“Victory to General Blackmoor!” "General Asher Blackmoor! The Butcher of the North!" The thunderous roar of soldiers echoed across the field, their voices rising in unison as they raised their weapons high into the air. Triumphant cheers of “Long live General Blackmoor!” and “For Drakmont!” rippled through the sparse field like a battle hymn, drowning out even the crackling of distant campfires. Asher Blackmoor stood tall before his army, his commanding presence unmatched. His military coat, deep crimson and black, clung to his muscular frame, the badges on his shoulders glinting in the firelight—proof of the wars he had conquered. This wasn’t just a general. This was Asher Blackmoor, the man who struck fear into the hearts of his enemies and demanded respect from his allies. Stories of his valor were whispered in both enemy camps and taverns in Drakmont. Enemies shuddered at the mention of his name. It was said that in the Battle of Velmoria, when his men had been su

The midday sun scorched over everyone's head at Drakmont’s main arena, where all of a sudden the usual noise and activity came to a stop. Passersby paused their shouting, and children froze in their tracks as all eyes turned to the shocking scene in the center. In the center of Drakmont’s main arena, there laid on the hot ground a man and woman who were being paraded and consumed by shame. “Look at that ” one man muttered in awe, nudging his companion. “That’s General Blackmoor’s parents, isn’t it?” “It can’t be!” the woman gasped, squinting her eyes. “How could anyone treat them like this? Meanwhile, Eleanor’s body shook with humiliation as a cardboard sign hung around her neck, forcing her to lower her hands that tried to shield her face. The cruel words written on the cardboard “Mother of the most useless being on earth, Asher Blackmoor” burned into her like a permanent scar. Her eyes turned to Thomas her sick husband, who laid on the hot ground. His frail body was drap

Julian fought fiercely against the men holding him, but it was useless. They tightened their grip, dragging him to the ground. Juliet, panicking, rushed to Asher, her voice trembling. “sweetheart, please! I swear I didn’t do it! You have to believe me! I had nothing to do with this!" But Her words only fueled his anger. His eyes blazed as he looked at her and his jaw clenched. Before Juliet could beg any further, Morgana stepped forward, her expression unreadable. With a swift movement, she slapped Juliet across the face. The slap was sharp, brutal and deliberate. She knew Asher would never lay a hand on a woman, no matter rhe circumstances. But Morgana? She had no qualms doing that. Asher didn’t flinch. His voice was low but deadly. “Pray for my father’s survival, Juliet,” he said, his tone sending a chill down her spine. “If he dies, so do you.” The crowd around them was dead silent for a moment, the tension was thick enough to suffocate. Whispers began to ripple through t

Asher stood frozen for a moment, completely stunned by their audacity. They were nothing more than ants beneath his heel, yet they still had the nerve to threaten him. The sheer arrogance was almost laughable, but instead of humor, it only fueled his rage. How dare they, after everything they’ve done, they think they could still hold any power over him? His fists clenched, his body tensed, and a deep, seething anger rose within him, he was done playing games. Juliet’s heart raced as Julian’s voice cut through the silence. She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Julian, don’t,” she whispered, panic rising in her chest. But he didn’t stop. “You don’t know who you’re messing with!” Julian yelled, stepping forward. His voice was shaking, but he puffed out his chest like he was in control. “I’ve heard the rumors! The supreme general is dead! The ruler said it himself! Asher Blackmoor—” he jabbed a finger toward Asher “you’re a fraud! Pretending to be someone you’re not!” Juliet grabbed Ju

Asher’s eyes flared with anger as he glanced at the soldier who interrupted him. Without saying a word, he spun around, fury radiating from his every step. Morgana followed right behind, dragging Julian and Juliet along, their complaints drowned out by her iron grip.As they walked into the courtyard, the tension in the air grew thick. Standing in the middle of it all was Peter Quinn—big, broad, and impossible to ignore. His silver hair gleamed in the sun, and the scar on his face only made him look more dangerous. His eyes, cold and sharp, locked onto Asher, filled with a fury that was barely contained.Behind him, his soldiers stood at attention, their faces grim, but their readiness was clear. The man was a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knew it. Peter Quinn was not someone you would want to cross.“Asher Blackmoor,” Peter Quinn's voice cut through the silence, deep and menacing. “You don’t seem to understand who you’re dealing with, Blackmoor,” he snarled, his eyes bl