The Great War: Chapter 30 (pt.1)
Plans in motion
There are only a handful of places where wizards and Guardians can meet on neutral ground, Fort Etrerr being one of them. It’s a small fortification that sits atop a rock in the middle of nowhere, with thin walls and empty halls that are only ever occupied when the two factions come together. Thus, the old stones of the fort are weathered and mossy, the building standing dark in the middle of the ocean.
The central meeting point is the courtyard in the heart of the fort. There is no table or chairs, no place for meals to be had or for troupes to rest from their long travel. It is simply a patch of cold dirt forever divided in half by a single thin line. A line that would spell the true end to the tense peace between these powers if ever crossed.
Guardians line half of the walls of the fort, standing there for quite a while as their ships were the first to arrive. Those up high hold Sparkguns, that of a newer model that requires jade crystal cores as their energy source. Their barrels are made of greyiron, the dark metal accented with bright gold decals. Guardians on the ground carry either shields and sword or spears, all of which are made of the same substance as their armor. Back on the ships, priests are already weaving more Light mesh for any repairs that might be needed if events take a turn for the absolute worse.
However, there is no tension in the air as one might think there to be. This has all been planned out well in advance, even before the Champion sent their letter to the king of Korodon. And, so far, everything is going smoothly.
The Champion waits patiently in a chair set out for them, watching the dark archway opposite them. In the distance, a ship can be heard, shouts from the crew floating over the aging walls.
One of the gunners from the wall shouts, “Glorious Champion, they have arrived!”
The Champion looks skyward, a smile across their lips that none can see. It seems about the time they had been told by Lady Asandra. Now, depending on how many make landfall will determine how smoothly this next part will go.
“They’re preparing to make landfall,” the same gunner reports moments later.
“How many?” the Champion inquires.
The gunner is silent as they lean over the side of the wall in an attempt to get a better view of the enemy ship. Beyond the wall, there is a distant splash of a boat falling onto the waves.
“Two,” the gunner announces. “A rower and a passenger.”
“Is one of them the king?”
“Neither of them wear the royal cape.”
The Champion presses their armored fingers together, amused. What sort of leader would come to a peace talk with their enemy without their primary symbol of status? Is this supposed to be a sign that the king is already prepared to accept their “terms”? Or could it be that the wizards are trying to trick them with a double or an illusion? If that’s the case, they are already prepared for that as well.
After a short wait, a lone figure emerges from the darkness on the opposite side of the courtyard with his head held high and his eyes full of rage. Even without the cape, this wizard radiates power. It seems that the rower decided against joining him. How unfortunate.
“Champion of Light,” the king says stiffly, “you have called for an audience with king Cero of Korodon regarding… a possible peace treaty.”
“Right to business, I see,” the Champion hums, rising from their chair. “That’s one of the very few things I actually like about you wizards.”
The two leaders stand face-to-face mere steps away from the thin line that divides them. The king has to crane his neck ever so slightly to meet the Champion’s shielded eyes as the armored warrior overshadows the magical creature.
“Do you find it ironic, dear king,” the Champion says, “how the one that initiated this conflict is now here to beg for peace?”
“Don’t twist this,” Cero replies with a sigh.
“No cape. No guard. Not even a crown! How else should I interoperate this meeting?”
“You said you liked our straightforwardness, so how about we drops the pretenses. I may not know your entire plan, but I know what you want of me.”
“Oh? Your Spirit only warned you of that?” the Champion chuckles. “Fine, then.” They reach for the hilt of their blade and draws it from its sheath. It’s long and deadly sharp; only one slight brush against the blade will make any being begin bleeding. They hold this blade only a hair away from the king’s neck, whom remains standing without the slightest flinch.
“Here is our proposed peace treaty,” the Champion continues. “The king has failed his people, and his son is young and weak. The prince will hand over the kingdom to the Guardians, and if he doesn’t then the island of Korodon will be sunk for his arrogance. What do you think?”
“It would be a waste of breath to object,” the king hums. The lack of fear in his eyes is disappointing, but there isn’t any confidence in them, either. Rather, there is dejection and regret to his dead gaze. “But I will tell you this, Champion: You underestimate my son.”
“This has all been planned, dear king. Whatever your Spirit told you, you son does not have all the pieces. He will break. Time is something I have more of… compared to you. Is there anything else you wish to say before your execution?”
The king just shakes his head. “Not to the likes of you.”