Jules found himself in a bar again, a mug of ale sitting before him. He could taste the pungent liquid on his breath as he breathed out, but he longed for it. Every taste of it gave him a brief reprieve.

  “I thought Galvin told you not to drink as much,” a voice said. In came Darius, sitting down next to Jules. He ordered a mug for himself as well.

  “Just tonight,” Jules said. “Then no more. I’ll await his instructions at our base in Stormwin’s Peak.”

  “Hell if I care,” Darius said, taking a swig. “I’m only Galvin’s muscle, not his eyes and ears so drink as much as you’d like.”

  “Are you drinking as well?” Jules poked.

  Darius held the mug for him to see. “Water,” was his curt reply. “I don’t drink. Not until I see the king’s head on a pike.”

  “Why go to a bar for just water?”

  “Why go to the bathroom to just shit?”

  Jules pursed his lips. “Fair point,” he said. Sometimes Darius’s arguments and logics didn’t make much sense, but no one really pushed it, as the crap he spewed would end up making less and less sense.

  “Look I ain’t here to stop doing what you’re clearly addicted to,” Darius began.

  “I’m not add-,” Jules began his retort but was cut off by a hand.

  “But if I have to hear shit from Galvin because of it then I’m going to lose my damn mind. He’s always finding you in bars no matter where we go, so do us a simple favor and stop being a damn burden.”

  “So crass,” Jules murmured, taking another sip. “You know why I drink.”

  “You never told me. You might’ve told Galvin or Guenevir, but I haven’t heard shit about it. Nor do I care.”

  “You know I was in De’Shai’s army at one point, right?”

  “Sure, give me the story,” Darius said, taking another swig. “Doubt I’ll do much listening but if it’ll make you feel better to talk your feelings out, then go for it.”

  14 years ago…

  Jules stood on guard, his hand wrapped tightly around the shaft of his spear. He wore the colors of Lord De’Shai’s army. A bright red mixed with a dark purple. There had been reports of rebels running rampant throughout the nation, burning whatever they could get their hands on.

  Like hell Jules will let them do that to his hometown.

  A carriage strode up to Lord De’Shai’s palace, where Jules stood guard. Out came a beautiful woman with dark brown hair that curled in neat bundles down past her shoulders. Her eyes were pitch black, but had a twinkle in them.

  That woman was pretty enough to make any man turn all their attention to her. To her right, a young boy about four years of age walked. His parents always made him dress to impress, as he would be someone important someday. The woman held the boy’s hand as they walked.

  She strode in her white dress, walking with grace in each step. She made eye contact with Jules before walking past him and into the palace.

  “That woman sure is something else,” a voice said next to him, which made him jump a little. He was so lost in her captivation that he forgot he stood on guard with someone else.

  Jules nodded. “Yeah, she is beautiful,” he said, swooning.

  “Too bad she belongs to Lord De’Shai. That means off limits,” the soldier said, yawning. “Anyways, when do you reckon we’ll get some action around here? It’s been too quiet as of late. When will the rebels come to our city?”

  Jules looked him up and down with disgust. “You actually want them to come here?” he asked his guards mate incredulously. “Won’t you be worried about your family if they do come?”

  “Yeah, well. Lord De’Shai and his army never loses. He has the best sergeants this world has to offer. We’ll crush them to a pulp. We’ll shut down their rebellion!”

  Jules chuckled. “Ambitious one you are,” he said.

  The man shrugged. “I like to let my mind wander.”

  Another soldier dressed in the same colors but wielding a sword approached Jules. “Taking over your shift,” the soldier declared as he stood in place of him.

  “Already? I thought I had another two hours to go?”

  The man shook his head. “Nope. Shift changes are early today. The sergeants wants his troops to be combat-ready. That includes getting plenty of rest.”

  “What about me?” the other solider asked.

  “Reprieve should be here in about an hour, so you stay put with me.”

  Jules walked away, stepping slowly down the steps.

  In the city of Rathalin, the buildings are made of a sturdy cobblestone with brick roofings. Fires had happened often here so they had to resort to a different architectural style than in other cities.

  The streets were made of stone and stretched on and on, making interweaving patterns in the ground all around the city.

  In the middle of the city a lively market place stood, people moving in and out like flies. Conversations filled the air as Jules walked by. The smell of delicious pastries wafted throughout the air.

  Smelling it made him hunger, but he bit it down. He forgot his pouch at home, so there was no chance he would be able to buy some.

  Unless… he declared it an emergency he be fed and force them to give it to him. After all, soldiers do have that right, being in the king’s army.

  He laughed off the idea. He became a soldier not to be a bully, but to protect people like his wife and child. He would never do such a thing as bully a merchant for free food.

  “How ya doin’?” someone said to Jules as he walked past their stall. “Can I interest ya in some treats?”

  Jules shook his head. “No thank you. Not today,” he said as he continued on his way.

  Rathalin is the biggest city in all of Agnius. It is where the Minister of Militrary lives, so of course, there has to be enough room for all the soldiers. Not every single soldier in the entire country of course, but enough to protect the city in case of a siege. There was a residential area, which circled around the entire city, many buildings thick. On the inside of the residential area was a market place, where people go to trade goods for their family. And to the east of the ring of residential buildings there was a barracks area, almost as big, where soldiers such as himself lives.

  Near the barracks area sits the palace where Lord De’Shai lives and overlooks the city. And behind that palace is the king’s palace, which is tall and grand, and stretches far into the sky, the tip even touching some of the clouds.

  Jules dreamed of one day going there. No one has spoken of King Rai’Shal having any family or relatives, so Jules wonders if it’s just him and the queen in that building.

  The sheer size and girth of it surprises him every time he gazes up at it. It makes even Lord De’Shai’s palace looks like the product of a child.

  Symbolically it makes sense, as the three Ministers answer to the king directly, and the king will always be above them. Perhaps that’s why his palace is so tall and grand.

  Jules continues on walking until he makes it back to the barracks area, where rough houses are strewn together to make a semblance of a village. Not as nice as the residential areas of Rathalin, but it’s something. Jules wasn’t one to complain about living situation, especially since he has the honor of serving in such a grand army.

  He returns back to his home. The moment the door opens, a toddler runs up to him.

  “Hey honey!” he says as he kneels down and takes the toddler in his arm, embracing her. “Haven’t seen you in a minute!”

  Up several steps away, his wife, Vhema, stood, arms on hips. “It’s been a while, stranger,” his wife said as she embraced him. They kissed.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he apologized, scratching his head. “They have us doing double. I was relieved early today so I thought I would come see my family before going to the training area.”

  Vhema let out a chuckle. “How thoughtful of you to take your time off to return home and see your family.”

  “She’s grown,” Jules said, motioning to the girl in his arms.

  “Of course if you were actually here, you’d see that,” Vhema spoke.

  “Babe, look, I’m sorry I haven’t been home much as of late. It’s just… things are being stirred up in cities and towns south of Rathalin. It’s getting bad down there, and they need us to work extra hard to make sure this kingdom is fended for. I can’t be selfish and see you guys, as much as I’d like to, at a time like this. Once this is all over, I’m leaving the army, and we’re moving eastward to a coastal city where we can enjoy the beaches,” Jules spoke.

  The twinkle in her eye returned. “Really?” she asked, placing a hand on his chest. “Do you promise?”

  “Knight’s honor,” Jules replied as he set the girl down.

  “Why did they let you out early?” Vhema asked. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

  “Well because we’ve been working too hard and pulling extra shifts that they figured we should take a rest.”

  “But you just said the rebel forces could be coming upon the city and day and you need to pull extra.”

  Jules paused, letting the words sink in. The person who replaced him didn’t produce any official documentation of being in the army, and he wasn’t a guy Jules had ever seen before. And it was out of character for the sergeants to end a shift early just for rest. Something wasn’t adding up.

  Oh no.

  “Babe, I have to go,” Jules said, picking up his spear again. “The king could be in danger.”

  “But you just got here! Couldn’t you just let someone else take care of it?”

  “This is the king we’re talking about!” Jules exclaimed. “I have to go! I’ll come back as soon as I possibly can!”

  He bolted out through the doors as quick as he had come, spear in hand, and hit the stone road running. He sprinted across the streets as fast as his legs could take him. He felt age catching up to him. He isn’t as young as he once was, where sprinting that distance could be done easily. Time had taken its toll on him, physically and mentally, and he found that the sprint wore him down. But he kept pushing on even though his lungs were burning up.

  He had to for the king. For Lord De’Shai. For the people who had taken him in and turned him into a warrior. He had to prove to them that it wasn’t a poor choice to make a warrior out of him.

  He needed to be there and do his job.

  Faces turned as he bolted down the streets, concern written all over their faces. Someone tried to stop him and ask him questions, but he ignored them and continued pushing on.

  Something in the atmosphere had changed. The sky appeared grayer, the clouds more dense, and the air itself hotter. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or not, but it did feel like the world was starting to turn into a giant fireball.

  “Lord De’Shai!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he made his way to the palace. He ran up the steps as hard and fast as he could, to find the soldier who had been on guard with him collapsed on the ground.

  “Soldier!” Jules shouted, kneeling down and brushing his first two fingers against his neck. He wasn’t dead.

  Jules look ahead into the palace doors which were knocked through. He gripped his spear with renowned strength, the thought of his lord being in trouble sending him into a frenzy of strength.

  He stepped through the doorway and into the hallway. The oil lamps were off, which was weird since they were always kept on. Darkness pervaded the air and an ominous feeling passed through him. Were rebels here?

  A lone soldier stepped out of the darkness, clothes torn and body bloodied. He collapsed onto the ground.

  Jules rushed to his aid. “You’ll be okay!” he tried to tell the man. Jules felt along the man’s wrist and felt the rhythmic pulses growing fainter and fainter. “You’ll be okay. Just hang in there. You’re going to make it!”

  Too much blood had been lost. The soldier was dying. And there wasn’t a thing Jules could do about it.

  “Don’t… don’t… lie…,” the soldier muttered, his eyes barely open. Then all went limp and his hand dropped to his side.

  Rebels had broken in through the palace. The soldier had a sword. Jules unbuckled the sheath off the corpse and slung it around his own waist. A sword wouldn’t hurt in battle. He gripped his spear again and made way for the door.

  Thoughts of his wife passed through his head. That soldier probably had a wife sitting at home too, waiting for him. Maybe a son or daughter as well. And they would never get to see the man again.

  The same could happen to Jules. His heart started to race at the thought. He could rush into this battle carelessly and fight with all his might, and at the end, he might not even make it out alive. He could widow his wife and lose his son a father. Could he really do that?

  Anything for the duty to Lord De’Shai and for the good of the king. He would sacrifice himself without a moment’s notice.

  As he ran through the halls he could hear the sounds of grunts and fighting. He busted into the ballroom.

  The windows overhead were smashed in and ropes adorned the walls. Glass shattered and strewn everywhere like garbage. More and more soldiers rushed in through the doors, ready at the arms to take on the onslaught of rebels. More came busting through the windows.

  Adrenaline filled Jules. This was his first time in actual battle. He had always been just a guard, working pointless shifts. Now he could actually put his training to good use!

  He could differentiate between the rebels and the guards easily. The guards wore the same colors as he did and had nicer weapons. The rebels were mostly wearing rags and had dull blades.

  Steel met steel and sparks flew while a ringing sounded out through the halls. And Jules stood there, frozen.

  “Soldier!” someone shouted in his direction. “Lord De’Shai needs help up ahead! Go to his room and see to it that he’s safe!”

  Jules saluted and held his spear tightly before breaking off in strides across the ballroom. He reached the other end of the room and busted through the door, coming to contact with more hallways. It’s a good thing he’s picked up many shifts as guard of this palace, as he knows this place better than he knows his own home. No one is more suited than him to quickly reach the lord to defend him.

  Jules broke off into a run, but it wasn’t the same as before. A renewed sense of purpose came to him and a fire burned within his heart. He was going to help save Lord De’Shai from danger and his family.

  The intertwining hallways were designed in such a way to throw off attackers and slow them down. He ran into a couple of rebels along the way who all barred swords at him and attacked him.

  He jabbed his spear at one who dodged to the side. Jules then used his non-dominant hand and unsheathed the sword he took off the dead soldier, slicing the rebel right across the chest. He then focused on the other one and flung his spear right into his thigh. The second rebel collapsed in pain and let out a blood curling scream, holding onto his thigh tightly. The other rebel leapt at him, and Jules was quick to respond, jabbing his sword into the man’s gut.

  The rebel’s eyes went wide as he fell backward, blood beginning to pool around the wound. Jules yanked the bloodied blade out and stared at the rebel with disgust before being disgusted at himself as well. He’d just killed another man. Despite his years of service as a guard, he’s never done what he did to another human, and it all happened so fast.

  He got dizzy and stumbled backwards a little bit.

  No. No time to be thinking about useless things like that. He had a mission to go to, and he will see it to the end.

  He approached the other rebel who was still screaming in pain and yanking the spear out of his thigh. He collapsed from either pain or the blood loss.

  Jules didn’t want to kill him here. He would be imprisoned after the ordeal was over.

  He grabbed both the spear and the sword, one in each hand, and faced towards where Lord De’Shai would be. Without thinking another thought, he proceeded onwards to do his duty as soldier.

  Jules wasted no time. He pushed on, holding both weapons in hand and scrambling past the dead that lay before him. In his mind, he knew he should be exhausted. Drained from the run here and the fights.

  Yet he still pushed on, pure adrenaline coursing through his veins and the sense of duty the only thing on his mind. Rebels had invaded the city, and hell would freeze over before he stopped doing his duty to the king and his country.

  The scramble through the intertwining passages led him to the chambers of Lord De’Shai. Behind the oak doors, he could hear signs of a struggle and steal against steel. Grunts resounded through the walls along with yelps and declarations of battle.

  Lord De’Shai was in danger and he needed to be there for his lord. Lady De’Shai would not be made a widow nor their young child be made half an orphan today. Not if he had anything to say about it.

  He sucked in a powerful breath before slamming into the door with his shoulders, his bodyweight carrying him through the flying splinters of wood. Some of the wood almost got caught in his eye.

  There, he saw an assailant in a black cloak with a sword in hand over a familiar man. The struggle favored the rebel. The man in the black cloak. To his left and right, a couple of bodies lay, both friendly ones and enemies. So a more drawn-out battle had occurred here and was still occurring. No time to think. Lord De’Shai was being overpowered.

  Not for long.

  Jules hefted a spear into his hand and poised it, ready to throw. He launched the spear out of his hands and it made way straight for the rebel.

  The rebel had already been made aware of Jules presence, and with a swift turn of his sword, knocked the spear out of the air, redirecting its trajectory to empty space.

  “You stay away from him!” Jules shouted, unsheathing his blade. The rebel pushed himself off of Lord De’Shai and made a mad dash for the young Jules.

  Jules had not been properly trained with swords. He was more of a ranged fighter, practicing with mainly spears and bows on the occasion. He’d not thought this far ahead. In his mind, he assumed he would be the hero that would come charging in and save the day. How na?ve he was. No amount of training could prepare him for this moment.

  The rebel swung overhead. Jules dodged to the right slightly, stumbling around, losing his balance. When he regained himself, the rebel came striking again, with more force and more determination than before.

  Jules raised his sword to parry the blow, but was not expecting the force of his assailant’s attack.

  The sword was knocked out of his hand seamlessly, clanging along the floor and sliding away from him, the edge making tiny scratches in the wood.

  He had no weapon and was defenseless against this monster of an attacker. How could a rebel, who had no formal martial training overpower a man who had some of the best training in the whole nation?

  A matter of experience perhaps? He’d been vigorously trained but remained as a station guard while this man probably roamed about Agnius, pillaging whatever he could, and fighting untrained soldiers such as himself, and became a better swordsman because of it. Regardless of how he acquired the skill, it far exceeds what Jules could do.

  The spear.

  That remains his only hope if he were to have any chance of winning this battle. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a curved wooden object, lying on top of one of the bodies. With a string connecting both ends together. And a leather sack filled with projectiles.

  A bow and its quiver. Perfect.

  Before he knew it, another strike came for him. The rebel wasn’t going to let the chance of his opponent being unarmed escape him.

  Jules rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike. He could feel the steel rip into the fabric of his clothing, slicing a thin cut in his garments.

  In the moment between the strike, he pushed himself up and made a mad dash for the bow; it was the closest weapon to him, and frankly, his only chance.

  He scooped the bow in both hands and pulled an arrow out of the quiver, notching it in between the strings.

  Just like in practice, with the pull of the string, time slowed down for him and he could see more. Feel more. He felt the tough material of the string in between his fingers, the tail of the arrow poised and pointed.

  Jules took a deep breath and aimed. The rebel righted himself and prepared for an onslaught, but Jules ignored that. He focused on his shot, aimed true and fierce.

  He released the string, and the arrow went whizzing through the air, soaring straight for its intended target.

  The rebel was faster than he’d anticipated.

  With a seamless strike, he deflected the arrow out of its course. Jules needed to act fast. He scooped up the quiver and slung it over his back, pulling more arrows out. He took less time to aim the next few shots, as he didn’t have the luxury of time like the first shot. But with aiming quicker came the drawback of being less accurate.

  Each shot missed its targets by inches; some of them didn’t need to be deflected as they’d just flat out missed.

  But Jules wasn’t firing arrows without reason. Each arrow he sent flying, he took a step closer. Closer to where he needed to be.

  Luckily, the rebel was too distracted by the arrows flying at him to notice his end goal; he was primarily focused on not being skewered by the projectiles.

  Jules reached to the quiver for another arrow and found only air instead. Oh no. He was close enough to where he needed to be though.

  The attacked threw himself towards Jules when he realized the quiver was empty. Jules used the bow itself as a last projectile, sending it towards the assailant. A short pause occurred. Exactly what he needed.

  Jules flung himself to the side and rolled over to where his trusty weapon lay. The spear. With it, he wins.

  He scooped the shaft up and held it in his hands. No more throwing it, as that went so well last time.

  “You think you can beat me with a pole?” the attacker exclaimed before leaping at Jules. Jules, in turn, held the polearm with both hands, feet planted flat and sturdy on the ground as he had been taught.

  When the attacker drew near, he thrust his spear forward, driving it straight ahead, determination and focus in his stance.

  The attacked shifted his bodyweight to the right a bit, dodging the skewer of the spear by mere inches.

  That’s what he needed to do. He had to keep the attacker at bay. Jules took a glance behind and saw Lord De’Shai collapsed on his bed but still breathing. Good.

  The rebel attacked again, and to which, Jules thrusted forward. No amount of speed would work in a battle against such great distance. Jules had no trouble keeping the man at bay with his swift thrusts and quick sidesteps.

  They were at an impasse, which benefited the defender much more than the attacker. The rebel realized this and turned sharply, making way for the window.

  Jules tossed his spear, which he regretted immediately, launching it at his foe.

  Luckily, the attacker did not realize the error in that move and knocked the spear to the side behind him without even sparing a glance.

  Instinct took over. In that moment, Jules knew what he needed to do. He made a sharp dive at where the bow lay, and next to it, one of the arrows he shot lay as well. He scooped the bow up and the arrow and pulled on the string.

  He drew a breath.

  Jules needed to wait for the right moment. Patience. His heart thundered inside his chest, but his breath remained calm. His determination and focus crystal clear. He saw his enemy in front of him, fleeing the battle.

  The attacker leapt at the window.

  Now!

  Jules let loose one final arrow. It whizzed through the air, flying straight and true, and struck the rebel right in the calf.

  Instead of the attacker breaking through the window like he wanted, he let out a yelp and flopped to the ground.

  Jules wasted no time. He leapt for his spear and picked it up. The man screamed while clutching at the arrow wound.

  The rebel turned to face Jules, and for the first time, he could see the fearful look in the man’s eyes. All the confidence that was there before evaporated in an instant, and now, he saw a terrified man in front of him.

  He thrust the spear down anyways, straight through his chest where his heart beat.

  The man let out a gurgle before his head fell back and his body limp, blood quickly covering the oak floor.

  A slow clap rang out behind him.

  “Bravo!” Lord De’Shai exclaimed, pushing himself off his bed. There were several bruises on the man and he walked with a limp. “You certainly are a soldier within my army! What’s your name, lad?”

  “J-J-Jules!” Jules stammered out. In the heat of the moment fighting off the attacker, he did not once stop to think about when the fight was over. When he would finally meet Lord De’Shai.

  “Well, Jules, you are a marvelous shot indeed? What’s your position within the army, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I-I-I’m just a guard!” he stammered out, coming to attention and giving a crisp Agnian salute, his right palm over his chest and his left hand extended to the left as if in a bow. The heart of Agnius above all else, the message appeared to be.

  “Just a guard? Boy, with someone of your talents, you could do so much more! Tell you what, your reward for saving my life and securing the future of my family, I will allow you to move past your guards post and join the ranks of a real army! You will fight the rebels invading in various towns, and help bring this nation back to its former glory.”

  Jules thought about Vhema and his young son. His mouth moved fast, before his heart could process the words and what they meant. “Absolutely, sir! It would be an honor!”

  The moment he uttered those words, he knew it was too late. He was roped in his duty, intertwined with the fate of a soldier. He had broken his promise to Vhema and to his family.

  “And that’s how it happened. I got promoted in De’Shai’s army for saving his life. If you asked me though I should have let him die then,” Jules finished. He took a glance at Darius who sat, thinking.

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  “Yeah,” he finally said. “Shoulda let him get sent to hell where he belongs. Now I don’t know about you, but I think that old bastard’s time to go is approaching soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Darius said nothing. He kept sipping away at his water until his mug was cleared.

  “You know, I told you my story,” Jules said. “How about you tell me yours? Where do you come from? Parents? Friends before Justicar? What was life like before you met Galvin?”

  Darius gave Jules a simple glare. “No thanks,” he muttered before pushing himself up off his stool.

  Jules never liked Darius. But his skills with a weapon were unparalleled, and if given a mission, he would stop at nothing until he saw it completed. Galvin had a good sense for who to choose for his main team in Justicar, and at times, he wondered if he really fit in or not.

  Jules stared at the mug of swirling clear liquid before him, its scent pungent and poisonous.

  Just tonight to get me through the pain, he thought, taking another swig. Then I’ll be back on track tomorrow.