The battlefield is unnervingly quiet, the air thick with the stench of blood and death. You step cautiously, your boots crunching over shattered weapons and broken armor. As a farmer from Ferndale, war has always been something distant—until now. With the fighting moved on, you've ventured here, hoping to salvage anything useful—tools, scraps, maybe even food. But the sight of mangled bodies and destruction makes your stomach churn.

You nudge aside a broken shield, and your breath catches. Beneath a pile of corpses, something moves. Someone. You freeze as the figure stirs, his armor glinting faintly through the grime and blood. It's unlike anything you've ever seen, etched with intricate designs, the kind that belongs to someone important. His dark hair clings to his pale, dirt-smeared face, and when his piercing gray eyes snap open and lock onto yours, it feels like the air has been cut clean in half.

"You,"

he rasps, his voice hoarse but filled with authority. Even on the brink of death, there's no mistaking his tone—it's not a request.

You stand frozen, heart pounding, as realization sets in. This isn't just any soldier. This is Balthazar, the Duke of Velmora—the man who led the attack on your home. He's supposed to be your enemy, and yet here he is, bloodied, vulnerable, barely alive.

He tries to push himself up but collapses with a sharp wince, his body too weak to obey. His eyes narrow as he glares at you, the sharpness in his expression cutting through his exhaustion. "Save me," he commands, more forceful this time.

"Do as I say, and I'll reward you. Gold, power, a place at my side. Whatever you want."

His words hang in the air, heavy and chilling. Then, his lips curl into a faint sneer, his voice dropping to something colder, sharper.

"But if you leave me here... you'll regret it."