Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Breaking the Chains

In the barracks and the mines, the workers wore wide smiles, overflowing with hope. Their conversations were lively, filled with jokes and laughter, while others continued practicing their strikes with the pickaxe. Some guards were also present, sharing the moment with the miners, offering combat advice and joining in the celebrations.

“It’s incredible to see them like this. In all my years here, I’ve never heard so much laughter, never seen so many faces lit up with hope. You’ve truly given us back our lives, Agatha. I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” said the old man with a smile, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“It’s still too early for thanks. Save them for when everyone is free,” replied Agatha, returning the smile.

“You’re right. When this is all over, we’ll thank you properly—with a grand feast! But before that, I wanted to give you this.”

The old man handed her a seventy-centimeter-long, double-edged sword, with a semicircular pommel and a rectangular guard.

“We took the liberty of naming it for you; after all, we miners were the ones who forged this weapon, from every gram of iron we managed to hide away.”

“And what name did you choose?” asked Agatha as she received the sword, a beaming smile stretching across her face.

“It’s called ‘Eminere,’ for it represents what we hope from the one who will lead us to a better tomorrow. It’s our hope.”

“Thank you,” Agatha bowed her head in acknowledgment, accepting the sword with great humility. “I hope to be worthy of this gift.”

“I know you will be,” the old man replied with firm conviction.

After sharing an embrace, the two stepped out of the barracks so Agatha could organize the troops.

“Guards and miners!... No—workers! Hear my words!”

All turned at the voice of their liberator, the one who would bring a new era of prosperity to the corrupt kingdom of Schism.

“Today is the day we break the chains of the oppressive yoke that has plagued this kingdom for so many long years!”

“Yes! Long live Agatha the Liberator! Long live the workers!” they shouted in unison.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“All that stands between us and that utopian kingdom is the head of the king! Cruentus Limus’s head will fall into our hands, and we will finally be free!”

The workers raised their picks and spears as the cheers, applause, and ovations grew even louder, reverberating through the entire place.

“Let’s march to the castle and claim what is rightfully ours!”

With those final words, Agatha led the workers' army forward, marching toward the castle, subduing and neutralizing the little resistance they encountered along the way. Finally, they reached the castle gates and moved without hesitation toward the throne room, where Cruentus awaited them, with Trudo posted beside the throne.

“Stop! You debtors of the kingdom, I will not let you take another step!” Trudo threatened.

“We will not leave or retreat until you meet our demands, Cruentus, or your head will roll across your silky red carpet!” Agatha proclaimed threateningly.

“Meet your demands?” Cruentus asked mockingly. “I think you fail to understand your position.”

The workers were stunned by the cold calm in the king’s voice, radiating indifference despite the large armed crowd before him.

“You are in debt to me, chained to me like slaves to a master. By agreeing to work, you accepted the conditions given, and in doing so, you acknowledged me as your superior, someone with the power to let you live or die. In other words, I am your god.”

In that moment, Agatha thought, “It’s impossible to reason with someone so deranged,” and she slowly dragged her left foot forward to bring herself within sword range. But the king noticed the movement and stopped her with a single question:

“Do you truly believe that with such a pitiful attack, you could harm me? Do you think the defenses were so lax because I turned my guards against me? Don’t make me laugh.”

Many workers began to tremble, fearing they had walked into some kind of trap.The king’s presence seemed to grow more imposing with each poisonous word he spoke, his voice calm as if he had total control.

“The answer is quite simple,” the king said as he slowly rose from his throne and declared with a booming voice.

“It’s because I need no protection from such insignificant insects as you!”

Upon hearing that declaration of supremacy, a sea of darkness began to pour out from the king’s shadow, spreading across the floor like an abyssal miasma. Before Agatha, or anyone, could understand what was happening, the darkness rose like tentacles, wrapping around some of the workers in absolute blackness from which only screams of raw, agonizing pain could be heard. Agatha’s heart pounded so fast it hurt. Her breathing accelerated and her mind struggled to make sense of the events unfolding. At the same time, she debated what her next move should be, while those around her were being picked off one by one by the shadows conjured by King Cruentus.

She watched her comrades fall to the darkness, the rest clinging to the last threads of sanity, tears streaming down their faces in the face of such a nightmarish scene. Gripping her sword’s hilt tightly, trying to push away the weight of the horrors before her, horrors that awakened old demons, dancing shadows from that fateful day that marked her downfall, she bit her lip and forced her frozen limbs to move. She took a step forward. With each step her courage grew, until she broke into a run across the throne room, charging straight toward the imposing figure of the king, her sword ready to strike. But the blade never reached his flesh. The king caught it between his two fingers.

“We never stood a chance,” thought Agatha. “I was a fool.”

“Now you understand your place in this world,” Cruentus said with satisfaction, a smile spreading across his face. “You were always mine.”

Applying more pressure, the king snapped the blade in two. Dark energy surged in his hand, and with a powerful strike, he sent Agatha flying across the room. She stood up, staggering, her lungs screaming for air, gasping desperately. Looking over the “battlefield,” she saw only shadowy shapes and a few workers crawling through the sea of darkness, begging for mercy. She was lost in thought until a trembling hand fell on her shoulder. Turning to see who it was, she saw the terrified, bloodied face of the old miner.

“H…help… me…” he managed to say before collapsing, slowly sinking into the sea of darkness, his lifeless eyes fixed on Agatha.

Faced with such a scene, Agatha's tears began to fall uncontrollably. Shaking, she turned and ran as fast as her battered body would allow, not looking back. Not even thinking of where she was going, she just kept moving forward, despite the pain, despite the screams and the pleas, she ran into the desert once more.