Taken the heart

The unarmed slaughtered the fleeing Water Tribe soldiers without mercy. For years, they had been hunted, scorned, and silenced. But now—now they were the tide.

Their rage was cold and calculated. Blades struck down generals. Arrows found the hearts of fleeing warriors. There was no quarter, no pause, no forgiveness.

By nightfall, the battlefield was painted red.

The Mad King stood on the hilltop, overlooking the massacre. His face was expressionless, his eyes like molten stone as the final screams of the Water Tribe died away in the wind.

"Burn the bodies," he ordered. "Let the smoke remind them of their failure."

The unarmed soilders were exhausted but happy. They moved quickly at his command.

Then, without rest, he turned to his generals. "Rest for two hours, We march for the Central Province after."

A thunderous cry erupted from the unarmed troops.

"To the heart of the tyrants!"

Two hours later

They moved like a wave of wrath across the plains. Word of the Water Tribe's defeat spread ahead of them, carried by terrified messengers and trembling refugees. The Central Province, once thought untouchable, was now gripped by panic.

Without their innate powers, the Water Tribe was helpless. Their weapons were still intact, but their magic was gone, as if ripped from their bones. Some tried to rally the provincial guard, but their morale was shattered. The once-proud warriors, stripped of the source of their supremacy, were no better than frightened men in robes.

The streets of the Central Province fell into chaos.

Some tried to flee, stuffing their riches into carts and heading for the hills. Others tried to blend in among the unarmed, discarding their tribal marks and disguising themselves as peasants. In the markets and alleys, desperate citizens cried for mercy, many of whom had once spat at the unarmed and refused them bread.

And still, the Mad King marched.

The gates of the Central Province did not fall in silence.

Word of the Water Tribe army's collapse had shaken the capital, but not all had fled. In the heart of the city, where the ancient palace stood walled in stone and pride, King Ura, summoned every loyal commander still breathing.

"We will not hand over our home to that mad dog," King Ura growled, armored in shimmering steel forged with the tribe's remaining reserves of magic. "The gods would not abandon us, we stand. For our ancestors. For our people."

A few hundred elite warriors remained, stripped of power but not of will. They armed themselves with steel instead of summoned ice. They prepared barricades at every gate, lit signal fires, and rang the old bells that once tolled only in times of war.

Although no one could explain why they have lost their innate ability this was not the time to seek answers, survival was key.

"Father," princess Karen and her family came to see the king of as heleft to guard the city gate.

King Ura hugged his daughter and whispered instructions into her ear.

"Father..." Princess Karen was shocked.

"Do as I say," without waiting looking back he climbed on the horse and rode towards the gate.

"Mother, let go," prince D said he wanted to join the fight but king Ura refused telling him he was the future of their center province.

Diana looked at the solom face of her family and did not say anything. She never had any innate ability, she just felt hurt to see her family suffer.

when the Mad King's army arrived at the gates of the Central Province, it was guarded.

They found a wall of iron and determination.

The Mad King rode to the front, surveying the defenders with a cold gaze. Wind tugged at his black cloak, and behind him, thousands stood waiting, hungry for victory.

A messenger from the Water Tribe called out from the gates, "Turn back, mad king! You've no more victories here. The Central Province will not fall!"

The Mad King's horse stepped forward.

"Then die for it," he said flatly.

With a wave of his hand, the assault began. He knew that the best chance to win against the water tribe army was when they were scared and filled with uncertainty after losing their power.

Steel clashed as arrows rained down. The Water Tribe fought with everything they had—flaming oil, sharpened spears, and fury born from desperation. For the first hour, they held.

Until the Mad King himself entered the fray.

He moved like a storm through the chaos. No man could stand against him. His strikes were fast, brutal, and final. Armor shattered beneath his blade. Shields split in two. He fought like a god of war—no hesitation, no mercy.

Word spread quickly: "The Mad King is on the field!"

King Ura, saw his men falling one after the other. Smoke and dust clouded the city, but even through the haze, he saw the figure clad in black tearing through their defenses.

"I'll end this myself," Ura declared, mounting his horse and riding forward with his royal guard. He had always known that killing the mad king was the key to victory.

The two kings met in the heart of the square.

Ura dismounted, sword in hand. "You think you've won, but all you've done is doom us all," he shouted. "You fight without honor, without gods!"

The Mad King dismounted as well. His sword was already red with blood. "I fight without chains, God is fair, we each have our own day," he replied.

Then they clashed.

The duel shook the courtyard. Ura was strong—trained in the old ways of sword and water-augmented combat—but without his power, he was slower, reliant on technique. The Mad King was fury incarnate. His blade was relentless, his footwork unpredictable, his strikes aimed to break spirit as well as bone.

Within minutes, King Ura staggered, wounded in the shoulder and leg. Blood poured from his side.

"You… will not take my home…" he gasped, barely holding his sword.

The Mad King raised his blade high.

"You already lost it."

And with one final blow, he drove his sword through King Ura's chest.

The sound of his body hitting the ground was heavier than thunder.

A silence fell over the battlefield.

Water Tribe soldiers who had fought tooth and nail froze at the sight of their king slain before their eyes. Some dropped their weapons. Others turned and ran. What remained of their will shattered in an instant.

"King Ura is dead!" someone screamed. The water tribe army suddenly lost the will to continue fighting.

"They're scattering!" a general of the unarmed cried. "Push forward!"

The unarmed surged ahead with vengeance, crashing through the broken lines. Gates were torn open. Defenses abandoned. The Central Province, at last, lay bare.

And as the sun dipped behind the mountains, its light caught the banner of the Mad King rising above the palace walls.

He had taken the heart of the Water Tribe with magic, the fear of the mad king came upon all.