The village was quiet. The silence, deafening. No one dared speak a word. Crickets halted their songs and dogs ceased their barking. The wind ceased to blow, as if the heavens knew that another had joined the limitless ranks of its dearly departed. A man huffed in indignation as he wiped the blood glistening blade clean with the side of his tunic. The broadsword he wielded was large. Large enough so that no normal human could wield it with any sort of efficiency. Only the most trained and disciplined combatant could hope to brandish it.
The charcoal black blade was lined with rivets, precisely made to maim and tear when ran through flesh and bone.
The symbol of the empire had been engraved into the hilt, where everyone could see it.
The sun shone grimly down on the soldier, the light glinting eerily off every corner of his menacing black armour. Scale like plates ran down almost every facet of the
garment, from pauldron to gauntlet. Long, thin demonic horns permeated the top of his helmet. Truly, a soldier of the empire was enough to run the bravest
humans blood cold.
The man looked down at his feet and grimaced. Red liquid had begun to pool, surrounding the soles of his feet slowly.
The blood stained the earth, her soul damaged from the murder that had just been done. Horrified, the crowd gathered around the body. To a lot of people in the village, it was a common spectacle. A terrifying notion; to say the least.
A woman in the crowd screamed, falling to her knees. 'Brother! My brother!' Her tears flowed freely, overcome with grief. A few villagers quickly decided to move her away from the scene.
She tried to fight off their arms, vehement as she was to attack the guard. If she had stayed any longer, the soldier would target her next for disturbing the peace. 'You killed him! Murderer!' Her gasps of anguish seemed to increase as reality hit her. While being hauled away, she turned towards the soldier, fury in her eyes. 'You are a filthy murderer, all of you!' She screamed, 'all of you! You and your damned empire can go to hell!' Her voice trailed off the further away she got, much to the man's relief.
That wench had been annoying. He, as a soldier of one of the biggest powers in the world, had full freedom and discretion to enact whatever kind of punishment he saw fit to the people that were worthy. She had no right to complain.
The young man he had eliminated had previously been identified as an assassin, and as such, the next course of action had been obvious. His assignment was simple and his orders were resolute. Find this man, and kill him. For the soldier, it had been a simple task.
His attention seemed to realign with the crowd as he sheathed the broadsword on his back; the scabbard reaching almost all the way back down to the ground. The soldier regarded the crowd with cold eyes. Fear and anger were clear to see in every single person, even the children. Their reaction was expected. Rabble like them had nothing else besides each other, and one of them had just been killed.
Normally, the Empress would not bother herself with such a low place, but it was necessary this time. The soldier shook his head as he thought about the events of recent as his eyes searched for the path he had walked.
Several days prior, an attempt had been taken against the Empress. Her life, thankfully, had been saved. Not because of her elite guard, but through her own actions. During one of her public speeches in the main commons of the capital city, a lone bowman had
hidden on a terrace in a building above her. At some point, he had taken a shot. Any other person would have been dead on the spot, but Empress Ysabelle was different.
Moments before the arrow of flint and steel struck her heart, she caught it. Ysabelle had pinched the arrow out of thin air, as if done by magic and looked towards where the shot had come from. The archer, obviously now alerted of, had made his escape. Much to the horror of the local guards, he had evaded them. The man grimaced at the thought.
Hearing this, the Empress had cut down the soldier who had reported their failings with impunity. She was the empress for a reason after all. The head of the empire was not chosen through lineage nor bloodline, rather the strongest person in the world would rule.
Empress Ysabelle had become so through challenging the previous king in mortal combat and killing him during the fight. When she had won, the world was astonished. The now deceased Emperor had been undefeated for many, many years.
Her victory had been unpredictable and unbelievable, but no one had the guts to complain, nor comment. The winner, of course, would take the empire to rule as its new emperor.
It was a simple process, but one that had been written in the roots of history since the beginning. The strong would rule over the weak, it was the natural order of things. The woman ruled trough fear. The moment she had been declared empress, Ysabelle had changed nearly every aspect of the empire to her liking. Anyone who refused or protested was executed on the spot. The empire underwent a still lingering, dark period. The empire's flag was posted on every street corner. Soldiers were deployed in every street of every village in the empire's rule. New laws were passed that hurt everyone, even the wealthiest noblemen.
The elite men that she deployed across the world all donned the infamous devil's armour. Not only was it top notch protection, but the sight of a soldier wearing one caused instant fear into the hearts of those who opposed.
Even her closest advisors were scared every single day of their lives. She would slay the people closest to her; should they fail, disobey or disappoint her in some way. That was the law and no one questioned it. The main reason so many feared her was simple. A Nodachi of considerable length was always next to her, attached to her hip in its scabbard.
Before her reign, no one in the empire had even heard of such a weapon. The closest the army got to was a Rapier, and it was nothing in comparison to the sword the Empress called her own.
It was the very blade that had given her a chance to become the most powerful person in the empire. Her skill with it was unparalleled. Anyone who thought otherwise would be welcome to give it a shot, as it is the way of things. If a person wanted to reach the very place of power she owned, he or she could demand a fight against her, and kill her in that very, one on one, duel.
A single combatant was allowed to fight the Empress each day, but it always ended the same way. Challengers blood draining into the sun-heated sand, and Ysabelle's dead glare on the corpse of the fool who had tried to oppose her.
She would rule, she was determined, she would rule from this day until her last.
