Building A Carnal Empire In The Fantasy World-Chapter 22: Regret I

The sound of thirty men preparing for battle filled the night air like thunder before a storm. Metal rang against metal as swords were drawn from sheaths and tested for sharpness. Leather creaked as armor was tightened. Horses snorted and stamped their hooves in the stables.

Jace stood between the two guards, watching the controlled chaos unfold before him. His mouth felt dry as sand. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

What had he done?

Through the arched windows of the outpost, he could see knights moving like shadows. Some carried crossbows, others bore long spears with steel points that gleamed in the lamplight. All wore the red and gold of the Church, the sacred flame symbol blazing on their chests.

"Second thoughts?" asked the young guard beside him. The man’s voice wasn’t cruel, just tired. Like he’d seen this scene play out before.

"It’s too late for second thoughts," the other guard said. He was older, with gray streaks in his brown hair. "Once you ring the church bell, you can’t unring it."

Commander Aldric emerged from the building, fully armored now. His breastplate was polished steel that reflected the courtyard lights.

A massive sword hung at his hip, its hilt wrapped in black leather worn smooth by years of use. But it was the helmet he carried that made Jace’s blood freeze.

It was shaped like a skull, with eye holes that glowed faintly red from some inner light. The mouth was open in an eternal scream, and flames were carved along the sides. When Aldric put it on, he looked like death itself had come calling.

"Form up!" Aldric’s voice boomed across the courtyard, muffled but still terrifying through the helmet. "We ride for the Blackwood Estate!"

Twenty acquisitors fell into neat rows, strength ranging from the peak of Mortal Rank to the peak of Earth Rank. They wore lighter armor than the flame knights, but their weapons were just as deadly. Crossbows, short swords, and lengths of chain that could bind a man’s hands or strangle his throat.

Behind them came ten flame knights in full plate armor with strength ranging from early stage Essence Core Realm to the peak of Spirit Circle Realm.

Each one carried a two-handed sword and a shield painted with the sacred flame. Their helmets had visors shaped like angel faces, but somehow they looked more frightening than Aldric’s skull mask.

Stable boys led out horses—thirty strong warhorses that looked eager for battle. Their breath steamed in the cold air, and their eyes rolled white as they sensed the tension around them.

"Sir," called one of the flame knights as he mounted his horse. "What about the nobles? Some of them might be innocent guests."

Aldric swung himself into his saddle with surprising grace for such a large man. His horse, a massive black stallion, danced sideways under his weight.

"The sacred flame will sort the innocent from the guilty," he said. "Our job is to deliver them to judgment. If they resist, they’re guilty. If they run, they’re guilty. If they so much as look at us wrong, they’re guilty."

Several knights chuckled at this. The sound was cold as winter wind.

"What about Count Varnell himself?" another knight asked. "He’s got connections in the capital. Friends in high positions."

"Count Varnell chose his path when he chose to traffic in flesh and souls," Aldric replied. "His connections won’t help him when his head decorates a spike."

Jace felt sick. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. He’d been angry, jealous, hurt. But he hadn’t wanted people to die. Not really.

Had he?

The memory of Kael’s face rose in his mind again. The way everyone looked at the newcomer like he was something special. The way Madam Vex smiled at him, trusted him, included him in things that Jace had never been part of.

Maybe he had wanted them dead. Maybe that’s exactly what he’d wanted.

The thought made him hate himself even more.

"Move out!" Aldric commanded.

The column of armed men began to move. Horses’ hooves rang on the cobblestones like funeral bells. Armor clinked and leather creaked.

Some of the knights began to sing—a low, deep chant in the old tongue that spoke of cleansing fire and righteous vengeance.