Achilles: The Warlord Emperor

2: The Stigma

Five months back, there were speculations that Brig. Hector, Achilles’ father, could be appointed as the new Field Marshal. Still, for some unknown reason, Sire Rollins Julian, the assassinated Minister of Defense, didn't nominate his best friend as expected by many.

Hence, it was rumored that the two best friends had gone into a cold war since the appointment of the new Field Marshal which could have engineered the assassination plot by Achilles' late father.

Achilles maintained his stance regardless. “My father would never do such a thing! He loved your father like a brother! They were best friends for heaven’s sake!”

Veins plunging into Michael's forehead at the hearing of those words; within seconds, he stepped further and struck Achilles across the face.

The sound of the hot slap echoed across the Military Base. Achilles gave in to a squeezed smile, but didn't retaliate.

“Achilles enough of your nuisance! Take this scumbag away and make sure you strip him of his military uniform. He's no longer worthy to wear those!”

The General Commander commanded fiercely; his voice stern with contempt.

Three Colonels nodded affirmatively, undressing the military attire from his wet body.

The decorated fabric that once commanded respect was stripped away leaving him with barely a singlet and boxers.

They pushed him harder; his feet shuffled on the cold ground as they dragged him outside the Liverpool Accord Military Base.

Transportation was already arranged— a military vehicle in sight. They threw his mini-bag inside and shoved him forward.

Achilles, in a dreaded breath, held onto his composure and climbed the vehicle without resistance, his shoulder held high— his chest torn in pain, but he refused to show it.

Within moments, the great gates of the Military Base shut behind him, and right there, the bitter reality flashed before his eyes: The Vehement WarLord has fallen from grace— The God of War has been exiled!

The driver sighed at him while driving off, his facial expression screamed judgment and contempt, treating him like a ghost.

In less than an hour, the driver was close to his street but halted the trip a few kilometers away.

As usual, he didn't utter a word to Achilles; he alighted from the driver's seat, threw his bag to the pavement, and drove off without a single glance.

Achilles tutted his lips, watching the driver drive farther. He lifted his bag over his shoulder.

While on the walk to his house, he noticed something. The environs reeked of spoken judgment.

The city and streets that once celebrated his victories in battles were presently gossiping about his family's downfall.

Passersby he once knew avoided him like a plague and turned towards a different route— the neighborhood he once helped in several ways in the past now treated him like a curse.

The news of his exile from the military spread so fast and was widely aired across the cities.

However, amid his disgrace and stigma, one blissful thought had his heart hopeful— his beautiful seven-year-old daughter; Gabrielle whom he fondly called: “MY PUMPKIN”

Still on foot, he reached out to his mini-bag and unveiled a worn birthday photograph of Gabrielle when she clocked a year old. A beautiful smile came alive in his weary face.

He missed her seventh birthday two months ago due to a peacekeeping duty in Nigeria and can't wait to set eyes on her.

His legs marched on the pavement much closer to his house. His heart yearned for love and comfort, and he believed Star, his wife, would understand his sudden misfortune and show him compassion.

[Would she?]

Suddenly, a loud soothing, charming voice crept out…

“Daddy!”

A gorgeous figure ran up the stairs and marched towards him, and it was none other than Gabrielle.

At once, Achilles threw his bag down and caught her as she flung herself into his arms.

“Oh, my pumpkin. I miss you dearly,” he chimed in, inhaling the amazing scent of her blonde hair.

Gabrielle's words oozing with deep concern, “Daddy, you look sad?”

Achilles let out a painful smile— for the first time since his exile, someone had finally shown some care.

He managed to spill with a sorrowful beam, “As long as we have each other, everything will be fine, my pumpkin.”

A high-pitched voice barked from the background.

“Gabrielle! Get back right now!”

Star commanded with a rigid composure; beside her was Eunice Hayden, her mother, Achilles' mother-in-law, whose face etched with an evil smirk.

Achilles, taken aback, stared at his wife in shock, which was the opposite reception he’d expected from her. In fact, he had never seen her in such a disrespectful manner.

Star barked out, yanking Gabrielle off his hands, “Son of a murderer, let go of my daughter this second!”

His eyelids blinked in growing confusion, staring around to see if she was referring to someone else.

“Dear wife, since when did you start addressing me with such a condescending tone?”

Being puzzled, he asked further, “Can’t I embrace my adorable daughter anymore?”

Without hesitation, Star sneered back at him, “No, you can't!”

“'Cause she isn't your daughter, she wasn't and never will be!”