The lawless region of Vandua, they would called it. Dominated by major figures vying for wealth, territories, and powers - where intermittent wars, endless bloodsheds, and racial disputes ravaged the tumultuous land over the turning of history for one's own ends.
Tales have sung the same old stories about how Vandua were in no different to that cursed realm of Blesendor; beyond redemption in all kinds of help, for what ill-fate is worst than to live under a condemned life deprived of the right to exist, let alone to succumbed upon the inevitable misfortunes deemed as natural becoming for the unfortunates whom happened to be on the restless land. The inescapable destiny for taking do rest upon whether to fight for a bitter survival or to die before the brought about exhausted region, and it will be always that way; bounded under ill-destiny to struggle over the rest of own life for just trying to live, until could no longer fight nor the day of being vanquished has eventually betided.
What considered normal life in the region would fall under similar sorts of affliction in tide of times; wanderers whom constantly move from one place to another in run for their skin; warriors turning into evil forces to seek shelter under the wings of wicked conquerors - if you can't beat them, join them, a harsh but effective countermeasure against the brutal world; or perhaps when struck of luck is in a bit of gaining favor, then chances are to live in servitude under the mercy of a powerful lord - the only ideal life within reach of mere existence could ever hope to, for one most likely ended up in enslavement before the tip of a sword until used to death: traded like any object to be used if not forced as sacrificial pawns in lasting wars for the warlords.
To put it simply, it is a world governed by sheer force and utter power. Without it, you'll be just another helpless prey sitting at the bottom of the food chain. Serve for predators prowling up ahead; So would that only means that there's no choice but to yield for those in control? Unfortunately, it was history itself that witnessed the recurring hardships from time to time, until came the mighty figures straight from the other side of La'at towering mountains that changed the world of men forevermore. Ever since then, the lawless region of Vandua has never been like before.
They were called Wardens, and associated with their arrival was believed to be the cursed of Blesendor. A historic retribution sent forth by deities of heaven and earth to deliver punishment all over evildoers just as how the forsaken land of Blesendor was cursed to last, or so as what the legends have told, for no one has yet claimed to live the certain knowledge about their presence asides from their capabilities of catalyzing unearthly feats. Other than that, the Vandua remains clueless about where they are, what do they want, what brings them here, so on and so forth. These unanswered questions persist up to the present moment to such extent where lores and fables has exaggerated their own stories to scare mischievous youngsters in sort of ages.
However, even though the rumors of their reckoning appearance was not yet thoroughly felt across the lawless land, their undisputed reputation alone was enough to struck fear into the hearts of those unrighteous in questions. Not to mention the mounting emergence of exploits that defies all common senses; atop of everything was the rise of Sucrebalns in all description, followed by surfacing of distinct races - cursed and enemy of men, then witchcrafts and magics, summonings and miracles, and the list goes on. All transpired subsequent to their arrivals for who else but them could achieve such things - the very existences' that shaped the Blesendor, thus, upon all consideration would in turned compelled the powerhouses of Vandua in pulling off such drastic measures to forbid the foreign land from entering Vandua's region for good. One in particular was the founding of the great towers of men, erected high by enslavement strength to keep the cursed walks from entering the bordering edges.
Still and all, as time unfolds amidst the severe reality over the restless land, a number of dawning convictions catalyzed out of own tribulation would eventually gave rise to unlikely embodiments. Characters that would set to break the chain of sufferings that has persisted for centuries. The stars deemed them as chosen Champions; whether gifted or cursed by the heavens and earth, or perhaps nothing at all more than their sheer will and utter determination.
Foremost in the list and was deemed to be the driving force behind the betiding change would be King Mellsy of Lightylden. A pivotal figure distinguished for his radical kingship, which had helped him won not only the hearts of his people but also the spirits of persecuted souls longing for freedom reaching beyond his kingdom's walls. He was different out of the typical monarchs' to rule over within the restless land. A one in a million leader whom sprung out of nowhere and chose rather to stand strong as beacon of hope for those who dare to live before the forces of darkness instead of becoming one with them.
Ever since then, faith has bore a face and a name, and they would called it 'the land of the brave,' for its steadfast diverse populace united as one in defense of Lightylden, now their forever home. These are the very creatures whom ventured the unforgiving land by risking their lives in spite of the perilous journey and prowling dangers - the fittest over all, where each recognized citizen has their own story, tested character, and indomitable will which have earned them their place within the walls of Lightylden. This monumental exploit was subsequently followed by significant feats stemming from the growing numbers of the kingdom in question and its surpassing ruler; founding factors which have apparently served as turning point needed in inciting a large movement across Vandua, for as their formidable reputation rose to the roof, far and wide even to the unspoken places, so was the attention of enemies whom saw the land of the brave as a force to be reckoned with.
In happening so would put the Lightylden kingdom in center of the storm, but even in the face of interminable raids and series of sieges would not stop the warrior king in weathering the fate bounded for him.
The young Matt of no more than ten had to asked; 'Captain! Does he still lives?' for he knows that a good man like the Lightylden King wouldn't last in this land overrun by bad guys. To wage war against those oppressors by opposing them is no different in digging one's grave, Matt thought to himself.
'Of course he is Matt.' answered by the captain of the young slaves as he rose from his seating, loud enough to be heard over the rest of his flock, then he continues; 'and shall we all too, for it will not be long until we fight under his wings!'
His reassurance has catalyzed a brief whoop of cheering, though suppressed under tone of animation. He oughted to keep their spirits alive, for tomorrow will be the day of their awaited judgment.
Matt couldn't help but to feel somewhat excited whenever captain Dean talks about the chosen king. Usually his late big brother would tell him about how great the land of the brave were, and that they will live there in peace away from the baleful conquerors. The place where they supposed to be heading at before their caravan was intercepted on the way several months ago. The horrifying incident were still vividly fresh within his mind as though it just occurred yesterday. Fortunately he found a new big brother, and he could listen to his stories all day long besides from fighting in pits, battling cursed walks, mastering weapons, sleeping off his hunger, or most at the time, being picked on by Karl whom was about the same age of his.'
I bet Matt would not stand a chance when he take the death march.' There he goes again, Matt thought. In the back of his very mind, he already slaughtered Karl in ten different ways if he wished to. Cutting off his tongue and skinning him alive would be the best revenge to teach him a lesson, then sprinkled with sea salts, left in the dark, alone on a cold damp floor inside a dungeon. But captain said they're all one family now, and they must look over each other, and fight for each other. If it pleases the captain, then family he will be despite being proven difficult. Oh yes, Alyssa my little sister, Matt wonders where is she now.
'How come the number one would not stand a chance out there?' a crisp riposte Matt has pulled off out of annoyance. Suddenly, there's a muffled chuckles among the young warriors, and the speechless Karl was left high and dry embarrassed in front of everyone. Matt doesn't like being bullied before the presence of the captain, he could've had let it slide when it's only them just his comrades, but not this time. Karl rose up with a flushed face as red as cherry. An impulsive mistake the kid would only came to realized when he heard the rattling noise sounded from their rusty chains - interconnected from one another, binding one's movement to prisoners deliberate restrictions.
'Do you wanna go at it?!' challenged by Karl under trembling but solid tone.
'We already did, and you lost haven't you? For more like hundred times than I care to count. That's why you're number two, and will always be, as long as I'm here.' Matt answered back, casual yet as cold as ice.
Captain Dean makes no doubt why young Matt is first in ranking. Not only he's top tier in combat, but his brilliant wits proves worthy too. The most ideal of em all indeed. Those ruthless masters will certainly do whatever it takes to get their hands on him.
'Sssshhhh!' Dean hissed, keeping his company in check before things could get chaotic yet again between the two rivalries.
'Cut it out Karl, you're hurting my hand!' Snapped by Ivan whom was sitting just beside him, another young warrior of about their same age though the eldest of them all. Karl, upon hearing one reliable friend, immediately compromised and succumbed back on the cold bare stone floor; 'I swear these things...' Karl, sounding even more upset as he spit on his bruised wrist, slipped in a finger over the solid iron shackles, and invested a laborious effort in soothing out the itchy part on his skin - just another portion among the scarred marks and marred flesh that runs all over his body, showcasing his arduous journey of becoming.
'Dean, isn't it time yet?' Karl was the only kid who got to call the captain by his first name, a rankling disposition which Dean has oftentimes tolerated until he became used to it. Karl has been through one hell of a life for his age - a sole survivor; making you watch your own tribe get burned alive is just beyond words: the uttermost reason why Dean have to do these outrageous practices - working off the rest of his life before the wrath of tyrannical masters if he wished not to fall under the similar shattering tragedy each of this has gone through.
Dean looked outside the egress window and found to himself that he quite spent more time tonight than he should have ever been - perhaps on the grounds that it would be the last time they would shared the night together, for tomorrow shall marked the day for warlords to select their chosen warrior. Just like how things shall take place, half of them will going to die before each other's hands, while the rest who manages to stay alive will get the chance to serve as a warrior under the command of the said masters'.
As much as Dean wanted to save these unfortunate souls, he could not, for it would cost his entire village before his very eyes. Now that he thinks of it, he must get back soon before those awful tax collector could arrive first. If anything, he did his part; had trained them well until they collapsed, and its up for these warriors what kind of destiny awaited them for one's own taking.
He drew a deep breath, see to the young faces' and aired out his response; 'Alright, on your feet everyone. One line.' And to their feet they ascended. Shortly afterwards, Dean was about halfway removing the handcuffs off their wrist before granting them pass into one cell, when Matt followed after for his turn.
'Could you please bring me that same sweet berry as my reward for tomorrow. The same one earlier.' Demanded by young Matt. Dean let out a fond chuckle upon hearing his request; 'Do you think you'll emerge victorious again huh?'
'Of course I am, I am the strongest there is!' the young Matt answered in his most determined voice, beaming with a proud smile that goes from ear to ear even though Dean could sensed grievance underneath. Nonetheless, he chortled back and return the same energy, for he knows the kid grew warm of him.
'I know you will. I know you will boy. Now get inside, it's getting late now.' He turned him down without further ado, knowing how he will end up listening to Matt's blabbering, and beckoned forth the next child in line. Matt looked like he got more something to share but said nothing more, and had rather complied along in attempt to grasped what gives the captain's apparent conduct. Soon enough, Matt would convinced himself that captain was in hurry, nothing more nothing less, and went he sleeps off the discomfort in his mind. He promised he will do good tomorrow to impress big brother Dean.
Matt fell asleep into a deep slumber, only to find himself lost somewhere in what appears a sea of open desert. The sun was scorching high up in the sky and the intense heat blurred Matt's field of vision as he see to his water skin, a containing vessel, for drops of spare liquid. No wonder why father has concurred with the chieftain to take this safe route, for Matt doubt any living creature could survive staying in this deserted harsh environment, and so do them possible enemies.
But where am I? Standing solely out of nowhere, heedless in his surroundings but to quench his thirst, he guzzled upon his last drink and a moment later, he was throwing up his inside as violently as he could get.
'Blood?' he asked to himself while coughing to recover his composure, and when he did, a fierce battle ensued from his surrounding out of the stretched sand dunes; to Matt's horror, his people was getting slaughtered one after another. It wasn't even a struggle, it was a one-sided bloodbath, for how could he have forget, he was there himself when things went south.
Soon enough, Matt would be overshadowed by horror amidst the escalating nightmare as he witnessed how the angry men brutally hacked down his people, beheaded the poor mounts, and eventually plundered the carriages away for good, until emerged raining down from above lifeless bodies of his beloved tribesmen. At first came crushing over his body was a corpse identical to every aspect of him, appallingly, it was Matt himself but bearing no essence of a living, followed by his dear family within the proximity, thus upon apprehending would in turned have had him threw in complete panic. Then came along his common folks - all dead except him himself. At that moment, darkness conquered his existence, when a figure of a man in shadows shows right before him...
'Matt!' and snapped back to reality; 'Wake up now! We gotta move. Some of the masters are already here.' Upon hearing the word master would instantly put Matt out of his excruciating misery as if nothing direful has happened to him just not long ago. As usual, he was soaking wet in sweat, catching his breath with tearful eyes; 'which one?' he asked.
'I don't know, but I overheard the guards claiming that they're ruthless warlords from the North. Now weep off your tears, theres no time for being pathetic if you don't want to get another flogging, and get up, it's time to go.' Ivan reclaimed Matt from his nightly burden, as how Matt would do the same for Ivan - taking care over each other ever since their first encounter as comrades on one training ground, particularly on times when awful nightmares creeps into their sleeps.
Matt considers Ivan as a valuable friend worth dying for. Fighting side by side with him in the face of adversities for these past months has strengthened their bond as brother-in-arms despite their young ages. The outlaws has named them 'raw meats,' for their fortitude to turned cold hearts when slaying enemy regardless of whom they're up against with - and for that matter, another win for the wicked masters for possessing such warriors. Bearing a tenacity which something that could not be taught.
'Who might be the target? - I'm sure it'll be just another town subjugated by opposing raiders.' Matt made his takes to be heard enough within an earshot, so that his fellow comrades will have ideas what to prepare for, let alone expect in case they happened to be anxious or in some kind of sort. The unannounced activity is the worst of all. There are some instances about couple of times in a month where the entire unit would be hauled over between dark hours from dusk to dawn, and before they could apprehend anything about the supposed activity, one would be likely to find himself butchering war casualties left on battlefield until they became used to it, thus, turning them into killing machines without regards of human lives.
'I don't know Matt, it could be another course of training, because why would they woke us up early this morning. Ahh - we'll be hunting someone, please let it be a Sucrebaln.' Argued by Ivan as he quivered eagerly with rivulet of spoiled saliva escaping down his chin.
Sucrebaln, are simply animal creatures which have been corrupted by the cursed from Blesendor - empowering their existence to the continent's greatest threat, or so they say. Vanduanians were still unbeknownst over the unsolved matter how these cursed walks managed to crossed over the severe mountains of La'at ranges. Although one thing is ubiquitously inarguable across the lawless land of Vandua - unfailing spite over contemptuous cursed walks let it be Sucrebalns, races or deities, for their doomed actualities was proven to bring nothing from time to time but series of destruction, death, misfortunes, and unconquerable disasters.
'Hmmm, perhaps we'll reinforce some troops or will lend a helping hand.' Another kid from the unit voiced out his opinion. Soon enough, there would be low chattering among the restless warriors when a group of heavy men filled in the corridor just outside the iron bars. Matt sensed there could be trouble awaiting.
One of the guards subsequently opened the steel door of their torchlit chamber; 'get out! all of you!'
Karl, who was long ready to take the first step outside, had led the way where the rest eventually followed after, swift and speedy. However, to everyone's surprise, Karl was grabbed by one of the warriors, then walkaway with him in tol, and so too their next comrade before him until every single one of them was manhandled one to one heading anywhere but here.
The warriors in a single file ascended from the dungeon below outside to the open air where the cool morning breeze greets one's being to their senses. Above the underground was a cleared area that used to be a woodland. Now it was no more than a run down training grounds located somewhere in deep remoted territory, far away from the reach of civilization. Only the determined seekers can somehow reach wherever the place might be situated.
Posted not far ahead was a man in a fancy cloak, standing tall in a poor arched posture along with bunch of seasoned warriors whom appears to be his bodyguards. Beyond them was horse-mounted wagons, a small troops of cavaliers, and carriages in a row awaiting for the promising prospects to be transported over the supposed area of destined affair.
There's our rides, Matt assumed under air of repugnance, and if they are, it would gonna be his first time getting on such imposing wheels. However, asides from noticing them scoundrels was their captain Dean's absence. How come he was nowhere in sight?
'Is this all?' Asked by the man whom appears to be the head of the troops. Composure supported by what had appeared metal cane embedded with intricate touch of stem in a red like distinctive pattern. Left arm ended to the elbow and he wore a stern expression that seemed permanent.
'Yes, m'lord. Fresh and raw, and as what the high Lords had demanded, each one already suffered fate beyond one could ever imagine. Five months, as guaranteed by their guardian.' Replied by the warrior whom have the eavesdropping Karl standing still by his side.
'Five months is more than enough -' the head of the troops wound over as he examine the promising prospects, inquisitively looking for something particular before the emotionless souls - a deliberate disposition them slaves oftentimes pulled off in order to prevent arresting attention in the very least, just the way how the he likes it, elseway, shall be picked to deal against whatever sadistic impulsion that comes into his mind.
However, his stable composure won't last that long when he sensed some dangerous eyes as venomous as to that any serpent. How insolent!
Returning the gaze in standoff against a boy would stirred up his temptation for unspeakable violence which began surging within his heart - an entertainment he savor when opportunity is at hand, and so he will play his wicked game to the fullest extent, progressively and as entertaining as it can get.
The head would soon approach the target under malicious intent, though commencing his move subtly similar to that any concern man; 'how many are all of you, boy?' questioned by the stooping stranger.
'Don't your mother taught you how to count?' There goes again Matt's troublesome inclination. A deliberate remark that would caused him terrible repercussion. The captain's words played a huge role behind Matt's apparent behavior, where it is evidently recognized how souls would treat him better over the rest of his comrades for emerging first in the rank. But not today, for his words shook the ruthless warriors within the proximity. In apprehending so would have had Matt plummeted on the ground by a dynamic force exploded from behind.
The kick took everyone in surprise, even the head himself.
'You worthless monkey!' hissed by an outraged elite guard as he crouched down to grab Matt by his head, he then went on; 'You dare to speak audicio-' when, another dreadful turn of events transpired before the occupied warrior could even finished lashing out - a solid rod pierced through his head all the way straight under his jaw beyond. This time, both of young candidates from either wings was prompted to shot a fleeting glanced instinctively out of terrified wits.
The warrior was impaled in a single blow. There's no more terrifying than a lord's temper. That's why one should behave before their very presence. Soon enough, the dying body fell on top of Matt, and the malicious stranger had to pulled out his rod, ravishing the appalling scene. A moment's delight which didn't last to his satisfaction when Matt arduously exert all his might in attempt to crawl out over the heavy corpse, seeping with warm blood.
Silence took over the area for couple of seconds but the sound of Matt's rustling body. Souls watching in forbidding stance, stood transfixed with much anticipation for further striking, but the striker stay still alike everyone else, observing the young boy struggle beneath.
Stupid brat! Why won't you ever listen, stay down for a while! - one of the guard who were associated of captain Dean was talking to himself. He wanted to give the foolish kid a good beating all day long for being a foolish kid he is. A seething punishment suited for a plight like this. However, he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut nor make an attempt to save their foremost qualified fighter; Matt as the rank one candidate, for who knows if this new treacherous lord would treat their business affiliates the same way as how he easily disposed his man regardless the agreed conditions.
Finally, Matt has somehow managed to moved his way out from the fully grown adult, only to confront a much more baleful trouble hunching just right over him, as though a death reaper came to pick up his soul.
In spite of being situated under death-and-life situation, the young kid whom emerged forth, sullied in earthly dirt along with soiled blood fresh from the corpse, didn't show any hint of fear let alone stood strong with unyielding hostility glistening right in his very eyes.
What is he doing?! That's it. There's no escaping him now. This is your end kid. Captain Dean would not be impress when the words get to him, assumed by the same guard as he hold his breath to brace for the imminent execution, when, as yet again, to everyones' uneasy relief, the striker began bursting in laughter out of the blue. The guard almost melt down from his position after witnessing the unforeseen turn of events. What gives? He mumbled his confusion out of heavy sigh in pending apprehension to grasp the apparent grounds of the mad lord.
The atmosphere was filled with a sole laughter which had last for a shortwhile, until had eventually dwindled down where the rustling breeze took over, then stillness, and now the temporary deliverance was no more, back to the business.
Despite of being a bad-temper he were, the head was astonished how this kid were able to square up against him like he's some kind of a big deal. It takes guts to stand up against one's oppressor, but this kid is something else I could tell. One who would do anything and everything in order to exact revenge against those who wronged him even it means meeting death itself. The courage would be acknowledged. Oh, we have another one? - his recognition has been interrupted.
The striker take a pace forward for Karl, but before he could take further steps, Matt spat on his fancy cloak; phew! A terrible mistake which would be paid heavily by the dauntless mortal.
'Bring that boy over here.' Commanded by the striker, and there goes one of his men who hauled Karl by an arm, passing over three young warriors in between until emerged face to face before the head.
Sticky and murky, the not-so harmful assault made contact to the target, and at that particular moment in time, the world halted to stop and stare, and the deafening silence took over the frozen wits whom saw the dreadful act as unsettling, enraging, and yet somewhat compelling. The guardians could not do a single thing as much as they wanted to, had it not been for the striker's temperament, let alone flinched off before the committed dreadful act; assaulting a lord. A grave crime which is punishable not through death, but rather by unimaginable horrors.
The striker take a pace forward for Karl, but before he could take further steps, Matt spat on his fancy cloak; phew! A grave mistake which would be paid heavily by the dauntless mortal.
Sticky and murky, the not-so harmful assault made contact to the target, and at that particular moment in time, the world halted to stop and stare, and the deafening silence took over the frozen wits whom saw the dreadful act as unsettling, enraging, and yet somewhat compelling. The guardians could not do a single thing as much as they wanted to had it not been for the striker's temperament, let alone flinched off before the committed dreadful act; assaulting a lord. A grave crime which is punishable not through death, but rather by unimaginable horrors.
Them seasoned-warriors was ought to seize the kid on the spot for the appalling transgression, but then again, lord Severino condoned of no one before his sword. If anything, this is the part where lord Severino shall strike the kid down, but..., he appears to have rather not? Instead the order was given; 'Chain that boy to a wagon, and released the runner.' He was implying to Karl, then beckoned forth one of his men over Matt, who at the moment looks heedful alert yet confused under impression of immediate inquisition.
Handful of seasoned-warriors onfoot from Severino's troops rushed to do his bidding, where most of them maneuvered one transport in a clear area away from the convoy while the rest got to deal with Karl and the pestilent so-called 'runner.' Lord Severino's men move like it is just any normal day with their daily lives as fighters, conquerors, and murderers. Everyone knows what they're doing. Even the left unoccupied men at their post has eventually engaged to do their own part; dragging, clearing, and leading mounts and sorts of wooden carts into a coordinated formation. In happening so would bring state of anxiousness over them fretting young candidates, until it came to the point where things seems starting to make sense.
Of course, an open field that suits only for what's best, a fighting ground. Loosely surrounded by lord Severino's small troops, most of them were fully armored while the rest were on their breast plates. Encircled by strength of men to all direction in defense against the sole prisoner in their captivity. In the next instances, a small opening along the human barricade began to fill the gap as they let a couple of warriors on back rides. They seemed to be dragging a human-like creature, fettered by chains.
The alarming figure was walking on both of its feet and hands, even though it would arise occasionally in ferocious bid to break free from its iron leash which was wielded from its flanking sides. Despite its diminished physique; skin and bones, and battered flesh that tells weeks has gone through in enduring an empty stomach, it still manages to put up a vigorous fight before all presented odds; yanking and jerking against the combined force of two fine horsemen, who strangely appears barely on control as they struggle to keep the onerous trouble in check; Red eyes in anguish were bloodshot and chimed with dark flecks of prostration, claws thrashing within reach, gnashing maws which prominently dominated by hard disabled fangs of bone, and deformed built that is no different to that ravenous predator in a wild, as if a worst nightmare incarnated in actuality.
Both of the warriors went over the hard work for about a half-minute as the young candidates observed with taut faces where suppressed fear could be perceived in subtle animation. Seconds later, a man in between his twenty's, wearing a long sleeve under a skinned vest, hard hose and black shabby boots has made his presence known following the prisoner in question.
End of Volume 1 - Part I
Continued in the next page.