He stared at the words; if he had felt despair before, it did not compare to what he now felt.
He had been given a hopeless task; the human forces in this city were already completely overrun, and it would be a matter of time before the castle and all of those inside fell as well.
But the strange wording of the message caught his eye.
[End The Conflict]
As he pondered the meaning and focused on the light, the message suddenly expanded.
A dark look suddenly fell on his face.
[Daemons slain: 0/15982]
[Roikosians slain: 1/1258]
As he stared at the message, he heard loud screams behind him as the group of humans at the gate were killed by the Daemons.
The content of the message changed.
[Roikosians slain 1/1045
It seemed the 1 referred to Tyber, who was the only human he had actually killed.
But the number would decrease regardless of that as long as the humans died.
So if one side of the conflict fell, would that not be the end of the conflict?
So in theory, he could just wait out the battle somewhere safe, and he would end this scenario.
That is, of course, if he did not die first.
And he knew that there would be one who would survive this battle longer than he, no matter what he did.
The Crown Prince Baronian Roikos.
.
.
.
The fighting on the wall had grown more intense, soldiers being forced to man the wall to protect the archers and mages by stabbing down with long polearms. Despite all this, the endless tide of abominations did not seem to be affected, and it was clear what side the battle was favoring.
nevertheless, there was far more resistance being put up, Sacril stopped in awe as from one of the four massive towers that surrounded the castle, a bolt of light streaked out and slammed into one of the large siege machines that had been approaching.
The machine, as well as the area around it were oblitered and the message in the light changed.
[Daemons slain 0/14563]
The number had decreased vastly, although the number of humans remaining had decreased by a similar percentage, and they were still outnumbered fourteen to one.
however he thought that maybe, just maybe, the forces here were in a good enough position to somehow make it out of this situation.
Just as he thought this, the very tower that had fired the devastating ray of light was obliterated by a crimson ball of flame in an instant.
He closed his eyes tightly and didn't dare to look at the number of humans remaining, even after reopening them.
The guard who had saved him was still questioning him up until the tower had fallen, but as soon as it did, he looked away. Sacril did not waste any more time, rapidly making his way to the castle courtyard just outside the front gate.
He heard shouts following him, but there was far too much chaos for anyone to make out specific orders. to get to his destination, he had to make it to the nearest tower; however, before he was even halfway there, the entire wall shook, and he was thrown off the side.
He was in freefall for only a few moments before feeling the cracking of branches beneath his back. It cushioned his fall enough for him to hit the ground safely, although the wind was still knocked out of him.
As the sky rocked above him, he managed to stand on his feet and hold his head for a moment.
When he gathered his senses, he quickly sprinted to the castle, feeling there was no time to waste
There was a troupe of men holding a line in front of the gate; it was eerily similar to what he had seen outside of the inner city's wall, but strangely, despite this wall being rocked, it had maintained its structure.
He looked up and saw that a shimmering gold dome surrounded the entire castle wall. From the three remaining towers, a light shone out and hit the top of it, clearly being the fuel for its existence.
It seemed once the towers fell, so would the barrier.
With that, he left the hopeless scene and stepped up to the castle doors, which were made of ornate gold, designed with massive murals depicting scenes from legends of this city that would soon be lost to time.
He heard a creaking sound and swiftly dipped off to a side. The door opened, and five fully armored figures rushed out, quickly assembling behind the soldiers at the gate. They seemed to be in too much of a rush to notice the scrawny young man who stood in the shadows of the doors they had just burst through.
The same doors were now closing, and Sacril took one last glance at the five who had appeared.
It seemed they were some sort of last defense, perhaps the royal guard?
If so, they had left the one person they shouldn't have unguarded.
It was eerily quiet inside the castle; all the workers had likely fled deeper inside. He wondered if he would have to go to the lower reaches of the castle to find the prince; the dark thought nearly made him vomit, but he had already concocted the perfect thought to still his conscience.
"They aren't real. I am the only one who is real. I am the only one who needs to survive."
As he reached the door that led to the throne room, he looked up and spotted a display that held a black sword with a distinct golden edge.
He remembered that he had lost his sword when the inner wall fell, and a smile spread across his face as he gazed at the ornate blade.
Moments later, the case lay broken on the ground, and the blade was in his hands.
He gave it a test swing, and despite its light weight, it felt impressive, clearly not being just for show.
It was a dual-edged, simple longsword, nothing he couldn't use.
In fact, ever since he had briefly "fought" against Sergeant Tyber, he had a large number of new ideas about techniques he might use in combat.
Perhaps he had a knack for combat after all.
But he shook off the thought; he was a nobody after all, there was no reason to believe something that might get him killed. With a sigh, he walked through the door.
There was another section before he actually entered the throne room. A wooden divider was put up, and it acted as a double sliding door.
He put his left hand on the left side and his right on the right, and pulled the doors apart.
The throne room opened up before him, and on the throne, there was a young man sitting calmly, looking almost bored with his eyes closed and his head resting on his shoulder.
Beside him stood a tall knight, clad in dark armor with golden trim; he wore the most terrifyingly majestic set of armor he had seen yet.
The Prince opened his golden eyes and observed the ragged beggar who had entered the room, which was full of aged and stained wooden pieces.
however aside from the three of them, it was empty of people.
The prince's eyes stared at the black and gold sword in the beggar's hand, and went back to his face without showing a hint of emotion, perhaps trying to remember who the young man was.
Evidently, nothing came to him, as he looked dejected a moment later and simply raised his hand.
The knight unsheathed his own weapon, a two-handed Odachi, not something Sacril had expected to see in this kind of setting.
That being said, the pit of despair in his stomach had grown far deeper than ever before.
For now, he, a mere street rat reject, was going to face off with the strongest member of the royal guard, the one who had been left behind to guard the crown prince by himself.