Shadow Slave

A few more days passed just like that. The atmosphere in the encampment of the Steel Horde was turning more and more tense. It was as if dark clouds were gathering above it. The supply situation was growing more dire as the old provisions were consumed, while the new ones never arrived.

There were rumors that the War Maiden's wraith continued to attack the smaller supply caravans, but Effie had no way of knowing if Jet was truly continuing her sabotage campaign or if the soldiers were simply frightened and telling tall tales. Azarax was steadily preparing to launch another assault on the Stone Castle — this one, he meant to make the final one.

He was unhappy with the supply shortage as well, and, feeling the plummeting mood of the soldiers, knew that the best way to turn the situation around and keep his fearsome reputation as spotless as possible was to end the siege sooner rather than later.

The Mason had to be taking his last breaths by now... if Azarax truly pushed an assault, the Stone Castle could very well fall quickly. Consumed by pain and drowning in her own blood, chained in the mud in front of the King of King’s tent, Effie could feel the Steel Horde stirring like a hungry beast.

Now that the soldiers knew that they could taste victory soon, their compromised morale soared once more. Even if there was not a lot left to plunder in the burned city, simply leaving this cursed place was a blessed reward.

However... that last fateful assault was not destined to happen. Not in the way Azarax imagined, at least.

Because by the time Azarax was ready to lead his warriors into battle once more, the sorcerers finally realized that the cure they had developed to heal their own plague was not working.

That was when Effie saw the camp of the Steel Horde really descend into panic. Perhaps at any other time, the warriors of the conquering horde would have endured the harrowing fear of the plague. But now, after months of a bitter siege, having suffered incalculable casualties, with the elite core of the entire army having been completely wiped out only weeks earlier, hungry, and with the rumors of an eerie wraith haunting the empire...

Even those soldiers who were not infected by the plague — the majority of them — could not help but feel suffocated by fear and anxiety.

Effie laughed as she watched them squirm. Well, she tried to, at least, before bending over in a fit of wet coughing.

‘Serves you right, bastards... die here, under the walls of the city you wanted to destroy. Let your bones nourish the land you turned into a desert...’

Naturally, her hatred might have been misplaced. After all, these soldiers were mundane people. She doubted that when Azarax the Mighty ordered them to be conscripted into the Steel Horde, they could have said no... in fact, many of them, possibly even most of them, hailed from the lands the King of Kings had conquered in the past.

Having been conquered, they had no choice but to become cogs in the insatiable machine of the militant empire. Choice was not a luxury afforded to those who had been subjugated.

But this was the ancient past. Morality was different and far more primal here... so, Effie did not care about the difficult lives of these people. They were the conquering horde that had come to plunder and burn a peaceful city, so as far as she was concerned, they could all go to hell.

She only hoped that they would die sooner than she did.

That, however... could very well prove impossible.

Azarax and the remaining generals were not going to allow the Steel Horde to descend into a panic, after all. If the soldiers were terrified of the plague, they just needed to be reminded that their king was far more frightening.

It did not take Azarax a long time to restore discipline. After a round of vicious punishments and public executions, as well as a timely delivered, fearsome speech, order was restored — a semblance of it, at least. Indeed, the wrathful below of a Supreme was more frightening than a mystical plague.

And why wouldn't it be? If Azarax wanted to, he could wipe out every soldier of his army far faster than any plague could.

After he reminded his soldiers who they served, though, their fear had no choice but to turn into anger, and that anger had to be directed at someone.

So, while Azarax was busy conversing with his sorcerers to understand why the plague he had created was suddenly killing his own soldiers, the rank and file of the Steel Horde found a perfect target to pour their fear and anger on...

Naturally, it was Effie.

The witch who had brought the plague to their camp.

At that moment, no one had proof that it had indeed been her doing. However, an angry mob did not need proof to make someone its target... ironically enough, the warriors of the Steel Horde had stumbled onto truth in their blind search for a scapegoat.

Effie moved slowly as she saw a large crowd surrounding the circle of mud that had become her home in these past few... however long it had been. The soldiers were glaring at her with murderous hatred, murmuring something in perilous voices, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. They were staying outside the range her chain allowed her to move... for now. But she could see that, today, they were serious about rending her to shreds.

When the soldiers tried to attack her before, they had never been that many of them. Usually, there was a handful... a dozen at most. That had already been the limit of what she could handle in her weakened state.

Now, though, there were hundreds of them. And their expressions were far darker and full of far greater malice than before.

Effie inhaled deeply.

‘Oops... it seems I'm in trouble.'