The Battle for the North
Three Days Later
The cold air of the northern duchy cut through the sky, the wind howling like the spirits of the fallen as Prince Benjamin stood in the royal armory, sharpening his sword. His armor gleamed in the pale light, a mixture of steel and enchanted runes etched into his blade, pulsating with faint magical energy. His shield, polished and strong, bore the emblem of the royal house of Kafara—a lion intertwined with a blazing sun.
Today was the day. The war against the Eminent barbarians of the northern territories had begun, and Benjamin was more than ready.
He slid his sword into its sheath, his movements smooth and practiced beyond his years. Magic and steel had become one in his hands. The barbarians had murdered the northern duke and duchess in cold blood, and now they sought to claim the lands of Kafara. But they would not succeed. Not while he still drew breath.
With purpose in his stride, Benjamin entered the throne hall. His presence alone commanded attention—an eight-year-old boy prepared for war, his sword aglow with magic. The king’s knights, seasoned warriors all, could barely contain their shock. Whispers filled the air as they exchanged glances, their disbelief clear. How could one so young walk so confidently into battle?
Yet, none dared to speak against him. Not in front of King Alexander.
“Father, I’m ready,” Benjamin said, his voice as cold and steady as ever.
King Alexander turned to face his son, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a firm nod, he spoke. “Great. We are about to depart.”
The king rose from his throne, his tall, imposing figure radiating authority. His long, silver cape flowed behind him as he motioned for the knights to prepare. “Let’s go to the royal carriage,” he said, his tone calm but commanding.
Benjamin nodded, his icy blue eyes focused and unwavering. “Okay.”
---
Two Hours Later
The royal carriage rattled down the frozen, uneven road as it led the massive Kafaran army toward the cold, unforgiving lands of the northern duchy. The winds grew harsher with every mile, whipping across the faces of the soldiers, but nothing could match the coldness in Prince Benjamin’s heart. He sat beside his father, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his mind already racing through the battle to come.
King Alexander sat in silence for most of the journey, his hand resting on the hilt of his legendary sword, Solaris, known for its enchanted blade that could burn through steel and magic alike. After a while, he turned to Benjamin, breaking the silence.
“Benjamin,” the king said, his voice low but firm. “Do you know why this war began?”
Benjamin’s response came quickly, his tone sharp with conviction. “Yes, Father. The barbarians killed our people in the north, and now they want to take our lands. But they will not succeed. Not if I’m alive.”
King Alexander glanced at his son, a flicker of pride crossing his face. “That’s right. They will not take what belongs to Kafara. And today, we make them regret ever laying a hand on our people.”
The road was rough, the terrain jagged and hostile, but Benjamin sat still, unbothered by the discomfort. His heart, hardened by loss and training, had no room for fear or doubt.
---
The Battlefield
As they arrived at the edge of the battlefield, the royal army spread out, soldiers donning armor and sharpening their weapons in preparation. The air was thick with tension, the distant sound of drums and battle horns echoing across the frozen plains. In the distance, the barbarians of the north stood like a dark wave on the horizon, their figures rough and menacing, brandishing crude weapons and painted shields. They howled like wild beasts, their war chants filling the air with an ominous dread.
King Alexander stood tall in front of his army, his presence alone enough to inspire confidence. He raised his sword, Solaris, the blade glowing a deep gold as the sun reflected off its enchanted surface.
“Men of Kafara!” the king bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield. “Today we fight not just for our lands, but for the honor of our fallen! The barbarians have dared to strike at our kingdom, to slaughter our people, and now they stand before us, thinking they can take what is ours. But they will not succeed!”
The soldiers roared in response, their voices rising in unison, a sea of steel and shields ready to clash.
“They think they know war,” King Alexander continued, his voice growing fiercer with every word. “But they have never faced the might of Kafara. They have never faced us. Today, we send them back to their icy graves, or we die with honor trying. Remember your families, your homes, and your queen who watches over us from the heavens!”
The roar of the army grew louder, the soldiers banging their swords against their shields. Energy rippled through the crowd, and even the cold seemed to retreat in the face of their combined will.
“Onward!” King Alexander shouted, leading the charge as he unsheathed Solaris, the blade bursting into flames as it cleaved through the air. His knights followed closely behind, their swords raised high.
---
The Clash of Armies
The battle began with a deafening crash as the two forces collided. The frontlines of Kafaran knights met the barbarian horde in a violent clash of steel and blood. King Alexander was at the forefront, a whirlwind of deadly grace as he cut through enemy after enemy. Solaris burned through armor and flesh alike, leaving a trail of charred bodies in its wake. His movements were swift, almost like a dance, each strike precise and deadly.
Benjamin was not far behind. His smaller frame allowed him to move through the chaos with speed and agility. He wielded his sword with terrifying efficiency, the magic infused within it crackling with energy. Every swing sent waves of magical force through his enemies, knocking them back or cutting them down with ease. Despite his age, he fought without hesitation, without mercy. The cold fire in his heart matched the brutality of the northern battlefield.
Barbarian after barbarian fell before him, their brutish weapons no match for his skill and magical prowess. As he fought, his mind was clear—focused only on the task at hand. His father’s eyes were on him from time to time, watching as Benjamin cut down foes with the precision of a seasoned warrior. The young prince’s face remained expressionless, his movements cold and calculated.
In the midst of the chaos, King Alexander’s voice rang out above the din of battle. “Hold the line! Push them back!”
The Kafaran army surged forward, their morale lifted by the sight of their king and prince fighting with such ferocity. Alexander’s sword blazed like the sun, its light cutting through the thick fog of war as he fought with unmatched skill. He parried an incoming strike from a barbarian warlord, their blades clashing with a loud ring. With a swift counter, he drove Solaris through the warlord’s chest, flames erupting from the wound.
Nearby, Benjamin unleashed a powerful burst of magic, sending a group of barbarians flying backward, their bodies crumpling to the ground. His breathing was steady, his focus unbreakable.
As the battle raged on, father and son fought side by side, their enemies falling like leaves in a storm. And though the northern wind howled around them, neither the cold nor the carnage could penetrate the icy resolve of Prince Benjamin Williams, the boy who had never cried.
---
End of Chapter 4
