Day that changed everything.

Vallen led his troops out of the valley to a small city. He raised a hand, silencing the clatter of armored boots on cobblestone. "Remember your orders, no harm to civilians."

His men nodded, a mixture of respect and weariness etched on their faces. They had fought hard and long, but this was not a campaign of bloodshed. As they settled into the city, the atmosphere shifted from one of tension to tentative hope. The locals, initially apprehensive, began to relax, their smiles returning as they saw the soldiers living alongside them, helping to repair what had been broken.

For the first time in months, the streets of Étsien echoed with laughter and the sounds of life. Children played in the dusty roads, their shrieks of joy filling the air, while merchants reopened stalls that had long been shuttered. The people welcomed Vallen's troops. Yet, beneath the surface of this newfound peace, shadows loomed on the horizon.

Another legion that arrived was vastly different from Vallen's own weary troops. Fresh-faced recruits, their eyes bright with the thrill of battle, marched with an eagerness that Vallen could hardly comprehend. Their General needed to return to the Imperium's capital with new orders, leaving the command over his legion to Vallen.

Despite Vallen's unwavering commitment to protecting the civilians, the younger soldiers were caught in the heat of their own anger and frustration. Many bore the scars of the Republic's past aggressions, their memories still raw and vivid. They cared little for the old Principality's inhabitants, viewing them only as remnants of a regime that had once sought to oppress them. 

"Remember your duty." He warned them but as the words left his mouth, he knew that the hearts of some soldiers were hardened by a thirst for revenge. 

As night fell and the city's newfound joy faded, tension filled the air like an unwelcome fog. Vallen stood at the edge of the square, watching as his brother's legion began to establish themselves, unaware of the chaos that lay just beneath the surface. He had just led a bloody battle, but another battle was just beginning not against the enemy across the border, but against the darkness that threatened to consume his own men.

Days passed, blending into each other, and nothing remarkable occurred. The soldiers maintained a routine, at least from what Vallen could observe. The city, situated just outside the Imperium's borders and the Emperor had ordered a retreat. Vallen understood their situation, the enemy was three days away and could attack any time.

Étsien was nestled at the foot of the majestic Panjam Mountains, a natural fortress that shielded the Republic's,. The mountains loomed over the city like ancient sentinels, their peaks capped with snow that glimmered in the sunlight. 

In the wake of his orders, Vallen decided to call for both legions to prepare for departure the following day. However, just as he finalized his plans, disturbing rumors began to circulate within the soldiers. 

One that evening, while pacing the streets of Étsien, Vallen noticed a small barn on the outskirts of the city. It had become a gathering place for some of the newly arrived legion soldiers. Initially, he dismissed it as a place where they might group to drink, a behavior he had chosen to overlook once in a while, despite the strict rule against alcohol.

As Vallen approached the barn, the first thing that caught his eye was a soldier standing guard, as if protecting something hidden within. The soldier straightened, blocking Vallen's path as he drew nearer.

"You can't go in, sir." The soldier said, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

Vallen raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Do you think I don't know what they're doing in there?" He asked, attempting to lighten the tension. However, the soldier didn't share his amusement, sweat beaded on his forehead, and the stress etched across his face only deepened.

"Step aside!" Vallen shouted, his tone shifting from playful to serious, his hand resting on his sword.

In response, the soldier's sword trembled as he drew it, knowing all too well that he stood no chance against Vallen.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Vallen took a step back, withdrawing his hand from his weapon. Instead, he focused on the seal hanging from his chest armor, a mark of his authority as a commander. With a swift motion, he broke the seal.

Breaking the seal was a declaration of rebellion, it meant that the commander had been attacked and the troops had turned against their leadership. This would trigger an immediate response from every military leader in the region, including the Emperor himself.

The reaction was fast. The Emperor immediately dispatched the Imperial Knights, while the nearby Generals mobilized their cavalry, racing to the scene. Everyone understood the stakes, Vallen's loss would signify a catastrophic defeat.

Moments later, Vallen's second-in-command arrived, flanked by several officers, some in half-armor, others fully ready for battle.

"Drop your sword!" Mettei shouted.

The soldier was now in a state of utter panic, his grip slackened, and the sword dropped to the ground. Just then, the barn door swung open.

"What are you—"

The soldier's who appeared behind the door naked, his word cut short as Vallen, quicker than the eye could follow, unsheathed his sword and struck. The blade sliced through the air, cleanly severing the soldier's throat. His head fell to the ground, rolling away as his body remained standing for a moment before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.

Stepping inside the barn, Vallen was met with the scene that would forever haunt his memories. So grotesque that Mettei and the soldiers behind him started to puke as soon as they saw the terrifying scene and the smell struck their noses.

What Vallen saw were girls his age, bound and helpless on the ground, their bodies marred by countless bruises and cuts. One girl met his gaze, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the unspeakable agony she had endured.

Before he could fully comprehend the horror before him, another soldier stepped forward. But Vallen drew his sword and severed the soldier's throat before he could utter a word. The man fell, gasping, the life draining from his eyes.

As Vallen stood there, he could almost taste the bitterness in the air, mingled with the unmistakable scent of despair. It was a smell that clung to him, a haunting reminder of the cruelty inflicted upon innocent lives.

"Get them out!" Vallen shouted, his voice a roar that cut through the thick tension hanging in the air.

Once all the soldiers had been dragged out of the barn and forced to kneel on the ground, a horrifying realization washed over Vallen like a cold wave, his brother was among them.

"Vallen, I didn't—" his brother started to speak. But it was as if Vallen didn't even recognize the man before him, it felt as though he was staring at a stranger. The younger brother he once knew, the one who shared laughter and dreams, had become someone unrecognizable.

With a swift and fluid motion, Vallen stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The years of shared childhood memories seemed to evaporate in an instant, replaced by the grim reality of betrayal. He felt as though he were cut off from any sense of kinship.

Vallen's hand gripped the hilt of his sword raised the blade, the edge shimmering with an almost cruel promise of justice. "You betrayed everything we stand for," Vallen said, his voice steady despite the tempest of emotions roiling inside him. "You've brought shame to our name."

His brother's eyes widened with fear and disbelief "I didn't mean for this to happen. We are fami–"

Vallen only saw a stranger as the blade cut through his younger brother's neck.

In an instant, the world around Vallen blurred, he could hardly breathe, the reality of what he had done crashing over him like a wave.

This was a betrayal not just of blood, but of everything Vallen had fought to protect the very ideals of honor and justice that had driven him into battle. As he looked down at his brother's lifeless body, a cold void settled in his chest.

The heads speared on lances burned the name Vallen Casuss into the minds of the soldiers of the Republic who marched into the city days later.