A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1195 Candles in the Wind - Part 3
1195: Candles in the Wind – Part 3
1195: Candles in the Wind – Part 3
He considered that prospect for a second.
In the distance, where the sun shone the brightest, Khan was fighting his own battle.
Zilan wondered if he could put the hopes of his own victory in that man’s hands… Was it a possibility?
Could he simply cut his losses, and extend the battle he was fighting for as long as possible, merely for the exertion of pressure?
That thought didn’t last long.
Even from a distance, he could feel the presence of Karstly and General Blackwell.
They were thunder and lightning, and even though Khan was as bright as the sun, a hope for all the Verna army, against the two of them together, it seemed unlikely that he could win.
There was General Harme too, but in that battle, he would serve a position no higher than that of a Rogue Commandant.
Zilan didn’t think that the inclusion of that man would do anything to sway the odds.
And again, he was hit with another revelation.
Despite the fact that they’d shattered the central castle, they were losing this battle. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Somehow, their victory had been turned against them.
Zilan had seen the destruction of one castle as the steady progress towards the inevitable submission of their enemies, as the others naturally had.
‘But I’ve been far too comfortable…’ He realized.
He couldn’t rely on Khan.
It would be cruel to.
It was Khan that needed assistance, not him.
He had every advantage – or at least, he did, before he’d set fire to those advantages, and lost them for good.
A risk to beat a risk.
That was all Zilan could think to do.
But Rainheart’s grip was tighter than that of a vice.
All his soldiers were tied where they were stood by a thick rope.
If they moved, they would be slammed from the rear by the soldiers that waited at the gates.
No, there could be no moving for them.
“Unless…” Zilan muttered, a plan beginning to take shape in his head.
A reckless plan it was indeed, but that was exactly the sort of plan that he needed.
He could feel his pulse rushing through his veins.
He could hear the blood pounding in his ears.
His vision was dizzy.
He knew himself not to be in the right mind.
It didn’t help that as soon as the idea had come, it had afflicted him with a wave of adrenaline.
‘It’s an option…’ He knew, trying to weigh that option objectively, but even that was superficial.
He was haunted and hypnotized by those destructive Stormfront men, as they made their way towards the remaining chariots, deigning to break their encirclement.
If they made it there, it would be a slaughter on par with what they’d already inflicted.
The Stormfront men were flames, and all that Zilan had to fight them with were wooden contraptions.
It wasn’t a battle that they could win.
His hands sweat.
He knew he looked sickly.
Not least because his attendant pointed it out.
“Perhaps another drink, my Lord?” The man suggested.
There was cold disdain in his voice.
Zilan was baffled to only be hearing it now.
All those years it had been so expertly disguised, but now Zilan was able to see with fresh eyes exactly what it was.
All this time, that man had hated him, and he’d only continued to serve out of spite.
“My younger sister,” Zilan said.
“How long have you been married now?”
The attendant frowned.
Indeed, that was what had won the man his position of standing in Zilan’s army.
He was a brother-in-law.
If he had not been, Zilan would have rid himself of the man long ago.
His was a noble house of good standing, and the marriage had secured Zilan quite a handsome extension on the lands that he already owned.
“…Why, I suppose it would be five years now, good General.
Are you sure that you are in good health?” The attendant said.
“It must have been hard for you,” Zilan murmured.
“All this time, waiting for your position of command that you were promised, but instead you have been forced to wait upon me, serving me my drinks, and looking after my every need.”
“It is a position of honour, good General, that is not lost on me,” the man said, but from his face, Zilan could tell that there was not a drop of truth in those words.
In his eyes, Zilan saw the same flames of destruction that those Stormfront men carried.
It was a poison that eyed at his position and his possessions, and aimed to benefit of what he’d already built.
Zilan misliked those eyes.
“It is for the good of the army that you’ve yet to make such a position,” Zilan said.
“…How do you mean, General?” The man said, his mask slipping for just a second.
General Zilan drew his sword.
“If you had been put in charge of even ten men, your incompetence would have put at risk the lives of hundreds.”
The man’s eyes shone then with perfectly jewelled anger.
A proper look.
A look that was the truth.
Now Zilan saw his face properly.
To him, for so many years, the man had been nothing more than a floating head of long, black oiled hair.
He’d been insignificant enough that Zilan had seen no more to him than that.
Now he saw the angular nature of the man’s almond face, and he was surprised by the youth, and the handsomeness.
His sister hadn’t lost in him on looks at all.
“General…” The man hissed.
That angular face of his seemed to glow green.
Zilan could almost see the tongue flicking from his mouth, with those poisoned fangs borne, looking for the moment of weakness so that they might sink into the soft flesh of his arm.
General Zilan’s sword flashed.
He drew a line across the man’s neck.
A perfectly straight line.
Even an artist with a brush would have had to appreciate it.
The look on his brother-in-law’s face – his true look, his true personality, shone through for just a second.
He didn’t even have time to change expressions before the light faded from his eyes.
Never in his wildest dreams would have thought that the sword General Zilan had drawn would be used on him.
It didn’t make sense to.
It would mean war.
One noble house against the next.
