Episode 5. The Cursed Archduke ( Part 1)

Years had passed in the forest of the Naerith.

The frightened little girl had become a twenty-year-old young woman. Fast and formidable, Camilla had grown up in the heart of the forest.

Even if she was not her real mother, Emma had done everything for her. She had taught her how to survive, how to hunt, and above all how to master the powers inherited from her ancestors, the Arvendal.

Camilla was stronger than ever.

But while the forest lived in peace…

the rest of the Empire was far from calm.

Draven Alaïstar of Milburne had held the title of archduke since a very young age.

At only twelve years old, he inherited control of Milburne and the Northern lands. Many nobles had challenged this decision. To them, a child could not rule.

But the years passed… and their doubts slowly disappeared.

At seventeen, Draven had already built a fearsome reputation on the battlefield. It was said that he showed no mercy to his enemies.

But four years earlier, when he was twenty, an event would change his fate.

Four years earlier

A small village in the northern lands lived under the threat of a group of mercenaries.

Three riders stopped at the entrance of the village.

Draven calmly got off his horse.

Behind him stood two men he trusted completely: Edward, his loyal assistant, and Elliot, his companion-in-arms.

Edward looked at the tracks in the mud.

— They’re still here.

Draven simply placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

— Let’s deal with this.

They walked into the main street of the village.

The mercenaries, busy looting the houses, raised their heads when they saw them approaching.

A heavy silence fell.

Then—

The metallic sound of a sword leaving its sheath echoed in the air.

And the fight began.

The first mercenary fell almost immediately.

Draven’s blade cut through the air with terrifying precision.

The man collapsed before he even understood what had happened.

A second one stepped forward.

But this one was different.

His gaze was calm.

He raised his sword—

And blocked the strike.

The clash of steel echoed through the entire street.

The two men stepped back.

Draven observed him for a moment.

— Interesting…

The mercenary attacked again.

Their swords clashed.

Again.

And again.

But very quickly… the difference became clear.

Draven barely moved.

His movements were short, precise, perfectly controlled.

As if he had already anticipated every move.

Suddenly—

He changed rhythm.

One step.

A feint.

The mercenary’s guard opened.

In an instant, Draven’s blade struck.

The man dropped his weapon and fell to his knees.

Draven calmly placed the tip of his sword under his throat.

— This one stays alive.

At that moment, an old man approached timidly.

— Thank you… thank you for saving us…

But suddenly—

One of the mercenaries still on the ground tried to flee.

In the confusion, his blade slit the old man’s throat.

Blood flowed.

The body collapsed.

Silence.

Then—

A scream.

His grandson dropped to his knees beside him, shattered.

His voice trembled as he began to recite ancient prayers.

Forgotten words.

Fragile.

Desperate.

Then…

The air changed.

The wind stopped.

A shadow appeared behind him.

A presence.

Heavy.

Oppressive.

A woman stood there, wrapped in a dark aura.

The witch of the cursed lands had appeared.

© Jameila pose – All rights reserved.

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