Chapter 423: A Message in Blood
A Message in Blood
"B-blo... blood..." The words quivered on the general’s lips, weak and shattered, barely above a whisper above the stifling quiet that had consumed the command post whole. For one moment, it seemed the world had stopped, holding its breath. All eyes, wide with shock, swiveled to the package that had landed on the earth floor seconds before. It rested there, hideous and accusing, swathed in dirty, heavy cloth, but from between the folds oozed steadily a dark, shiny liquid, slow and purposeful, catching the fading light of dusk like a hard mockery of the sun. A staff jutted out sharply, stiff and accusing, a pointing finger directed straight into Gary’s command.
Gary’s fist curled at his side, nails digging into the palm as his eyes rose toward the battlefield. Through the chaos, King Aurelian rode immobile on his warhorse, regal, unbending, a presence hewn of cold power. The burnished armor caught the fading amber light and gave him the look of being almost stone, unapproachable and flawless in the midst of the chaos. His men stood in a tight line behind him, eyes forward, backs strung tight with discipline, exuding quiet menace. At a distant place, the far-off rumble of discontent crept over the horizon, a storm curling patiently before unleashing the initial blow.
Gary’s chest constricted, each beat pounding like a warning drum within his ribs. That package—something about it yanked at his instincts with an urgent precision, a savage whisper that shrieked danger. He wrestled himself to draw breath, a slow and labored one, to bring forth control, to still the quiver creeping along his fingers. But the black liquid went on its deliberate creep, a thick, unforgiving mockery of decorum, offering truths he did not want to know.
"Open it... one," he instructed, voice low and razor-edged with steel. Each syllable was imbued with authority, a command that called for obedience, that would not suffer opposition. A crushing stillness clamped down, bearing down against every chest, causing hearts to thud like war drums in the gathering air. "I want to see what is inside."
"Yes, my lord," a commander said, outwardly steady but faltering in momentary hesitation in his trembling hands. He moved forward cautiously, each movement considered, measured, as if one slip might crack the tenuous hold, they all held on to. His fingers brushed the staff lodged in the package, and when he drew it out, it slid with a soft, wet hiss, slick with dark blood. Crimson spread faster than expected, vivid and alive, soaking into the cloth like ink on parchment, as if it had a mind of its own.
With reluctant precision, the commander slowly unrolled the covering. Dark blotches crawled over the pale material, pulsing with a subtle intensity in the harsh light. Officers stumbled back instinctively, stomachs clenching, eyes widening in shock at the terror unfolding from the folds. And then, in the final unveiling, the last layer fell back, the truth starkly revealed.
A human body was there.
The torso was exposed, flesh scarred by a jagged wound in the middle of the back. Blood bubbled from the wound, flowing across the surrounding meat with a motion almost animate, almost insidious in its tenacity. The ruins of war armor clung in shreds around the waist, now completely valueless. Black hair and tangled with blood, clumps fell across shoulders, casting a shadow upon a face that would not open itself, a silent threat in repose.
The command post shrank beneath the burden of the vision. Each officer involuntarily retreated, as if mere distance could kill them. The air became heavy, choking, heavy with the smell of iron and death, interrupted only by the wet, nauseating gurgle of blood oozing into the ground.
Gary’s eyes went wide, and for an instant, the world under him tilted. The heaviness of the moment weighed down, as if the planet itself had stopped to see this epiphany. His breath was caught, locked in his chest, but he shook himself loose and kept his focus, ordering, acting.
"Who..." a commander breathed, voice shaking, on the verge of breaking. "Wh-who is this? It... it’s... not..." He struggled to swallow, as though the words would clog in his throat for good.
Gary’s jaw hardened. His hands curled to slap, to rip answers from the air, but his voice remained controlled, icy. "Identify them," he said, every word cutting the tension like a knife. "Now."
There was a moment of silence, a heavy, oppressive one. The commander’s hands trembled as he stepped closer, despite still being cautious of the black, wordless accusation the body appeared to make. "I. I don’t. know them, my lord. But." His voice broke, and his face grew pale. ".but this. this is intentional. Someone wanted you to see this. Someone wanted you to understand.
Gary’s heart pounded in his ears. His eyes flashed back to King Aurelian, far away, distant, unapproachable. His fists bunched into their corresponding balls, nails biting deep into palms as a low, strained growl rumbled in his throat. The package, the blood, the still, unmovable form in the midst of the battlefield—it was a message, an invitation. And the storm that followed was just the start.
Edric stood wordlessly by Gary’s side, his own eyes slowly rising to catch the king’s. Gary’s own face was a mask, inscrutable, but the blaze in his eyes was clear—cold, calculating, and quite horrifying. There was a precision in his gaze, a still violence that seemed to slice through the air itself. Memories of Aurelian flooded unbidden, hard and unflinching: cold, hard, merciless. A man who forgave nothing, remembered nothing, and annihilated with impunity. Those who dared oppose him paid in full, without question, without pity. Gary’s thoughts reeled, the analogy eating at him, yet he stayed grounded, compelling himself to gasp through the building tension.
He set his gaze back on the dead form, swallowing hard against the bile rising. His jaw set, muscles tight and hard, he willed his voice steady, firm against the tempest raging within. "Turn the body over. I want to see the face.
The command lingered in the air, heavy and freezing. A general hesitated in mid-air, hands trembling uncontrollably, as another officer looked furtively at Gary for reassurance. One sharp nod from the king was all that was required to legitimize. Shuddering, the officer extended a reluctant hand with slow deliberation, turning the body until the face was fully exposed.
It was. normal. Unremarkable. No beauty, no authority, nothing that would remain in memory. Black hair drew a face that could be erased from mind the moment one turned one’s head. But below its plainness, a savage tingle tickled Gary’s spine. There was something amiss here—something silent but insistent, like the moan of a storm on the horizon.
His eyes wandered down, and then they fell upon the chest. Letters, etched deep and evil into the flesh, shone with a ghastly accuracy. One of the soldiers leaned in closer, voice almost whispered, shaking as he read aloud: