Shadow Slave

It took Effie a while to cross the killing field. Behind her, the gates of the city stayed open, as if inviting the conquerors to come and claim their prize. The soldiers of the Steel Horde, of course, noticed the unusual movement.

They saw a lone figure walking across the black expanse of blood-soaked mud, as well.

By the time Effie reached the encampment of the conquering army, there was already a welcoming committee waiting for her. Hiding her emotions behind a composed expression, she looked around.

The Steel Horde was doing much better than the defenders of the city, who looked like walking corpses by now. However... its warriors didn't look too good, either.

It did not matter how numerous they were or how fearsome the power of the conquering horde was. These people had been stuck here, below the walls of the once-peaceful city, for almost two years now. The casualties they had suffered were far greater than the losses among its defenders — a truly terrifying amount, to the point that it was impossible to count how many had died.

And so, they had learned terror. Even with Azarax instilling them with confidence, their eventual victory assured, the warriors of the Steel Plague could not help but feel a deep and penetrating fear when looking at the distant walls of the city.

The casualties were not their only problem, either.

The empire of Azarax the Mighty was vast and powerful, but it was also young and vulnerable. His endless conquest left him with no time to consolidate his rulership and properly integrate the conquered lands, establishing a shared foundation of culture, laws, and economic interest that held empires together.

So, the longer his conquest stalled, and the longer he failed to deliver new spoils to feed his empire, the more internal tension there was.

Two fruitless years spent under the walls of a single, weak city-state... various regions of the Steel Empire were already sliding into turmoil and unrest. His generals, meanwhile, were growing uneasy about the fate of their families and noble houses back home.

As a result, not only were the soldiers becoming restless, but the supply chains that sustained the great and insatiable horde were also growing strained. It took an unfathomable amount of provisions to feed the endless ocean of soldiers — with an unstable situation in the rear, satiating their daily needs had long become a problem.

The warriors of the Steel Horde were not starving like the defenders of the city, but they weren't unfamiliar with hunger either. That was what Effie saw when she looked at the soldiers who left the encampment to meet her — gaunt faces, worn equipment, haunted looks. The long siege had been cruel to them, too.

Those were only the ordinary soldiers, of course. The Dread Warriors, Azarax's elites, were as hale and full of vigor as ever. Their tables never seemed to lack food, while their weapons and equipment were meticulously maintained.

Effie struggled to keep her expression steady as the familiar aura of dread they exerted washed over her. Nothing could compare to the crushing, suffocating presence of the man who stood in front of the soldiers, though, watching her approach with a dark grin.

Azarax looked like he always did. Years of bitter battles, countless lives lost, rivers of blood that spilled into the ground, all the hopes he had crushed and all the dreams he had broken — none of it seemed to matter to him. He was still just as confident as ever, just as indomitable as ever, just as amused and full of dark glee as he had always been. Under his dark gaze, Effie walked the last of the distance between them and stopped in front of the King of Kings, looking at him calmly.

The Dread Warriors watched her. The ordinary soldiers of the Steel Horde watched, as well. Far away on the walls of the city... if Kai had stayed true to his promise, he would not see, at least.

No one that mattered would witness her indignity.

“Ah, what a surprise. If it isn't the Priestess of War herself... welcome to my camp, War Maiden. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Azarax sounded relaxed, as if he had already known what would happen — as if this outcome was all but inevitable, and the only thing he had not guessed was its timing. Effie inhaled deeply, gathering her courage. It was funny... she had not needed to be brave while walking alone toward the war camp of a murderous Sovereign, even knowing that he could easily kill her if he wished.

Speaking the words she had prepared to say, however, was as difficult as raising a mountain into the air.

She remained silent for a short while, then briefly glanced over her shoulder, at the distant city.

Finally, Effie was able to speak:

"You told me once that you would spare the women and the children if I surrendered to you of my own free will."

Azarax's smile widened a little.

“Did I? I don't really remember... but I must have if you are reminding me, priestess. What of it?"

Effie inhaled once more, forcing the air into her lungs, and lowered her head.

"I..."

Saying the words hurt her more than any physical wound ever had.

"I..."

She grimaced, and then pushed the whole sentence out of her mouth, feeling like each word was a razor that cut her throat and lips.

“I surrender."

Her voice was quiet.

Azarax studied her for a while, then laughed.

“What? I didn't quite hear it. My soldiers did not hear you, either."

Effie closed her eyes for a moment.

Then, raising her head, she looked at Azarax and said in a loud, clear voice.

"I surrender! The city... surrenders. I ask you to give its citizens three days to bury their dead. After that, my soldiers will lay down their arms, and allow the Steel Horde... the victorious Steel Horde... to enter the city unopposed."

Azarax stared at her for a few moments, his smile slowly turning darker.

Eventually, he spoke in an even tone:

"I guess the old man is done for, then. A pity. I wanted to rip off his head with my own hands... but as long as he dies, that is fine. However..."

His fearsome, suffocating gaze pierced Effie like a blade.

“You don't look like someone who has come to surrender and beg, War Maiden."

For a moment, Effie's expression turned ugly.

Then, she exhaled slowly and composed herself.

Well... he wasn't wrong.

She had come to admit her defeat and surrender herself to the mercy of the victor. It was not a negotiation — she was begging. She was begging him to give the city time to bury the dead, and she was also begging him to keep his promise and spare the women and the children.

Pride was not something that beggars could afford.

Dignity wasn't a privilege afforded to losers, either.

Effie remained motionless for a few moments.

Her hands began to tremble again.

In the end, she looked down, at the wet mud between them...

And slowly lowered herself to her knees. Her hands sank into the cold mud, and a few moments later, her forehead touched it, as well.

"I... surrender."

There she was, kneeling in the mud, having abandoned her pride, her dignity, and all hope.

Seeing her lowering herself before him, Azarax laughed.

“Good. Now that... that is humility. I guess your endless pride was not unbreakable after all, priestess."

He looked over her, at the distant city — at its gate, which was wide open.

Then, he spared a glance to his Dread Warriors.

“I am a man of my word, after all. So, I'll keep the women and the children alive... spare them, though? Well, there will be some of that. They'll survive, at least.”

As he spoke those words, his elite soldiers were already assembling, dark glint shimmering in their eyes, and the camp behind him was boiling with movement.

"However, as for waiting three days... there has already been enough waiting.”

His smile turned into a dark, hungry grin.

“It's time for this damn siege to end. Will you watch with me as your city falls, priestess? I'd appreciate it very much."

With that, Azarax laughed and pointed forward.

“Go, my warriors! Go forth and plunder! Destroy that city... leave no stone unturned!"