Justice

Justice
Cyrus POV

The war was still raging outside wildly. The South had been very unprepared for the attack and the new strategy they had had faltered due to our strategy. It was getting quite obvious that we would be victorious in the war. It was getting late and after several hours of fighting, I decided to go back to the war camp. 

A general was going to take over my place, and the men who had fought from morning till night were to retreat and those that would fight from night till morning were going to replace them. 

I rode my horse away, exchanging positions in an orderly manner so that despite the switch, we would still be able to attack the enemy effectively. As I neared the war tents,  I slowed down a bit and then pulled on the reins of my horse to make it come to a halt. I swung down from it, breathing heavily, and made my way to the entrance of the tent where Agnes was kept. 

"Is she awake?" I asked the guards who stood in the front.

"Not yet Your Majesty," they responded in unison. "The physician left a few minutes ago. He let us know that she has made significant progress and there is a likelihood she will be awake in a few hours."

"Ah thank the heavens!" I exclaimed breathing a sigh of relief. 

When I walked into the tent, It was completely silent, save for her ragged breathing. There was a dim lantern beside her highlighting the contours of her face. Her face was pale, sick with death. I could feel its shadows hanging above her but I could only pray to the moon goddess that she was going to save her. If she had reincarnated Agatha as Agnes, then she could not let her die just like that.

I moved closer to the makeshift hay bed where she lay and examined the wound to her side. It had healed significantly but I couldn't be so certain. I decided to put my faith in the goddess since the Physician had let me know that she would be awake soon.

Agnes stirred slightly and I was alert immediately. I moved closer to her, holding her hands. The coldness of her hands was slowly being replaced with the warmth of life. "Goddess, please," I begged, squeezing her hands gently. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly. My heart leaped with joy and relief. She was alive. 

"Agnes, thank the moon goddess that you are awake," I said, my voice choked with emotion.

Her eyes, however, were filled with a blazing anger. "Is the man who killed my mother still alive?" she demanded, her voice steady but burning with fury.

"You should get some rest. Anger may affect your healing process."

"Don't tell me that," tears were forming in her eyes. She struggled as she attempted to sit up. I helped her up and made sure she was comfortable enough. 

"Careful there," I murmured, making sure that she was comfortable enough. 

"Is he still alive?" She asked again. 

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, he is."

"Give me my sword," she demanded trying to stand up.

I placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Agnes, you need to rest. Let me handle this. I promise you, I'll bring back his head."

She glared at me, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and desperation. But she nodded, conceding for now. "Do not fail me," she said, her voice low and intense.

"I won't," I assured her, standing up and stepping out of the tent.

The war ground was a bleeding ground, an artwork of turmoil and sorrow. The ground was reddened with blood, drawing in at my boots, and the dead enemies lay in front of me like a somber pattern on the floor. It was quite dreadful, the deathly smell that pervaded and hung over the place like a dark cloud above.

My men went at it with such ferocity, exhaustion evident in the grim line of their faces. Xeik’s soldiers on the other hand kept clumsy and uncoordinated actions moving in a raw and reckless manner through the battlefield. Their eyes were wide and looked so feral that one could tell something as horrible as death was afoot.

I walked cautiously to try to control all my limbs and it felt like my thoughts were also focused on one goal. Attacking the enemy was turn easy, they offered little resistance against our current assault as if their defenses were fragile.

As I walked towards their tents I noticed one strange soldier standing there. His face twisted painfully; gigantic eyes looked at the unseen horror in a desperate appeal: I grabbed his collar and threw him to the ground with no effort on my part.

"Where is Lord Xeik's tent?" I became angry and hissed to her at a low tone.

The soldier’s eyes rolled in his head and he nodded frantically toward the center of the base with his finger trembling on the trigger. "Over there," he stammered.

I looked at him scornfully. It was such a dishonorable act – a treacherous act- the kind that made you want to shiver. “Thank you,” I replied as dryly as possible.

Without any delay I killed him. His body fell to the ground just as his spirit; everything was drained off of him. I didn’t spare a thought for their living and breathing suffering, didn’t waste a moment’s regret for their state. My mind had but one aim and object, to have vengeance on the woman who had slain Agnes’s mother, and on Lord Xeik to have his head.

Stroking my dagger, I was enraged by the memory of Minerva lifeless in the water, her pale innocent face returned to my mind. Xeik would not live, breathe, or exist until the ground savored his blood, and the howls of his agony were heard across the darkness.

Today, justice would be served and victory would be ours.