"One of the most powerful warriors in the world, and I don’t have much left," Meten thought helplessly as he drank thirstily from his waterskin, catching his breath.

  —The elders are never wrong about these things, my lord— one of his concubines had told him when he dared to ask weeks after receiving the prophecy. —Once they see the future through their eyes, the truth consumes us like a tide of pleasure or bitterness. That’s why it’s best to leave the future where it belongs and live with the sweet uncertainty of the present.

  When he fought with fervor, that conversation echoed in his mind again and again, but neither physical exhaustion nor the promise of loot could erase the devastation of the old man’s words.

  "Within three to five years, darkness will shroud your eyes forever."

  He had ordered the old man hanged days later, but he knew that wouldn’t change the fact that his death was near.

  So Meten had decided to bring death to as many places as he could, while indulging his own desires for gold, mana, and women.

  At that moment, the rain poured relentlessly over him and his riders. The western city they had descended upon was called Saena, but to him, it was just another name. Ever since the Great Mission had taken root in his mind, his only purpose was to ride west and destroy everything in his path.

  As he watched his skilled riders cut down the unsuspecting enemy—using bows, swords, and spears to slaughter the poor souls who hadn’t been clever enough to build strong, orderly walls to protect their precious goods (and lives)—Meten remembered the day he had received the mission. It had been just days after hearing the old man’s grim prophecy. "Damn it, why did I have to be so curious? Ignorance is bliss."

  The mission’s message was as clear as water:

  "Great Incursion West: Lead your elite troops westward, laying waste to all in your path. Each death will grant you and your men double the experience and mana."

  Days earlier, his force of ten thousand horsemen had stood before the imposing walled city of Dhufob. Though his army was likely the finest in the world in open combat, they lacked siege equipment to take a city like that—one with a sea gate for supplies, which would never surrender to a band of marauders, no matter how thoroughly his men had reduced the surrounding villages to rubble.

  So, with a speech that stunned his warriors, he told them to prepare for one of the longest rides in recent memory.

  —The East has nothing left to offer us, my lords of the saddle— he had boomed in his thunderous voice. —It’s time to cross the endless plain and plunder the western settlements. We have enough supplies from what we’ve looted, but we’ll replenish wherever we go.

  His men had praised the idea then, though he knew many harbored doubts: they had never crossed the endless plain and didn’t know what lay beyond.

  —Rain— Meten whispered as he watched his men advance confidently into the city, now that they had slaughtered most of its defenders in open combat. —Now I understand why the West is as wild as the grass cats. Here, the rain never stops.

  Soaked to the bone, the steppe leader mounted his dun steed and galloped into the city, brandishing his flaming sword—the same sword that spoke to him in battle.

  —That’s it, kill them all— it urged him again and again. —Quench my thirst for blood.

  And Meten obeyed. That city was just another nameless place, full of houses and modest trade buildings. He rode through smithies and taverns, brothels and apothecaries. Nothing mattered as he used his chattering blade to cut down men on foot, children, and the elderly. Only young, beautiful women were spared—captured to become slaves after the sacking.

  "I’ll die soon anyway, so what does it matter? Let them all die."

  The looting lasted until dawn, as did the rain. His men used incendiary torches enchanted with revealing magic to see clearly through the night, so by the time daylight returned, there was nothing left to destroy or plunder. The town its inhabitants had proudly called Saena mere hours before was now just a memory—a heap of defiled homes and corpses strewn everywhere. The blood between the cobblestones bore witness to the carnage.

  The leader of this demonic horde rode to a nearby hill to survey the city. His riders on dun horses, their hides the same hue as his own, moved back and forth, scavenging for scattered loot or defenseless women. Many were already drunk beyond reason, while others lurked among the ruins, raping, killing, and stealing.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  —This is over, Meten. But the true prize lies just days away—the fair city of Titia.

  Only one being dared address him by name instead of "my lord."

  —Shut up, damned sword. Let me savor my victory for once.

  —Oh, savor it all you like. But it’s always wise to plan your next move. Remember, the Voice of the World needs you, and you must act accordingly.

  Now that dawn had broken, only dew fell around him. The fires his men had set in the city had nearly burned out, bringing a sliver of calm to the steppe warlord’s mind.

  —I act on my own will alone, you hunk of iron. No "Voice of the World" will force Meten Cuffom to do anything against his wishes.

  He could almost see the smirk of the being trapped within the blade through the metal.

  —I wouldn’t be so sure. With death breathing down your neck, you’d best act. And soon. Though your life may be as fleeting as a common fruit, your name could be etched in fire across history. But only if you dismantle the empire.

  The Sword of the Abyss had already told him of this. To the south, a mighty empire on the edge of the jungle was teetering, and now was the time to strike like a cobra before it recovered from its emperor’s blunders.

  —You must hurry, Meten. Order your men to stop drinking now and rest among the ruins of yet another city wiped from the map. They must ride for Titia, whose cobbled streets hide a grand cathedral—home to more treasure than your men have ever amassed.

  "This damned piece of iron is right. With one stroke, I could become one of the richest men in the world. But what for? Death is about to claim me."

  Enraged, he sheathed the sword, hoping to silence its interruptions, and galloped back to the ruined city to command his officers to prepare the next assault.

  —"Load all the valuables you can carry, and no more than one woman per rider! Kill the rest! We ride by noon!"

  And so they did. The vast horde of dark-skinned riders on dun horses set out under a cloudy sky, their path churned to mud, heading west and leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

  "I’m coming for you, Titia—and after that, Anen’s riches will be mine. I’ll leave this world, oh yes, but not before carving my name into the minds of every mortal."

  ****

  The old man puffed on his pipe with deliberate calm, as if the harpies’ attack had barely unsettled him. At that moment, he and the mayor of Panxian spoke in hushed tones while Ludan and Sarric lingered in a corner of the castle’s main hall, which overlooked much of the marble city and the endless sea of Eilna beyond.

  The two lords were accompanied by a bald, noble-looking man who remained silent as the old man and the city’s ruler conversed. Finally, Lororin gestured with his staff for the hunters to approach and take their seats beside the hosts.

  —My lord hunters, allow me to introduce the mayor of this fair city, Lord Pandolf, and his Master of Whispers, Anton.

  The two lords regarded Ludan and Sarric as little more than vermin but nodded slightly in greeting.

  —My dear and noble allies, these are two of the finest warriors you will ever meet. They are as fearless as jungle cats, ever on the hunt for high orcs and creatures the average adventurer wouldn’t dare provoke. They are indispensable allies in these dark times.

  The mayor, clad in a purple robe, spoke first.

  —Come forward, brave warriors. Take your seats. Allies like you are the cornerstone of our designs, as this old rogue says, now that the emperor has lost his wits.

  Ludan sat beside his companion, and as they exchanged formalities, servants brought them ale to refresh themselves.

  —As you can see— the city’s lord continued— these are not peaceful times. It is fortunate that warriors like you were present on our terraces during this cowardly harpy attack—whoever the gods sent them for. But this only helps us distinguish allies from enemies.

  —We are glad to fight with fervor in return for our hosts’ hospitality— Sarric replied simply.

  This time, the old mage took over.

  —According to Lord Anton’s reports, the emperor has just squandered a vast amount of mana, though we don’t yet know why. This leaves our nation vulnerable to outside threats, and his whisperers bring even more dire news: in the northern land of Hornn, a horde of eastern horsemen is ravaging everything in their path, growing stronger with each city they raze. It’s only a matter of time before they descend upon Anen, and if we do nothing, invasion is imminent. We are no common rebels, but under these circumstances, we have no choice but to rise against the central power.

  Ludan chose to remain silent, letting the vampire steer the conversation.

  —I understand, and we agree. Our trade would suffer if Anen’s great markets were plundered by barbarians—even if we fled to the Zholim Desert while things turned sour. Sooner or later, hunger would claim us, or at best, end our profitable partnership. But the emperor is still strong, and the invasion of Ixtul only strengthens him daily. How can we oppose such power?

  The old man shrugged.

  —The indirect method, young warrior. In fact, we need do nothing. Though the coming weeks are critical, inaction is our greatest ally. The emperor’s own reckless actions will tighten the noose around his neck… but we must be ready to deliver the final blow with ease and prepare to defend against the threat from the northeast.— The old man took a drag from his pipe.— But we need eyes everywhere, and that’s where you come in. We’ll pay you handsomely to go to the capital and get as close to the emperor’s court as possible. Your combat skills are also useful. If you can kill him—or anyone who props up his power—all the better.

  —And I assume the pay far exceeds what we earn for orc teeth in the market, doesn’t it?

  The lords seemed amused.

  —Of course— said the old man.— Once the new order is established, you’ll receive far more than gold. You could command your own forces to hunt orcs or hold titles in high society. All this could be yours if you spy—or assassinate—well. Provided the steppe riders don’t turn Anen into a hellscape.

  Then, the old man shaped the pipe’s smoke into the figure of a fierce rider brandishing a sword.