracted from Cyrus' side, his gaze lifted to find Kang standing over them. Cyrus's eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping at the unexpected discovery...Kang was at the back of Dante with a malevolent grin on his face

Kang, his face twisted in a mocking grin, observed the duo with contempt. "Ah, what a touching moment. The great Commander of Aresia, reduced to playing nursemaid.", his voice dripping with threat, pointed his sword directly at Dante's neck, which was still turned toward Cyrus.

"Look at you, Dante, so vulnerable," Kang taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

Dante, his voice full of anger and disdain, declared, "You coward! How dare you attack from behind!"

The insult struck a nerve, and Kang's grin gave way to a brief flicker of irritation.

Kang's expression darkened, his grip on his sword tightening in response to Dante's accusation.

"Coward, am I?" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "I am simply being efficient. This is war, not a children's game, Dante. The battlefield holds no honor."

Cyrus, wincing in pain, attempted to rise but his injury held him back. His voice tinged with anger and frustration he hissed, "Bastard."

The insult hung in the air, adding fuel to the tense atmosphere.

Kang scoffed at the weak insult, his smirk returning. "Weak words from a man too injured to stand."

A gallant Aresian soldier, witnessing the unfolding events, let out a battle cry and charged toward Kang from behind. "Witness me, my lord!" he shouted.

However, Kang, with lightning-fast reflexes, swiftly sliced the soldier's head off without even looking back. This unexpected turn of events allowed Dante to seize the opportunity to regain his feet.

Dante, fueled by anger and determination, lunged at Kang, charging with a fury. Kang, meeting his attack with equal intensity, deflected Dante's sword blows. Their blades clashed in a flurry of sparks, the sound of steel echoing through the battlefield.

Back and forth they traded blows, locked in a deadly dance of swords. The air was filled with the clash of steel and the grunts of exertion as the two warriors dueled.

As they continued to exchange blows, Kang's voice dripped sarcasm. "You've improved, Dante," he taunted, his tone filled with mockery. "But not enough."

Despite the mockery, Dante didn't let Kang's words distract him. He gritted his teeth and continued to push forward with his attacks, driven by determination and a burning desire for victory.

As Dante pressed his offense, Kang swiftly dodged his attack, causing Dante to lose balance and stumble forward. Before he could stabilize himself, Kang seized the opportunity and delivered a brutal elbow strike, sending Dante to the ground.

Cyrus, clutching his wound on the ground, cried out in alarm. "My lord!!"

His voice was full of despair, as he watched Dante fall under Kang's assault.

Kang, standing over Dante's fallen body, spoke coldly. "You would have handed over the northern territory," he sneered, his voice devoid of mercy.Without hesitation, he swung his blade, delivering a fatal strike to Dante's neck.

Cyrus, his voice filled with pain and grief, screamed "Nooooo!"

Ignoring his injury, he attempted to stand and raised his sword, determined to avenge Dante's death. However, his injuries made him unsteady, and before he could reach Kang, he stumbled and fell to the ground.

Kang, noticing Cyrus's futile attempt, easily dodged his charge and watched as Cyrus crumpled to the ground, unable to keep his balance.

A cruel smile tugged at the corners of Kang's lips. "Pathetic," he jeered, clearly amused by the sight before him.

Cyrus, tears streaming down his face, crawled to Dante's body. "My lord, please...," he sobbed, his voice cracking with grief.

He reached out as if hoping to find a sign of life, but it was in vain. Dante's body remained motionless, a silent testament to his fate.

"No... please no...," Cyrus begged, his voice filled with raw anguish.

Kang, his tone dripping with cold disdain, commanded, "Pick up his body and go home. The North territory will be ours. Be grateful I'm sparing your empire."

Cyrus, still kneeling on the ground, looked up at Kang with a mix of sadness and fury.

Kang, his voice booming, shouted at his soldiers. "Soldiers, victory is ours!"

The barbarians, hearing their leader's declaration, cheered triumphantly, their voices echoing across the battlefield.

Among the resounding cheers of the barbarians, Aresian soldiers emerged, gently retrieving Dante's body. They also approached Cyrus, aiding him onto a chariot as he was too weak to walk by himself.

Cyrus, overwhelmed with grief and exhaustion, sank into the chariot. His eyes were fixed on Dante's lifeless form before they left, his heart heavy with sorrow and a bitter sense of defeat.

Among the slain bodies being collected, Commander Elgin's lifeless form was found and carried to a chariot. As Cyrus beheld the sight, his grief intensified, and his cries echoed through the air.

The sight of Commander Elgin's lifeless body struck a painful chord within him. Cyrus, already weary from his own injuries and broken by Dante's death, found himself shattered anew. His wails of distress and loss filled the air, a heartbreaking lamentation for the fallen comrades and the shattered hopes of victory.

As the soldiers began their journey back to Aresia, they carried along the bodies of their fallen comrades, including Dante and Commander Elgin. Cyrus, weary and grieving, was also on the chariot, his own injuries reminding him of the cost of battle.

The air was filled with silence as the soldiers made their way back, their minds heavy with the weight of their defeat and loss. The journey would be long and the spirits weighed down, a grim testament to the day's events.

The chariot carrying the soldiers and the fallen entered the city walls, the somber atmosphere visible on the soldiers' faces. It was evident to the inhabitants that they had suffered a loss. The chariot rode toward the palace, where the people watched with quiet, heartbroken expressions.

The whispers of the people filled the air, their voices tinged with concern. "Where is the emperor?" they murmured, seeking reassurance or at least an explanation.

As the chariot drew closer to the palace, the questions grew louder. The city seemed to hold its breath, awaiting answers that were yet to come the chariots arrived at the palace, everyone who had been inside the palace rushed out to meet the returning soldiers. Faces held a mixture of anticipation and concern, their eyes fixed on the soldiers and hoping for good news.

The Grand Empress, her eyes wide with worry, hurried to the chariot where Dante lay injured. "Where is my son?" she said, her voice trembling with anxiety.

Grand Empress , her heart heavy, surveyed the chariot. Then, her eyes fell upon a soldier, his body hidden beneath a covering, yet the royal ring on his hand was unmistakable. A hand to her mouth, Dante mother felt the world crumble around her. She turned to Cyrus, her question trembling on her lips. "Dante?" she asked.

Cyrus could only respond with a heartbroken nod, his eyes welling with tears as he confirmed her fears.

"Yes, your highness," he said, his voice cracking. "It's the emperor."

Grand Empress, in a moment of raw grief, pulled off the cloth covering Dante's body. The sight of her son's lifeless form sent a chilling shock through her, and her grief burst forth in a desperate cry.

"No! No!" she wailed, her voice full of anguish and heartbreak.

She collapsed to her knees beside the chariot, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch Dante's pale face. The image of her son's lifeless body was more than she could bear.

The Grand Empress's anguished cries caught the attention of both princess Calliope and Empress Iris who were standing nearby. The sound of heartbreak carried in the air, and both quickly moved towards the chariot.

Empress Iris and Princess Calliope, overcome with shock and profound grief, could hardly believe the sight before them. Their heartbreak was palpable as they beheld the lifeless body of Dante lying in the chariot.

Both women were reduced to tears, their faces contorted with raw pain and despair.

Empress Iris, her voice trembling with heartbreak, pleaded, "No, my love," her voice breaking as she spoke, "please wake up."

She reached out to touch his pale, cold cheek, her love and sorrow pouring forth in waves.

Her touch was gentle, as if she still hoped for a miracle, for him to wake and hold her tenderly like before. Yet, deep within, she knew that hope was futile.

Empress Iris, her voice catching on tears, repeated through her sobs, "Please, no..." Her heart felt as though it were shattering into a million pieces. She could not deny the reality before her, but a part of her still hoped for something, anything, that could bring him back.

Phílos, his body weary and his heart heavy, approached the chariot and found the lifeless form of his father. His voice, barely more than a whisper, trembled with raw anguish as he shook his father gently. "Wake up, father..." he pleaded, his voice cracking with grief. "Please, wake up... Please..."

His grip grew tighter, as if holding onto his father's body would bring back the life that had been stolen away. The tears that welled up in his eyes blurred his vision, and he continued to beg, though he knew deep down that it was useless.

Empress Iris, her own grief etched upon her face, gently pulled Phílos away from the chariot and into an embrace. She held him tightly against her, offering him comfort in the only way she could.

Her arms wrapped around him, her voice soft as she spoke. "Hush, my dear," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion, "Come, let me hold you. We will get through this together."

The news of Emperor Dante's death spread like wildfire throughout Aresia, carrying with it a wave of grief that shook the very foundations of the empire. The realization that their charismatic leader, who had led them through victorious battles and prosperous times, was no more, left the people devastated and grief-stricken.

The air was filled with sounds of lament, as both soldiers and common folk alike wept openly for their fallen emperor.

Night descended, and a somber atmosphere enveloped the capital. A special burial ceremony was held for Dante, along with a handful of the most prominent fallen soldiers. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting pools of dancing light upon the mourners gathered. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the sound of quiet prayers, as if the very sky mourned with the people below.

In the mournful gathering, River's gaze fell upon the grieving Phílos, his pale face illuminated by the flickering torchlight. She approached him with a gentle step, her heart aching for his sorrow.

With a soft, aching voice, she called his name. "Phílos..."

Phílos, his vision blurred by tears, turned to face her. His eyes mirrored the pain within him as he spoke. "River..." he murmured, his voice hoarse with grief.

River, her hand gently holding Phílos', guided him away from the mournful gathering. Her touch was both comforting and resolute, signaling her determination to offer solace.

"Come on," she said softly, her voice tinged with both tenderness and determination, "I want to show you something."

River led Phílos to a river, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. As they neared, Phílos gazed at the tranquil waters, captivated by the beauty of the moment. River broke the silence with a gentle confession.

"This is why my mother named me River," she said, her voice soft and wistful. "When she's sad, she often comes here at night."

Phílos, his voice tinged with sorrow and hope, posed the question to River. "Do you think he is in heaven?"he wondered, his mind torn between grief and a longing for reassurance.

River turned her gaze towards Phílos, a hint of confusion in her voice. "Huh?" she repeated, her voice tinged with a touch of curiosity.

Phílos, his voice tinged with pain and hope, repeated, "My father," his gaze fixed on the tranquil waters before them. "Do you think he is in Heaven?"

River, her words soft and comforting, responded, "I... I do believe so, Phílos. The gods would surely welcome someone as noble as your father."

River and Phílos, each carrying the weight of grief, moved to a nearby wooden bench. The wood creaked softly beneath them as they settled in, their gaze fixed on the moon-kissed river before them.

Phílos, his voice steady and filled with determination, declared, "I will avenge my father's death."

The firmness in his tone conveyed his resolve, a fire within him burning to seek justice for his beloved father.

River, her tone tinged with concern, gently interjected, "You're still a child, Phílos." Her voice was soft but firm, a reminder that he was still young and should exercise caution in his pursuit of revenge.

Phílos, his determination unwavering, responded with a fire burning in his eyes. "I will wait until I'm older," he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "And when I am, I will surely avenge my father's death."

River, her head gently resting on Phílos' shoulder, gazed silently at the moon-kissed river before them. The two children were enveloped in a moment of quiet companionship, grief mingling with a shared solace.

The gentle sounds of the flowing water blended with their rhythmic breaths, creating a poignant symphony. In the stillness of night, they found comfort in each other's presence.