Alaric's steel serpent army moved with the first threads of the cold autumn sun. It was not an army in the traditional sense, but a mass of explosive rage, led by a man who no longer feared death because he had become part of it. The banners raised above their heads were strange: black fabric with a skull stitched in ash—the emblem of the "Ash King," a name that had begun to echo in the neighboring villages like the whisper of demons.
Alaric rode at the forefront on a black steed, wearing no helmet, letting the wind play with his hair matted with dried blood. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the impregnable hills of Ires lay. He spoke in a quiet voice, yet one that carried a weight that pressed upon the chests of those around him:
"The earth here feels us, Merlock. The ground trembles beneath our horses' hooves—not from fear, but as acknowledgment of the coming of new sovereignty."
Merlock, riding a scrawny pony beside him, replied with a laugh like the rustle of dry leaves:
"The earth loves the taste of fresh blood, my king. And the old king in Ires has sent his elite knights, the Sun Legion, to cut us off at Wolf's Claw Pass. They think walls and mountains will protect them from you."
Alaric suddenly halted, raising his tattooed hand high, and the army stopped behind him in terrifying unison. He murmured, gazing at his arm, which pulsed with a thick blackness as if breathing:
"The Sun Legion… flashy names for men who worship gold. Tell me, Merlock, will this tattoo be enough to annihilate an entire legion?"
The old man drew close and whispered:
"The tattoo does not kill men, Alaric; it kills the hope within them. When they see a knight who does not fall, a body that drinks in blades, their bravest will turn into children looking for hiding places."
At that moment, Elara approached on a small horse, carrying her medical bag, though her eyes held daggers of concern. She spoke in a voice that tried to remain steady before Alaric's newfound awe:
"The soldiers have begun speaking of strange rituals at night. They say you do not sleep, that you address the shadows in your tent. Is this the justice you promised? To rule with an army of terrified, enchanted men?"
Alaric's voice sharpened as he turned slowly toward her, his violet eyes glowing with chilling coldness:
"Justice is a luxury only the strong can afford, Elara. These men do not follow me because I am kind, but because I am the only one who can guide them to safety through this storm. Sleep is for the weak who do not carry a kingdom's fate upon their shoulders."
Elara replied bitterly, pointing to the tattoo that had begun to extend in fine lines toward Alaric's neck:
"Look in the mirror once, Alaric! The blackness is consuming your face. Merlock is not leading you to the throne—he is leading you to the abyss. Those 'shadows' you speak to are not your comrades; they are the creditors who will demand your soul in payment for every victory."
Alaric spoke sternly, evading her gaze, which reminded him of the past he was trying to bury:
"Let them take what they will. There is nothing left in this soul worth preserving. Return to the rear of the army—the coming battle is no place for a living conscience."
Alaric gave the order to advance, and the army entered the narrow Wolf's Claw Pass. Towering rocks flanked the path, and suddenly, the golden armor of the Sun Legion glinted from the heights. The legion's commander called out in a resonant voice from afar:
"Halt, rebel! In the name of King Augustus, we command you to lay down your arms and face the justice of the throne!"
Alaric muttered as he drew his broadsword, feeling the tattoo burn on his skin as if demanding release:
"Justice of the throne? That justice died in the Valley of Bones. Today, I will show you the justice of ashes."
Alaric let out a war cry that shook the pass's walls, and his steed charged up the rugged slope with indescribable force. It was not merely a charge; it was an eruption of darkness. The spears hurled at him shattered before touching his armor, and arrows veered off as if a subtle wind protected him.
One of the Sun Knights spoke in astonishment as he watched Alaric close the distance toward them in seconds:
"He is not human! Protect the commander! Unleash the white magic!"
But there was no time. Alaric reached the summit, and with a single strike from his sword charged with the tattoo's energy, he shattered a massive boulder, causing a landslide that swallowed half the legion. He fought with silent savagery; every movement ended a life, and every drop of blood made the tattoo blaze brighter.
When the swift battle ended, Alaric stood over the legion commander's corpse, staring at his hand, which trembled from the excess of dark power. Merlock appeared through the smoke and said:
"The Red Autumn has begun, my king. The capital is now within sight, and the crown trembles upon its owner's head."
Alaric gazed at the sky, which had begun to rain ash instead of water:
"On to Ires… Do not stop until the last candle in the king's palace has burned out."