Rhaine the Lionheart

Then, there was a shift in the battle. The clomping of hooves rang through Mount Pyre, reverberating across the battlefield. The sound cut through the clash of metal and the cries of men. Both armies looked up to see a towering horseman, riding atop a massive chestnut stallion. His giant spear swept through the War Dancers, cutting them down effortlessly.

The man was adorned with black leather armor, an eagle emblazoned across his chest, and a flowing purple cape that billowed behind him. His skin was exposed to the rain as he rode with an almost regal air.

Vyn's voice came low, "I hoped we could deal with this at the Bridge, and not here."

Fallen's response was swift, "A lieutenant of the Hopekiller."

"Unfortunately," Vyn muttered.

Akash's eyes narrowed. "His name is Rhaine 'The Lionhearted'. I remember him. He watched the Hopekiller slaughter the Special Infantry member."

"It would be better if he died from a ballista bolt at the Spire. Seems our enemies are smarter than we thought." Vyn said.

"Or they knew we were coming." Fallen's words were heavy with suspicion.

Akash gripped his resin-infused blade tighter, his knuckles white. "Then we'll deal with it. It's too late to turn back now."

"No. I'll handle this," Fallen said, but Akash ignored him.

He whistled softly. Elys, with a fluid motion, bounded over, and Akash surged forward. His boots sunk slightly into the muddy ground as he charged. He heard Fallen's voice behind him, a low murmur, "Foolish boy."

"Guess there's no choice. I can't be the one who let the Angel of the Red Sands die," Vyn said, with a helpless shrug.

Rhaine's horse stomped the earth as he charged. The massive spear in his hand cut through War Dancers like they were wheat. "Look at the snakes! They attack in the dead of night. We are led by the eternal Hopekiller. None shall break us, or our pride! Stand tall, die with what little honor you have left!" His voice boomed over the battlefield, and another War Dancer was skewered through as Rhaine hefted his spear.

"If any dare to run, I'll strike you down myself. You made your choice!" he roared.

For the first time, the War Dancers faltered in their assault. Blood mixed with the rain as they began to retreat, and the defenders took advantage of the moment.

"Archers!" Vyn shouted, his command ringing across the battlefield as arrows began to fall.

Rhaine's laughter boomed through the chaos. "Look at them, fleeing from the spear of the Hopekiller. What would this army do if it tried to face him? You have no ideals, no true conviction. You stand as weaklings before the real power. You will buckle under the weight of his presence alone. Come at me now, and die like men!"

Akash's eyes burned with a steady focus. His breath came slow, measured. This was it—his moment. The fight shifted once again, and Akash moved like a rock against the rising tide of enemies. His blade flashed as he cut through each foe that came at him. Jassin's teachings danced in his mind, each blow calculated, deliberate.

Then Rhaine's voice cut through the tumult. "Ah, one of you snakes stands up to the challenge. I acknowledge your courage."

Akash's lips curled in a small smile. Courage? This felt natural to him. Jassin had taught him well. He didn't need courage—he only needed the conviction to see it through.

Silence hung over the battlefield, a brief pause before the inevitable.

Rhaine sat tall atop his horse, looking down on Akash. "They look at you in reverence. Do you hold any conviction, or is this just a battle for some insignificant keep?" His eyes narrowed, the challenge in his voice unmistakable.

Akash bit back a laugh. It was a mockery, but one that stung. He pushed the thought away, his focus sharpening.

"And if I am?" Akash asked, his voice even, betraying none of the anger bubbling under the surface.

Rhaine leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the fire of his cause. "If you die, your men will flee. Their retreat will be hastened when they watch you fall. Men will not die needlessly then."

Akash's blood simmered as the spear struck. He parried the blow with precision, but Rhaine's strike hit with unrelenting force. The massive spear came down like a battering ram, and Akash's knees buckled slightly under the pressure. He pivoted, the spear narrowly missing him, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.

The horse turned again, rushing at him with a savage speed. Akash sidestepped, narrowly avoiding being trampled. His armor felt heavier with each blow that rained down, but he endured. The force of each strike rattled him, but his blade remained firm, meeting each blow with defiance.

He could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the steady pounding of the battle in his ears. His body reacted instinctively. Each parry, each block, was fluid—graceful even—though his muscles screamed in protest.

The horse reared, and Akash saw his opportunity. Rhaine came at him again, the spear raised high. He sidestepped the strike, and with a swift motion, planted his foot into the side of the horse. The animal stumbled, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. Akash moved in.

Before Rhaine could react, Akash's resin-infused blade came down with precision. The strike was clean, but Rhaine parried it at the last moment, the tip of the spear clashing against Akash's sword. The force of the blow jarred Akash's shoulder, but he held firm, refusing to give ground.

A deep pop echoed in his shoulder, but he ignored it. His muscles burned, but he wouldn't stop. Not now. Not ever.

Rhaine grinned, his smile dark. "A worthy opponent. You blocked my strikes, even on horseback."

Akash's voice was steady, but the words were cold. "You won't win. You can barely carry that spear."

"I know I won't win," Rhaine said, his voice quiet but resolute. "But I'll die with honor, as a man. I won't flee from this."

Akash's gaze hardened. He could see it in Rhaine's eyes—the man wasn't fighting for victory. He wasn't fighting for glory. Rhaine was fighting for a death that would be remembered. For his family. For his pride.

Akash took a step forward, his blade raised high. "Then you can die as a man. But I won't let this go on any longer." His grip tightened on his sword, his resolve firm.

"Your last chance, Rhaine," Akash said, his voice like steel. "You can still walk away. Join Reem. Fight with honor. There's more to life than this."

Rhaine shook his head, blood dripping from his lip. "I'm not afraid of death. I stand for my word. For my family."

Akash sighed. The fight was lost, but Rhaine wouldn't back down. Akash's heart sank as he realized that. He wasn't going to be the one to end this man's life, not because he couldn't—but because he couldn't stop the man from choosing his own fate.

Rhaine turned, as if accepting his death, and Akash followed. In a moment of clarity, he pulled off his helmet, his burgundy hair falling free, and met Rhaine's gaze.

"Ah, I see now." Rhaine's voice was soft, but the recognition was there.

Akash took a step closer. "Yes, it's clear now."

With the weight of his training, with the culmination of everything Jassin had taught him, Akash raised his blade. "I am Akash Dorher, Angel of the Red Sands," he said with quiet authority.

The sword style of Cerastes took root in Akash's mind. The overhead vertical strike, honed through countless hours of practice. It was one fluid motion.