Gunmage-Chapter 44: Soldiers of Heieg

Lugh's puppet was slowly approaching its target. The old capital city, Drakensmar. Once the heart of Ophris, it had stood for centuries as a bastion of power, its towering walls and mighty ramparts a testament to the kingdom's resilience.

Yet now, it lay in ruin, a conquered city serving as a nest for the invading forces. The decision to move the capital inland had proven wise, but for those still trapped in Drakensmar, wisdom was of little comfort.

The city had earned its name millennia ago, during the days when Ophris was still under the colonial rule of an elven kingdom.

This was the reason why the Ophris tongue was elvish, a lingering vestige of those days of subjugation.

Not that it mattered in the present.

Through the eyes of his puppet, Lugh saw the colossal wooden gates of Drakensmar. Once proud and unyielding, they had succumbed to the relentless assault of Heieg's artillery.

Splintered and hanging limply from their hinges, they stood as a monument to fallen glory. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of gunpowder and decay.

Although it was called a puppet, every visual and auditory sensation was his own. He'd rather term it an extension of himself.

A voice barked from up ahead.

"Who goes there? Get off the horse and drop to your knees!"

The Heieg sentries were tense, rifles leveled.

Lugh exhaled slowly, then dismounted. His boots crunched against the dirt and rubble as he raised his hands in a show of compliance. In their native tongue, he spoke, his voice steady.

"Don't shoot, brothers. I come bearing gifts and good tidings."

He was originally multilingual, the language was thought to him by his deceased mother. However, with the memories he had gotten from Riley Osniel, he was as fluent in Heiro as the chief of Heieg himself.

A flicker of hesitation crossed their faces. The uniform of Ophris' dreaded forces draped over him like a curse, yet his words were unmistakably Heiro.

One of the soldiers narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you?"

Lugh's lips curled slightly.

"I go by many names, but my true identity is that of a spy from the motherland."

Recognition sparked in their eyes. Their rifles lowered, but caution remained. Protocol demanded verification. One of them stepped forward.

"Your name. Your true name."

Lugh nodded in understanding, then spoke the words he knew would grant him passage.

"I am a son of Osniel."

That was all it took. Their wariness dissipated, though they still adhered to formality, escorting him into the city under armed watch.

Lugh moved through the ruined streets, taking in the desolation. Soldiers patrolled in clusters, their presence oppressive. Civilians shuffled between the wreckage, heads down, shoulders hunched.

Those who dared emerge from hiding carried only what they could scavenge—scraps of food, broken belongings, shattered dignity. Fear hung heavy in the air.

The distant wails of the wounded merged with the crackle of fires still smoldering from past destruction. Landmarks of historical and cultural significance had been intentionally defaced or reduced to rubble.

Heieg had not simply conquered Drakensmar, they had desecrated it.

As Lugh moved with his armed escort, a sudden commotion caught his attention. A ragged old man, frail but determined, had been gathering food when he accidentally stumbled into a soldier.

The response was immediate.

A hand lashed out, striking the elder across the face.

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"You blind, you worthless cur?!"

The soldier struck again, and again. Each slap cracked against aged flesh, wrenching the old man's head to the side.

Blood trickled down his lip as he fell to the ground. His sack spilled open, revealing his meager hoard, partially rotten apples and a single, hardened loaf of bread.

Panting, he reached for the fallen food. A boot came down, crushing his outstretched fingers. A sickening snap rang out, followed by the first true cry of pain.

"Stop! Please stop!"

The plea rang through the street, high and desperate. The voice was youthful, feminine, elvish.

A girl, no older than fourteen, burst from the shadows, throwing herself between the old man and his assailant. Her arms spread wide, trembling, but defiant.

The soldiers' gazes darkened with cruel amusement. One reached forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair, wrenching her backward. She yelped, her pain met with laughter.

The old man surged forward.

"Gloria! Leave her alone, you evil brutes!"

His reward was a boot to the head. His face was instantly filled with red.

Lugh clenched his fists so hard his nails drew blood from his palm. His breath was slow and controlled, but each moment that passed was another test of restraint.

He had a mission. He had to be rational.

He had barely convinced himself when another voice shattered the scene.

"Hey! What's going on here?"

A new figure strode onto the street. It was an officer from Heieg. Lugh could tell from the style of their sand colored uniforms.

The soldiers straightened.

"Corporal Heins!"

The officer's gaze swept the scene, taking in the battered old man and the trembling girl. He shook his head.

"You said he bumped into you?"

"Y-Yes, sir"

The offending soldier stammered.

"Well, that's not very polite of him, now is it?"

Heins mused. His hand moved with practiced ease, drawing a sidearm. He aimed, then pulled the trigger, a single shot to the head, killing the old man instantly.

Lugh felt time stop, his heart stilled.

A scream cut through the silence.

"Father! Father!"

Gloria lurched forward, but the grip in her hair held firm. She kicked and struggled, hot tears clouding her vision.

Heins exhaled as he holstered his weapon.

"Don't make such a fuss next time"

He turned to his men.

"Take her to the barracks."

"Yes, sir!"

The soldiers snapped to attention, their grins wolfish as they dragged the sobbing girl away.

Far from the ruined city, in the heart of the Ophris army, Lugh sat among his comrades in Prince Lovainne's makeshift war office.

The room was dim, lit by oil lamps flickering against maps and battle plans.

He was still, unnervingly so. The shadows around him grew deeper and the temperature dropped to a frigid, biting cold

Xhi studied him with interest while Lyra shifted uncomfortably, sensing the change.

"Uh, Lugh... are you alright?"

He did not answer.

His cover no longer mattered. His mission no longer mattered. He had seen enough.

Lugh had had enough.