SWNOVELXO Chapter 6: CHAPTER 4 Imaginary fear
The Curse and the Collapse
As the first rays of sun spilled over the battlefield, the Truhflan army surged forward with the roar of a rising storm. Hundreds of armored soldiers charged toward Palledania's walls like a flood of steel and fury. Arrows whistled. Cannons exploded. The air trembled with war.
The Palledanian defenders, battered and breathless, stood their ground.
Atop the wall, a strange figure watched calmly.
Veyron.
But not as a prince.
He wore tattered ceremonial robes—robes once used for divine sacrifices. His royal armor was gone. A cracked mask covered his face. The sleeves, stained in dried blood, fluttered in the morning wind.
Then, he raised his voice—not as a general, but like a prophet from the old world.
> "I am a priest… no," he whispered, every word laced with eerie clarity. "I am the opposite of one. These are robes of offering… yet today, I offer not mercy, but a curse."
The battlefield froze.
And then, a scream.
General Arvak—Truhflan's most feared commander—suddenly shrieked.
Blood gushed from his nose. He stumbled, gasping.
His soldiers panicked. Was it sorcery? A curse? Divine punishment?
But in truth… it was Fly Clone 1.
Hidden within the chaos, the tiny creature had driven a thin wooden spike through Arvak's nasal cavity—angled upward, piercing into the soft tissue near the lungs. The pain, the suffocation, the fear—it overwhelmed even a monster like Arvak.
He staggered.
He fell.
And then…
Truhflan's own troops fired.
Blinded by terror, they launched arrows, cannon blasts, and slingshots—all at their own commander. The sky lit with fire. Steel rained down.
General Arvak's body was consumed.
His scream ended in flame.
Silence.
And then the Truhflan army broke.
Fear turned to chaos. The lines collapsed.
On the wall, the Palledanian defenders, moments from giving up, surged with rage and purpose.
> "We win today! FOR PALLEDANIA!"
The counterattack was brutal.
In under an hour, Truhflan's entire frontline force was obliterated. Smoke curled above the field, rising like incense over the dead.
Victory.
But not without a cost.
Only 456 Palledanian soldiers remained.
And worse—some commanders, blinded by triumph, chased the retreating enemy straight into their city gates.
Traps awaited them.
All who entered died.
When the dust cleared… only 379 Palledanian warriors still stood.
Veyron, still in his priest robes, didn't move.
He watched the bodies being counted, the battlefield turning to ash.
He didn't celebrate.
He didn't speak.
Beside him, Teriya also remained still.
They both knew: they had won the battle…
…but not the war.
---
Back in the capital, King Faeron sat in his royal chamber, glowing with pride as the news arrived.
> "My son's power blooms," he said softly. "Perhaps… he is ready."
But the joy didn't last.
High above the battlefield, Fly Clone 1 continued its work.
> "New movement," it whispered into Veyron's mind. "1,200... no, 1,500... no, more. Over 2,000 soldiers. Exiting Truhflan's gates. Encircling from all sides."
Veyron heard the words echo inside him.
He ran to the highest tower of the border wall.
From there, he saw it.
Like ants from a crushed nest, Truhflan troops poured in from every angle. North. South. East. West.
Surrounding Palledania like a tightening noose.
Teriya joined him, her voice sharp.
> "What now, Veyron? We can't fight this."
He turned to her, calm but urgent.
> "There's something only you can do. Come. Now."
She hesitated, but followed.
They dashed toward the palace.
But then—
BOOM.
The wall behind them exploded.
A section just rebuilt after the last war crumbled under fresh cannon fire. Rubble flew. Dust and screams filled the air.
> "The wall's gone! The wall's gone!"
Teriya turned, ready to fight.
But suddenly, blades flashed.
A dozen mercenaries emerged, fast and silent.
She raised her sword—
> "Enemy assassins—?!"
> "No!" Veyron shouted, stepping in front. "They're mine."
She froze.
> "You hired mercenaries?"
> "Twelve," he said. "They helped me stop the last assassination attempt."
Her eyes narrowed.
But there was no time to argue.
As they reached the palace corridor, something even worse awaited.
From behind a pillar—movement.
Shink.
A blade struck.
Veyron's maid—his oldest servant, who had raised him, who had brought him food during his darkest days—fell. Blood poured across the marble floor.
> "No…!"
More shadows moved.
Assassins.
Real ones.
Not his.
They had infiltrated disguised as refugees. Merchants. Civilians.
The chaos had let them in.
Veyron stepped forward. Sword already drawn.
He said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The priest had vanished.
The warrior had returned.
To be continued...