The sun began to set in the distance. The bustling city of Marlia, capital of Almarck, had always been a place of vibrant life. Its cobbled streets thrummed with the daily rhythm of commerce and gossip, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and spices. Yet, beneath the surface, a wave of unease flowed.
Nervous whispers flowed through the crowds, very different from the usual boisterous greetings. The citizens spoke of a darkness rising, a demonic threat that threatened their very way of life.
Everywhere, evidence of this unease could be seen. Fortifications along the city walls were being reinforced with urgency. Teams of grizzled soldiers, their faces etched with grim expressions, patrolled the cobbled streets. Women clutched their children closer, their eyes looking nervously towards the horizon, as if searching for the first signs of the approaching doom.
The grand halls of the palace were cold and empty, echoing with nervous scurrying. King Galci stood in the center, worry etched on his face. Years as king made him stand tall, but sleepless nights showed in his eyes. His robes, though regal, were worn simpler now, reflecting the seriousness of the situation.
A so-called hero had appeared in a nearby kingdom. The king desperately wanted to know what it meant for his own people. He felt lost, like a captain unsure how to steer his ship through a coming storm. In actuality it was the demonic hero Tom along with the general of greed Leandora, tasked with bringing down the nation of Almarck.
King Galci paced the confines of his private study, his footsteps echoing a simple rhythm against the polished marble floor. The weight of his crown felt heavier than ever. His kingdom, Almarck, once a nation of peace and prosperity, was teetering on the brink.
News of the demons stirring in the wastelands beyond the borders had unleashed a wave of terror that threatened to engulf everything he held dear.
"Are we prepared?" he murmured to himself, a question that hung heavy in the air. Years of peace had lulled his people into a sense of complacency. Their formidable army, once a source of pride, felt woefully inadequate against the the demonic hord.
His mind wandered back, retracing the steps that led them to this precipice. The recent skirmishes with the outlying goblin tribes, dismissed as mere skirmishes at first, now seemed like signs of a larger doom.
And then, the news that sent a shiver down his spine – a dragon had reappeared, surfacing in the neighboring kingdom after centuries of myth and legend. Was it a harbinger of hope, a powerful ally against the demonic tide? Or was it a harbinger of destruction, another force of chaos waiting to unleash its fury upon the world?
A sharp knock on the heavy oak door startled him from his thoughts. A young, fresh-faced guard stood at attention. "Your Majesty," he announced, his voice tight with urgency, "The council awaits your arrival." Enjoy new stories from freewebnovel
Galci raised an eyebrow in surprise. "So soon? I hadn’t expected them to assemble with such haste." He straightened his shoulders, a flicker of defiance replacing the worry in his eyes. He wouldn’t allow his fear to paralyze him. Even in the face of uncertainty, leadership demanded a steady hand and a clear head.
With two armored knights flanking him, the king strode down the echoing halls of the palace. His footsteps echowd with a newfound conviction as he approached the council chambers, a large room that served as the heart of Almarck’s decision-making. On the walls hung art pices depicting Almarck’s glorious history surrounded the chamber.
Heraldic symbols, intricately woven into the tapestries, served as a constant reminder of the legacy he had a duty to uphold.
The council chamber itself was dominated by a massive round table, its polished surface reflecting the flickering flames of strategically placed torches.
Maps, depicting the sprawling geography of Almarck and the ominous wastelands beyond, lay unfurled across the table’s surface. Around the table sat Almarck’s most trusted advisors: battle-scarred generals with grim expressions, seasoned advisors with furrowed brows, and representatives from the various regions of the kingdom, their faces a tapestry of worry and determination.
However, Galci couldn’t help but notice the glaring absences. Several key positions were empty, their vacancy speaking volumes about the political discord that simmered beneath the surface of this united front. Factions within the council, with their own agendas and ambitions, would undoubtedly complicate any decisions made in this room.
King Galci cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the grand chamber. The council members, a mix of weathered warriors and wizened advisors, turned their full attention towards him. A flicker of gratitude warmed him in the face of their unified gaze.
"Thank you all for assembling with such haste," he began, his voice firm yet laced with a hint of weariness. "The threat we face looms ever larger, and the time for deliberation is at an end. We must act swiftly, decisively, to defend our lands, our people, and the very future of Almarck."
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His words hung heavy in the air, met with grim nods and furrowed brows. Before anyone could voice their concerns, the chamber doors burst open, revealing a harried-looking soldier in full battle regalia. His armor bore the marks of recent combat, and his face was etched with worry.
"Your Majesty," the soldier panted, dropping to one knee in a hasty salute. "Urgent news from the front lines!"
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Galci’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was not the news he had been hoping for.
"Speak, soldier," he commanded, his voice betraying a sliver of trepidation.
The soldier rose, his voice strained. "The situation worsens with each passing hour, Your Majesty. Our forces are… they’re suffering massive casualties. The heroes fight valiantly, but the demonic horde overwhelms them at every turn. Our defenses are buckling, and the enemy continues to push back our lines."
A heavy silence descended upon the council chamber. The soldier’s words were a clear reminder of the perilous situation they faced. The carefully crafted plans, the years of training, all seemed insignificant against the relentless tide of demons. The council members exchanged worried glances, a sense of despair threatening to consume them.
As Duke Radcliffe leaned back in his chair, a sardonic smile playing on his lips, he began, "Such a grim report, soldier," he drawled, his voice dripping with a feigned concern. "One wonders if the current strategy is truly the most… effective path to victory." His gaze flickered towards King Galci, the implication clear.