A few days passed. The cheers of victory faded, replaced by the normal, boring work of cleaning up after a battle. Justin spent a whole morning trying to scrub a stubborn piece of green monster stains off his fancy Stark armor.
No matter what he did, it just wouldn't come off.
"You'd think for a B-Rank beast, it would have the decency to not be so sticky," he grumbled to his reflection in the polished steel.
Just then, a servant in the Duke's colors appeared at his tent flap. "Commander," the servant said, his voice flat and without emotion. "Duke Stark requests your presence in his private study. At once."
Justin sighed, giving up on the stain. "Of course he does." He put on a clean tunic and walked towards the Duke's main command tent.
The Duke's study was a different world. A thick carpet covered the floor, muffling all sound. Tall shelves full of books lined the walls, and a large, crackling fire threw warm shadows across the room. It all looked very cozy, but Justin felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
Duke Stark was standing by the fire, looking at a map on the wall. He turned as Justin entered, a serious look on his face.
"Justin, my boy. Come in, come in," the Duke said, his voice a low rumble. He pointed to a chair. "Sit. Have a drink."
Justin politely refused the drink. He was a soldier on duty, and he knew this wasn't a friendly chat. This was business.
The Duke nodded, as if he expected that answer. He walked to his large oak desk and sat down, folding his hands on top of it. "The battle was a great victory," he began. "A victory we owe almost entirely to you."
"I only did my duty, Your Grace," Justin replied simply.
"Yes, your duty," the Duke said, a strange light in his eyes. "And it is because of your incredible skill that I have another mission for you. A mission of the utmost importance."
Justin sat up straighter. This sounded serious.
"There is a place in the Whispering Mountains," the Duke continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The scouts report a Void fissure there.
It's dormant now, just a crack in the world, but it pulses with energy. I fear it could one day burst open, just like the one that caused the mess at Grey-Tooth Pass.
I need someone to go there, to assess the danger, and to see if it can be sealed."
He leaned forward, his eyes locking with Justin's. "This mission requires a delicate touch. It needs stealth, skill, and absolute discretion.
I cannot send a loud army. I need one man. The best man I have. I need you, Justin. And you must go alone, with only your personal guard for company."
To Justin, this was the highest honor. The Duke was trusting him, and only him, with the safety of the entire region. His heart swelled with loyalty.
All his fears from the other night melted away. He had been foolish to doubt the Duke.
"I will not fail you, Your Grace," Justin said, his voice filled with determination. "I accept the mission."
The Duke smiled, a real-looking smile this time. "I knew I could count on you."
The next day, Justin set out with his personal guard. There were ten of them, all men whose lives he had saved on one battlefield or another.
He trusted them completely. His captain was a man named Gregor, a big man with a bushy beard and a laugh that could shake a room. Justin considered him a good friend.
"Another secret mission, eh, Commander?" Gregor said with a grin as they rode. "You're becoming the Duke's personal ghost."
The men laughed. The mood was light. They told jokes and complained about the bad food as they traveled. But as they got closer to the Whispering Mountains, the jokes stopped.
The landscape changed. The green fields gave way to gray, rocky hills. The trees became twisted and bare. A cold wind began to blow, making a soft, hissing sound as it passed through the rocks.
It really did sound like whispering.
After two days of riding, they found it. In a desolate, rocky valley, there was a crack in the ground. It was about twenty feet long, and it glowed with a faint, sickly purple light.
The air around it felt strange, like the moment before a lightning strike. It hummed with a low, pulsating energy.
"Well, there it is," Justin said, getting off his horse. "Looks nasty up close." He walked towards the edge of the fissure, his commander's mind already analyzing it.
He needed to check the rock stability, the energy levels, everything. He was completely focused on his mission.
He never heard Gregor walk up behind him.
The first sign of trouble was a sudden, sharp, and freezing cold pain in his back.
SHLIIICK!
A dagger blade slid between his ribs.
Justin gasped, the air knocked out of his lungs. The pain was shocking, but the surprise was worse. He stumbled forward, catching himself before he fell into the glowing crack.
He slowly turned around, his mind refusing to believe what had just happened.
Gregor stood there, holding the bloody dagger. His face, which was usually full of good cheer, was now a cold, hard mask. The other nine guards had their swords drawn, forming a circle around Justin. There was no escape.
"Gregor... why?" Justin choked out, blood trickling from his lips.
"The Duke sends his regards," Gregor said, his voice as cold as ice. He didn't look like a friend anymore. He looked like an executioner. "He said to tell you something. He said... your fame has become a threat to the bloodline."
The words hit Justin harder than the dagger. It was true. His fear was real. The Duke's smile had been a lie. The mission was a lie. His friendship with these men… it was all a lie.
A fire of pure rage erupted in Justin's chest, stronger than any pain. He let out a furious roar.
GRRRAH!
He was a commander. He was a warrior. He would not die like a dog.
He lunged forward, grabbing Gregor's wrist and twisting it hard. CRACK!
The bone snapped, and Gregor screamed, dropping the dagger. Justin grabbed the weapon and spun, slashing the throat of the guard closest to him.
He was wounded, but he was still the best fighter there. He moved like a cornered wolf. CLANG! He parried a sword strike. THWACK!
He slammed the hilt of his dagger into another guard's face. He fought with a desperate, furious energy, killing two more of his former comrades.
But it wasn't enough. He was one man, badly wounded, against seven. A heavy shield slammed into his side with a loud BAM!, knocking the wind out of him.
A sword cut deep into his leg, and he fell to his knees. He tried to get up, but they were all on him, kicking and punching.
Beaten and bleeding, he was dragged to the very edge of the pulsating fissure. He could feel its cold energy on his skin. Gregor, cradling his broken wrist, walked over and kicked him hard in the chest.
"You were a great commander, Justin," Gregor said, spitting on the ground next to him. "But you weren't born a Stark. That's all that matters."
Justin lay there, his body broken. He could smell his own blood. And something else could smell it, too. From the purple depths of the fissure, small creatures began to crawl out.
They were low-level Void Beasts, like giant, slimy insects with too many legs and glowing red eyes. They were drawn to the scent of his blood.
They crawled over his legs, their little claws digging into his skin. Justin was too weak to fight them off. He looked up, and the last thing he saw was the faces of his men.
The men he had trained, fought with, and saved. They just stood there. They watched. They did nothing.
The beasts swarmed over him, their weight dragging him over the edge. He felt himself falling into the cold, purple light of the abyss.
As darkness took him, as his life faded away, his last conscious thought was not of anger or revenge. It was a single, burning, and agonizing question that filled his entire being.
Why?