The blood crown

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood as the battle raged within the Ashen Woods. Alaric Iridath, the Crown Prince, stood at the forefront of the Imperial vanguard, his gleaming armor reflecting the firelight from distant torches. His sword, drawn and bloodied, cut through the chaos with brutal precision. His every strike was a testament to his martial prowess, a force that struck fear into his enemies. Alaric was a peak Rank 8 knight, and there were few who could challenge him in open combat. His presence on the battlefield was as commanding as it was dangerous.

Lucien Iridath, standing behind the lines with the rest of the royal entourage, observed the carnage unfold. His sharp, calculating eyes never left the battle for long, though his expression remained unchanged. Lucien was not like his brother. While Alaric thrived in the midst of battle, Lucien was more patient—always waiting for the right moment, the perfect opportunity to claim credit for victory without ever having to dirty his hands with the bloodshed.

The Ashen Woods had always been treacherous terrain—dense and twisted, with the constant threat of ambush from the demon forces. But even in this disorienting maze, Alaric pushed forward relentlessly, smashing through the demonic lines with the full force of his vanguard. His army, though composed of skilled men, could not match the brutality of the demons' attacks. Yet, even when cornered, Alaric showed no hesitation, charging ahead with the ferocity of a beast.

Lucien, watching from the safety of the rear lines, remained a cold observer. He had no personal stake in the outcome of this battle—at least, not in the way Alaric did. Lucien's eyes darted between his brother's position and the shifting tides of the conflict. He had long understood that to rise in power, one had to be patient and strategic. And for Lucien, the key was to let others take the lead, let them make the mistakes, and then swoop in to claim the glory when the moment was right.

"Your Highness," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Lucien turned to see Kaelith Arvant, the Grand Strategist, his tall frame cutting through the smoke and ash. His ever-unreadable expression betrayed nothing, but his words carried weight.

"The battle is progressing well, but I fear Alaric is growing reckless. His decision to push deeper into the Ashen Woods may expose us to ambush from the demons. I fear he's underestimating the danger," Kaelith said, his eyes narrowing as he observed the Crown Prince.

Lucien studied the battle from the sidelines for a moment before turning his attention back to Kaelith. "Let him. His overconfidence will be his downfall. The demons will break, and he will be left exposed. It's only a matter of time before he makes a mistake. And when he does, we will be there to seize the opportunity."

Kaelith seemed to consider Lucien's words for a moment. "You're playing a dangerous game, Your Highness."

Lucien's lips curled into a faint smile. "All games of power are dangerous, Kaelith. The trick is to outlast everyone else."

The battle raged on, the sounds of clashing swords and screams of anguish filling the air. The demons, as vicious and unpredictable as they were, seemed to have the upper hand. Their numbers appeared endless, and the thick woods only made it more difficult to track their movements. But Lucien had no doubt that his time would come.

As the battle progressed, Alaric's forces began to show signs of strain. The demons, though feral, were adapting quickly to the tactics employed by the Empire. Lucien saw it all: Alaric's troops were being driven deeper into the woods, and the vanguard was losing ground. If Alaric did not change his approach soon, the situation could spiral out of control.

Suddenly, a rider appeared, galloping toward Lucien with a sense of urgency. The rider, breathless and coated in soot, reined in his horse and bowed before Lucien. "Your Highness," he gasped, "Commander Thalain requests reinforcements. The northern flank is collapsing under a demonic assault. They need support immediately."

Lucien's pulse quickened. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Alaric was faltering, and the demons were gaining momentum. But Lucien saw the opportunity to turn the tide in his favor. He did not respond immediately, instead allowing the messenger to feel the weight of the situation.

"Tell Commander Thalain reinforcements will be dispatched immediately," Lucien said, his voice steady and authoritative. "But make sure she knows the timing must be perfect. We cannot act prematurely. The right moment will present itself."

The rider nodded and spurred his horse back toward the northern flank, and Lucien turned to Kaelith, his gaze unwavering. "It's time. We move now, while Alaric is too focused on his own war to see the danger."

Kaelith's expression darkened. "This may not be as simple as you think."

Lucien looked at the Grand Strategist with cold certainty. "You've said it yourself: there's no time to waste. We move while we still have the advantage."

The Empire's forces surged forward. Lucien's soldiers, well-trained and disciplined, knew exactly what to do. The northern flank, bolstered by Lucien's timely intervention, began to stabilize, repelling the demons with a precision that sent shockwaves through the enemy's ranks. The demons, already scattered by their initial assault, found themselves retreating before the relentless Imperial push.

The battle, which had been teetering on the edge of disaster, suddenly began to shift in the Empire's favor. Lucien stood at the head of his forces, his presence like a cold wind cutting through the smoke. His troops moved like clockwork, their discipline and coordination turning the tide of the battle.

From the other side of the battlefield, Alaric observed the turn of events with growing frustration. His own forces were faltering under the weight of the demon onslaught, but Lucien's timely reinforcement was turning the tide. Alaric had been so focused on his own glory that he had failed to see the shifting sands beneath his feet. His arrogance had nearly cost the Empire its victory.

Alaric made his way toward Lucien, his bloodied sword still in hand. "Well done, Lucien," he said, his voice tight with both frustration and grudging respect. "You saved us today."

Lucien's smile was cold, and his eyes glinted with triumph. "It was nothing, my brother. Just a timely intervention."

The last of the demons began to retreat, their leaders realizing that they could not win this fight. The Imperials, with Lucien's timely reinforcement, had turned the battle. The Ashen Woods would not fall today.

As the final cries of the retreating demons echoed through the trees, Lucien allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He had waited, he had watched, and now he had claimed the credit for the Empire's victory. But this was only the beginning. The battle for the throne was far from over.