The Crimson Covenant: The Moonlit Blood Chapter 9

 

Chapter 9  The Last Lord

Religion has often been used by rulers to support the expansion of their empires. However, the main reasons for conquest were usually political, economic, and military, not religious. Religion helped leaders unite their people and justify their actions.Baalanian Colonization, their trojan horse tactics and taking land by force, causing violence, and controlling or replacing local cultures and governments. That will have long-lasting effects on many societies in Elyria  Baalanian empires expanded rapidly across the Middle Eastern Azura through the centuries through military conquest. This made Baal Zur one of the most influential religions in the region. Now they want to expand across the sea, in the land of men and magic, Elyria.

The alarm bells of House Várhegyi rang through the night. Once they had called servants to supper, welcomed merchants through the gates, and celebrated festivals beneath banners bearing the silver wolf beneath the black eclipse. Tonight... They announced the death of a kingdom. The great castle overlooking the valley had become a fortress surrounded by fire. Beyond its towering stone walls, the peaceful village burned. Roofs collapsed into rivers of sparks. Smoke swallowed the stars. The cries of frightened villagers echoed from every direction. Some still tried to flee toward the castle. Others were cut down before reaching its gates. The black banners of Baalania fluttered through the flames like dark wings. Thousands of bronzed warriors poured through the streets. Every one of them wore black desert robes beneath blackened armor. Many had wrapped black cloth across their mouths and noses, leaving only cold amber eyes visible. None looked like refugees anymore. Now they looked exactly what they truly were. Soldiers. Inside the castle courtyard... Knights hurried into formation. Servants carried buckets of water toward burning stables. Women ushered children into underground shelters. The sound of steel echoed beneath the castle walls. Lord Ádám Árpád Várhegyi. He looked every bit the warlord the neighboring kingdoms respected. Nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his silver-blond hair had been tied back beneath an iron circlet bearing the crest of his house. His polished black plate armor gleamed beneath torchlight. Silver wolves decorated his pauldrons. A long crimson cloak flowed behind him despite the hot wind.At his side rested his ancestral greatsword Farkasfog. Wolf Fang. Its broad silver blade shimmered with faint enchantments forged centuries before. Around him stood barely three hundred household knights. Veterans. Men who had served House Várhegyi their entire lives. Some had trained  Ádám Árpád himself. Others had watched his sons take their first steps. Every face carried the same expression. They already knew. They would not survive this night.

Árpád drew his sword. Steel sang as it left the scabbard. He looked across the courtyard.

"I will not order any man to die for me."

Silence.

"If any wish to flee..."

"...leave now."

No one moved.

One elderly knight smiled beneath his beard.

"My lord..."

"I helped build these walls."

"I'm not abandoning them."

Another struck his fist against his breastplate.

"House Várhegyi fed my family for forty years."

"I stand."

One after another...

Every knight saluted.

Not one stepped away.

Árpád smiled proudly.

"Then..."

"...let history remember us kindly."

Elsewhere inside the castle... Eight-year-old Bálint stood beside a stained-glass window overlooking the courtyard. His hands trembled. Below... He watched his father preparing for war. He had never seen him wear armor before. His father always seemed larger than life. Impossible to defeat. Impossible to fear. Tonight... Something felt different. His mother knelt beside him. Lady Ilona gently brushed his blond hair away from his eyes. She wore an elegant midnight-blue gown embroidered with silver lilies. Even now, ash drifted through the broken windows and settled across her dress.

She smiled despite the fear hidden in her eyes.

"Your father loves you."

Bálint nodded quietly.

"I know."

She kissed his forehead.

"And no matter what happens..."

"...never forget that."

Suddenly

BOOM!

The castle gates shook violently. Dust fell from the ceiling. Another impact.

BOOM!

Then another.

BOOM!

Outside...

The Baalanians had brought enormous iron ramheads mounted on reinforced wagons. Each thunderous strike splintered centuries-old oak. Archers atop the walls fired volley after volley. Flaming arrows rained into the attackers. Dozens of black-robed warriors fell. Yet hundreds more stepped over their bodies. The army seemed endless.

A knight sprinted toward Lord Árpád.

"My lord!"

"The southern wall has been breached!"

Another arrived moments later.

"The eastern tower is burning!"

"And..."

His voice faltered.

"...they're already inside."

Árpád frowned.

"Inside?"

Then he understood. The servants. The castle doors behind him suddenly burst open. Not from outside. From within.Several servants threw aside their aprons. Hidden beneath ordinary clothing... Black desert armor. Curved swords. The household staff who had entered months earlier as refugees now revealed themselves. One slashed a nearby guard across the throat. Another opened the inner gates. Chains rattled. Iron locks released.The portcullis began rising.

"Traitors!"

A knight charged.

Steel met steel. The courtyard erupted into battle. The infiltrators fought with ruthless coordination. They had memorized every hallway. Every staircase. Every hidden entrance. This attack had been planned for months. The outer gates exploded inward. With a deafening crash... Thousands of Baalanian warriors flooded into the castle.

Their war cries echoed through the valley.

"FOR BAAL!"

Black banners surged forward like an ocean.

Lord Árpád raised Wolf Fang.

"SHIELDS!"

The household knights locked together. Steel walls formed. The first wave struck. The collision shook the courtyard. Spears shattered. Axes crashed against shields. Curved desert blades sparked against enchanted armor. For several glorious moments... Three hundred knights held back an army.

Árpád became a whirlwind.

Wolf Fang carved brilliant silver arcs through the battlefield.Each swing sent armored warriors flying. A shield split in half. A spear shattered. One Baalanian captain rushed him with twin blades. Árpád caught both weapons upon his greatsword. Then kicked the captain backward so hard he crashed through a stone fountain. Another charged from behind. Without looking... Árpád spun. Wolf Fang swept horizontally. The man's weapon broke in two. He collapsed unconscious before he even struck the ground.

Everywhere he fought...

Hope followed.

The knights rallied around him.

"Protect the Lord!"

"For House Várhegyi!"

The defenders pushed the invaders back across the courtyard.

For one impossible moment...

It seemed they might actually survive. Then the arrows came. Not from outside. From castle windows. More disguised servants revealed themselves. Crossbows hidden for months fired into the backs of the defenders. Knights fell one after another. Formation collapsed.The Baalanians surged forward once more. Bálint watched everything. His breathing became shallow. His hands shook uncontrollably. He wanted to run. Wanted to help. But his legs refused to move. Below... He saw men he had known his entire life dying one after another. The stable master. The old sword instructor. The gardener who always gave him apples. Gone. Lord  Ádám Árpád Várhegyi looked toward the castle balcony. His eyes met his son's. For just a heartbeat... The battlefield disappeared. He smiled.  a father reassuring his frightened child. Everything will be alright. Then he turned back toward the enemy. Raised Wolf Fang once more. And charged into the darkness alone. The black tide closed around him. Steel flashed beneath burning skies. The Last Lord of House Várhegyi refused to retreat. Even as the castle fell around him... He continued to fight. And from the tower above...Young Bálint Várhegyi watched his hero disappear into the sea of black robes and fire. That was the moment his childhood ended.

The Crimson Covenant Volume 1 Prologue

 

Volume I  The Crimson Covenant: The Moonlit Blood

Prologue

Ashes in the Forest

The village of Kisfenyő had always been peaceful. Nestled beneath the emerald forests of Central Elyria, its wooden cottages stood beside clear streams, while fields of wheat stretched toward the distant hills. Children laughed as they chased one another through the market square, merchants packed away their stalls for the evening, and the village bell announced the coming sunset. It was just another ordinary day. No one noticed the figures watching from the treeline. Dozens of riders emerged from the forest like shadows. They wore flowing black veils stained with dust, layered black desert robes, and curved swords hung from wide leather belts. Bronze skin gleamed beneath the setting sun, while black banners bearing the burning symbol of Baalzur fluttered above them. The first arrow struck the bell tower. A second pierced the village guard before he could shout a warning. Then came the fire. Flaming arrows rained across rooftops. Within moments, straw roofs erupted into blazing infernos. Smoke swallowed the sky.

"Panic!" someone screamed.

"The Baalanians!"

The marketplace dissolved into chaos. Parents grabbed their children. Farmers abandoned wagons. Villagers fled toward the forest as armed raiders stormed through the gates. The Baalanian warriors fought with terrifying discipline. Their curved blades flashed through the smoke as they overwhelmed the small village militia. Shields splintered beneath powerful blows. Guards fell one after another, hopelessly outmatched by soldiers raised for war in the unforgiving deserts of Baalania.

The village elder stepped into the square, raising trembling hands.

"We surrender!" he cried. "Take our grain! Take our livestock! Please... spare the people!"

The raiders ignored him. One struck him down with the flat of his blade before turning toward the church at the center of the village. Their commander dismounted from a black horse. Unlike his soldiers, his armor was blackened steel etched with crimson symbols.

He slowly surveyed the burning village.

"Search every house."

His voice was calm.

"Every cellar."

"Every crypt."

"Every shrine."

A younger warrior frowned.

"Commander... this village is too small."

"It cannot possibly hide it."

The commander turned.

"The relic was seen in this region."

"It is here."

"We do not leave until we find it."

The raiders spread through the village. Doors were kicked open. Cellars ransacked. Families dragged from hiding. Even the old cemetery behind the church was dug apart.

The villagers watched in horror.

"They're not here to rob us..." whispered an old woman.

"They're searching for something."

A terrified boy hiding beneath a wagon saw two soldiers carrying a small stone chest from the church.

The commander inspected it. He opened the lid. Inside... Only old prayer books. He threw it aside.

"Worthless."

The flames grew higher.

One of the raiders approached, breathing heavily.

"We've searched every building."

"Nothing."

Another arrived moments later.

"The crypt beneath the church is empty."

The commander narrowed his eyes.

"No..."

"It should be here."

He reached beneath his cloak and removed an ancient parchment covered in faded symbols. Upon it was drawn the image of a black coffin surrounded by silver runes. Beneath it were only three words.

The Blood Coffin.

"Find it," he ordered.

"No matter how many villages must burn."

Before anyone could move... The sound of galloping horses echoed through the forest. The commander looked toward the road. A strange carriage slowly emerged through the smoke. It was unlike any wagon the villagers had ever seen. Its body was carved from polished black wood. Silver runes shimmered across its surface. Iron lanterns burned with pale blue flames. It was pulled not by ordinary horses... ...but by four enormous shadowy steeds whose glowing eyes pierced the darkness. The Baalanian soldiers clad in all black instinctively reached for their weapons. The carriage came to a halt at the edge of the burning square. For a moment... Nothing happened. Then its door opened. Two blond youths stepped onto the road. The older wore a long black coat trimmed with silver, twin coiled whips hanging at his waist. His expression was cold, unreadable. Beside him stood a younger blond boy carrying an enormous battle axe far too large for someone his age. Unlike his brother, he looked around with genuine sadness at the burning homes.

"So many people..." he whispered.

Behind them... The ground trembled. Heavy footsteps echoed across the village. Out of the smoke emerged a towering figure of brass and steel, over three meters tall. Ancient runes glowed beneath battered armor as blue light shone from within its helmet. Across one massive shoulder... It carried an elegant black coffin engraved with silver dragons and ancient symbols. The villagers stared in stunned silence.

One old woman dropped to her knees.

"No..."

"It can't be..."

"The Coffin Guild..."

Even the Baalanian commander took an uneasy step backward. His eyes never left the coffin. For the first time that evening... He looked afraid. The iron clasps on the coffin slowly clicked open.

crimson covenant Shadow Road

 

 JOURNEY OF THE COFFIN GUILD

  Shadow Road

Night arrived early beneath the eastern pines. The King's Road disappeared beneath towering evergreens older than kingdoms themselves. Thick roots twisted across ancient stone paving laid centuries ago by forgotten emperors. Cold mist drifted between the trunks, swallowing moonlight until the forest became a maze of shadows. The perfect place for an ambush. At least... That was what Hagen believed.  Hagen had led highwaymen for nearly fifteen years. He stood well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and thickly built from years of swinging axes rather than plows. His weathered face was hidden beneath a tangled black beard streaked with gray, while an old scar ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth. A battered iron helmet rested atop shoulder-length brown hair. His armor had once belonged to three different soldiers. One steel pauldron. One leather shoulder guard. Chainmail patched together with rings from half a dozen kingdoms. Across his back rested an enormous executioner's axe whose blade was nicked from countless battles. He feared little. He had robbed nobles. Killed mercenaries. Escaped royal patrols. Survived monsters. Tonight would be easy.

The road below remained empty. Forty men waited silently among the trees. Crossbows loaded. Spears hidden beneath pine branches. Ropes stretched across the road. Several logs stood ready to roll downhill. One lookout climbed down from a rocky outcrop.

"They're coming."

Hagen smiled.

"What do you see?"

The lookout frowned.

"...One carriage."

"Only one?"

"Yes."

"No escort?"

"...No."

Hagen laughed.

"Rich fools."

The lookout hesitated.

"There is..."

He swallowed.

"...something strange."

Hagen rolled his eyes.

"Out with it."

"The horses."

"What about them?"

"They..."

The man looked uncomfortable.

"...don't breathe."

Silence. The surrounding bandits exchanged uneasy glances. One muttered quietly.

"Ghost horses?"

Another snorted.

"You're drinking again."

The lookout shook his head.

"I swear."

The carriage emerged from the mist. Every conversation stopped. It rolled without sound. Not the squeaking of wheels. Not the clatter of hooves. Nothing. Its polished black body reflected almost no moonlight, appearing more like a moving shadow than a vehicle. Silver runes shimmered faintly across its sides. Blue lanterns burned with cold flames. Hagen frowned. He had never seen craftsmanship like it. Then... He noticed the horses. The lookout had not lied. They were impossible. Towering black steeds made from living shadow. Silver eyes glowed softly. Their flowing manes dissolved into drifting mist. Each hoof struck stone... 

Without making a sound.One bandit whispered,

"Those aren't horses..."

Another spoke the word no one wanted to hear.

"Necromancy."

Hagen forced himself to laugh.

"It's a trick."

"No carriage travels without passengers."

"Get ready."

The ropes tightened. Crossbows rose. Forty men surrounded the road.The carriage stopped. Exactly where Hagen wanted. Perfect. The door opened. A young noble stepped out. Hagen almost laughed. The boy looked barely eighteen. Tall. Lean. Almost delicate. Silver-blond hair framed a calm face far too handsome for a battlefield. His long black coat reached nearly to his boots, embroidered with elegant silver thread. Twin silver whips rested at his waist. Nothing more.

"No armor?"

One bandit chuckled.

"He'll surrender."

Behind him climbed another child. No... Not a child. Perhaps sixteen. Shorter than the first. Messy golden-blond hair. Bright blue eyes. Friendly face. He looked almost embarrassed. Until Hagen noticed... The axe. The weapon resting across the boy's shoulder was nearly taller than its owner. Its blade gleamed silver beneath the moon. Ancient blue runes glowed faintly across the metal.

One outlaw whispered,

"Impossible..."

Then... The earth shook. Heavy. Deliberate. Metallic footsteps echoed through the forest.

THOOM.

THOOM.

THOOM.

Trees trembled. Birds exploded into the sky. Something enormous emerged from the darkness. At first... Hagen thought it was a walking fortress. Then he realized... It was a man. Or something shaped like one. Over three meters tall. Forged from bronze, black steel, and ancient machinery. Its armor was covered with countless glowing runes. Amber eyes burned inside a knight-like helmet. Steam escaped from hidden vents. Visible gears slowly turned beneath overlapping plates. Across its back... It carried... A coffin. No ordinary coffin. An elegant standing coffin carved from black wood darker than midnight. Silver dragons wrapped around its sides. Ancient runes covered every surface. The coffin looked older than history itself.

One bandit quietly backed away.

"...I don't like this."

Hagen growled.

"It's carrying luggage."

"That's all."

No one believed him.

The older blond noble stepped forward. He looked at every hidden archer. Every spear. Every ambush. As though he had known they were there all along.

Then he spoke.

Quietly.

"Leave."

The word echoed strangely. The forest itself seemed to become quieter.

Hagen raised his axe.

"Kill them."

Everything happened too quickly. One moment... The blond noble stood alone.

The next... Silver filled the air. Nobody saw him move.

Jarek... Standing beside Hagen... Suddenly stared at empty hands. His sword was gone. He looked down. It lay neatly planted upright beside him. Another man's helmet split cleanly in two. Without touching his head. Spears shattered. Crossbows unraveled. Belts snapped. Armor straps burst apart. One by one... Weapons simply...

Disappeared.

"What"

A whip flashed.

Hagen blinked.

His axe vanished. He instinctively reached behind himself. Nothing. The boy now held it. Casually.

"...Impossible."

Someone screamed.

"He's behind us!"

"No!"

"He's over there!"

"No"

Every direction. Nowhere. Every glimpse revealed only black cloth and silver light. Like trying to fight a thunderstorm.

Then... The younger brother sighed.

"I really..."

"...don't like fighting."

Several bandits laughed nervously.

"Good."

"Neither do we."

The boy lifted his axe. Blue light erupted from ancient runes. The ground began vibrating. Trees shook violently. Pebbles bounced across the road.

One bandit stared.

"...Why is the earth moving?"

The axe swung. Not toward them. Toward the road.

The mountain exploded.

BOOOOOOOM.

The blast threw men through the air.

Trees bent. Stone erupted skyward. The road split open. A crater replaced solid ground. Several bandits landed twenty meters away.

One looked back.

The cheerful blond boy apologized.

"I'm sorry."

"...Sorry?"

The outlaw stared in horror.

"He apologized."

Half the bandits immediately fled.

Hagen roared.

"Stand your ground!"

Archers released arrows.

Or tried to.

Something landed among them.

The giant.

It had climbed the cliff.

No.

It had run straight up it.

The machine towered over them. Massive bronze hands reached outward. The archers screamed. Instead of crushing them... The giant carefully removed every bow. Bent each one. Placed them into a neat pile.

"...Please."

Its voice sounded deep.

Gentle.

"...Violence is unnecessary."

One bandit fainted. Another began praying.

Hagen stared.

"What..."

"...are these people?"

Then... Everything became cold. Not winter cold. Not mountain cold. Dead cold. Every torch extinguished simultaneously. The moon disappeared. Darkness spread unnaturally across the road. Even shadows seemed afraid.A metallic sound echoed softly.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The coffin.

Its silver clasps opened.

Slowly.

Patiently.

As though something inside had waited centuries. The lid moved. Only slightly. That was enough. Mist poured out. Not white. Black. Thick as ink. Rolling across the forest floor. Then came... The bats. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. They emerged silently. No screeching. No fluttering. Only endless wings. They covered the sky. Blocked the moon. Covered the trees. Covered the road. Covered everything. Every pair of eyes... Glowed crimson.

One outlaw dropped his sword.

"They're watching..."

The bats circled. Not attacking. Waiting.

Someone whispered,

"...He's deciding."

A man stepped from the darkness.

Tall.

Elegant.

Hauntingly Handsome.

Terrifying.

He looked barely twenty-five. Porcelain skin. Dark hair. Ancient black robes embroidered with silver. Crimson eyes that reflected no emotion at all. He carried no weapon. He needed none. The swarm moved with him. As though night itself served him. Hagen's legs refused to move. He had fought bears. Knights. Mercenaries. Nothing had ever looked at him... Like that. The pale man smiled. Kindly. Almost gently.

"I have no quarrel with hungry men."

His voice was calm.

Cultured.

Patient.

"But those who choose cruelty..."

The bats descended lower.

"...rarely survive meeting me."

Hagen's courage shattered. He fell to his knees. Around him... Forty hardened bandits did the same. Weapons clattered across the stone road. Nobody ordered them. Nobody threatened them. They simply... Knew.

As the Crimson Covenant departed beneath the moonlight, silence lingered in the forest. No one spoke until the carriage had vanished completely.

Finally, one young outlaw whispered,

"...Who were they?"

An older bandit answered with trembling lips.

"I heard stories when I was a boy."

"My grandmother said..."

"If you ever see a giant carrying a black coffin..."

"...turn around."

Another slowly finished the old saying.

"...Because disaster has already arrived."

The youngest among them stared at the empty road, unable to forget the calm gray eyes of the silver-haired noble, the gentle smile of the blond giant, the impossible guardian of brass, or the ancient vampire who walked with the night itself.

Years later, none of them remembered how much gold they had stolen in their lives.

They remembered only one thing.

The night they tried to rob four travelers...

...and discovered they had crossed paths with the legendary Crimson Covenant.