Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

Morning came, and usually this would have been announced to Aric by the chirping of birds in the sky, but there was no such thing. Here it was far too cold for birds to fly, and even the sunlight came in a pale, gloomy glow. There was barely any warmth in its rays.

Aric had donned his armor again, and he went to the water reservoir that was placed within the tent. He dipped both hands in it before splashing his face with the freezing cold water. It was only then he realized the stains of blood on his hands, none of it his.

It belonged to the men he had felled the previous night.

He soaked his hands in the water and scrubbed to wash away the blood, as if washing their murders off his hands along with the crimson stains, but he knew better—such a sin was one that would follow him all his life.

He stood, looking at his face in the reflection of the water a while before he heard a call from outside the tent.

"General!" one of the soldiers exclaimed. "The Northrenders’ legionaries have arrived."

"Understood," Aric replied, his eyes still fixated on his reflection in the water.

He stretched his right hand to the table not far from him and grabbed his mask, then watched his reflection as he slowly covered his face with it.

"Quite fitting, no?" the prince mumbled to himself.

He let out a short sigh as he turned. He walked to the side of his bed where his sword lay, picking it up and fastening it on his back before promptly walking out of the tent.

"General!" both soldiers who guarded the tent saluted.

"With me," Aric said calmly as he walked past them, both soldiers swiftly following behind him by his command.

Aric noticed the fire from the previous night had died down, and what was left of it was ash from homes that once sprawled across this settlement.

"The settlers, have they departed?" the prince asked.

"Yes, a few hours ago," one of the soldiers responded.

"Good," Aric said, relieved. It would have been quite the issue if the Northrenders found them as they arrived.

As Aric strode through the camp, the snow crunched beneath his boots, and the cold air bit at his exposed skin. His mask, now firmly in place, hid the expression of contemplation that had been etched across his face moments before.

He felt the weight of the sword on his back and the echo of last night’s events in his mind, but his thoughts quickly shifted as he spotted the approaching figures in the distance—the Northrenders.

In a swift count he discerned they were about fifty of them, their silhouettes emerging through the pale mist that hung in the air.

These were no ordinary soldiers. Born and bred in blood and winter, they carried themselves with an aura of lethal calm. Their armor was dark and formidable, a mixture of hide and metal, lined with thick furs to protect them from the biting cold.

Their helmets, adorned with the bones of beasts, projected long shadows across their faces, making them seem almost otherworldly. Heavy gauntlets wrapped around their arms, and their boots—thick and reinforced—crushed the snow as if it were nothing.

They did not ride horses like the soldiers of Byzeth. Instead, they commanded creatures far more fearsome—massive beasts, twice the size of any warhorse, with thick, shaggy fur and gleaming red eyes.

These creatures had curved horns, sharp enough to impale, and clawed feet that left deep impressions in the snow. Their breaths came out in great clouds of steam, their snarls barely suppressed under the firm control of their riders.

And at the head of the column, leading them, was a woman unlike any Aric had seen before.

She was tall and striking, her presence commanding. Her skin was pale as snow, yet her aura radiated a terrifying strength. The sheer amount of Ki that flowed from her was nearly suffocating. Her long, flowing purple hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting against the dark furs and armor she wore.

Her eyes were the same vivid violet as her hair, glowing faintly with power, their intensity making it hard to hold her gaze for long.

Her armor was sleek but sturdy, fashioned from blackened steel that clung to her curvy frame, with fur trim around the collar and wrists. Her chest plate, though form-fitting, bore the scars of countless battles, proof of her hardened life.

A massive two-handed axe hung from her back, its blade etched with runes, a weapon that seemed far too large for her slender figure—but Aric knew better than to underestimate her. She exuded a sense of untenable power, and the cold around her seemed to bend to her will.

As the Northrenders approached, the soldiers of Byzeth in the camp stiffened, their eyes widening at the sight of the terrifying warriors. The Ki flowing from the Northrender legionaries was choking, like an unbearable weight pressing down on the battlefield. These were more predators than they were soldiers.

The woman at the front brought her beast to a halt a few feet away from Aric. Her piercing violet gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of them moved. She studied him, as though appraising his worth, her eyes narrowing behind the mist of her breath.

"You must be the one they call ’General,’" she said, her voice deep and laced with a certain seductive arrogance.

Aric nodded, his voice steady behind his mask. "And you must be the commander of this legion."

A smirk curled her lips, and she swung down from her beast with a fluid grace that belied her size. As she landed on the snow, the ground seemed to tremble slightly beneath her.

"I am Yrsa," she said, her hand resting on the hilt of her axe. "Commander of the Winterborn. We’ve come as agreed."

Aric inclined his head, observing her and the legion behind her. "Your timing is impeccable, Commander Yrsa."

She chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It always is. Now tell me, ’General,’ what is it you plan to do with this settlement? I trust the fires were not just for warmth?"

Aric’s eyes flickered toward the ashen remains of the settlement. "They were actually," he said coolly. "This is just the beginning however. Your legion will be instrumental in what’s to come."

Yrsa’s smirk widened, and the air between them crackled with tension. "Good. The men of winter are eager for blood."

Aric turned his gaze to the legionaries behind her, their eyes gleaming with the same hunger for battle. There was no fear in their eyes—only the readiness to unleash carnage.

"Then they shall have it," Aric said, his voice dark and commanding. "We battle again soon. Yrsa, you and your men will be on the front line."

"Exactly where we belong," she replied, her purple eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Aric gave a curt nod. As he turned away, leading them deeper into the camp to prepare for the next phase of their conquest, he could feel the burden of her gaze still on him. He welcomed it.

Blood would soon flow in excess.