Chapter 358: The Hidden Woman
The gates of Hektor’s stronghold creaked as Lyan walked through, his dark cloak trailing behind him. The air outside felt heavy, weighed down by the aftermath of the battle. The cheers of his soldiers, the scent of smoke from the torches, and the clinking of armor from his troops should have filled him with a sense of victory. And yet, it didn’t. Victory was clear—he had taken Hektor’s stronghold, defeated his forces, and the remnants of resistance were scattering like frightened birds. But it wasn’t a sweet victory. War never was.
Lyan’s steps slowed as the memories started creeping in, unbidden but relentless. Flashes of his former life—images he had buried deep but could never truly forget—surged through his mind. His comrades. One by one, they had fallen in the endless war against the demons, their faces seared into his memory. The sounds of battle, the cries of pain, the endless march of death had been his constant companions. Back then, he had managed to tolerate it, to push forward, because it had been a war between demons, a fight for survival. But now...
His hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his glaive, the cool metal grounding him in the present. Now, it was different. This was a war between humans. He had once fought for the human race, bled for them, stood at the frontlines as their protector. And now, here he was, cutting them down. Killing them. He shook his head, the weight of his own hypocrisy pressing down on him. He felt like a hypocrite, a man who had turned his back on the very people he once swore to defend.
The faces of the soldiers he had killed today blurred together in his mind, nameless, faceless men who had likely been fighting for their families, their homes, just like he once had. And yet, he had cut them down without hesitation, driven by the necessity of war. His eyes grew distant as he remembered his old comrades, the way they had laughed and fought side by side with him. One by one, they had died, their laughter replaced by silence, their warmth by cold, unfeeling bodies lying in the mud.
Lyan felt his breath hitch, his chest tightening with a familiar sadness that he hadn’t felt in years. He had nearly lost himself back then, almost gone mad from the weight of the endless carnage. And now, here he was again, fighting another war, except this time, it wasn’t against demons. It was against his own kind. The thought twisted inside him like a knife, leaving him feeling hollow.
But he kept walking, forcing himself to stay present. The battle was over, but the weight of its aftermath was only beginning to settle in. His soldiers had done their duty, and so had he. But duty, it seemed, had never been more bitter.
Just as he was about to leave the gates behind him, a voice rang out—sharp, fierce, filled with both anger and desperation. "Don’t come any closer!"
Lyan’s ears perked up, and his eyes snapped toward the source of the voice. It was a woman’s voice, strong-willed and protective. His brow furrowed as he quickly followed the sound, his instincts kicking in. His mind flashed back to something—Lucan. Hektor’s son had mentioned his wife in their final moments. A bet, a twisted promise to offer her up if Lucan lost. Lyan cursed under his breath. That bastard had really done it—left his wife and child alone in the chaos.
He moved quickly, weaving through the aftermath of the battle until he found the source of the voice. There, near the back of a crumbling building, he saw her. A woman, standing in front of a small child, her arms spread wide in a protective stance. Her blonde hair caught the light of the torches, and her eyes blazed with defiance. She was cornered by two soldiers, but something was off—Lyan’s sharp eyes picked up on it immediately. They weren’t his men.