Chapter 319: Prisoners

The joy the King of Harrowhold and his son Marrick felt in that moment could hardly be described.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they were standing outside their prison. They were free. Or at least... they were no longer prisoners.

Only a short while ago, they had been locked inside the same miserable building where they had spent days suffering under Vrethka’s control. Days that had felt like years. Days that had stripped away every layer of dignity they had once possessed. Days that had taught them exactly how little their titles meant when chains were involved.

Harrowhold had gone to war with Vrethka.

That was nothing unusual in this region. Territory was everything. Every settlement wanted more land. Every lord wanted stronger borders. Every ruler wanted to expand. It was the way of the world. The strong took what they wanted, and the weak either submitted or died. Harrowhold had believed it was strong enough to challenge Vrethka. They had been wrong.

The war had ended terribly. Their army had been defeated. Their territory had been lost. And the King of Harrowhold and his son had been captured.

What followed was something neither of them would ever forget. They had been subjected to cruel treatment that went far beyond what either of them had ever experienced. They had been beaten. Starved. Forced to work. Forced to kneel. Forced to watch as their people were humiliated alongside them. And through it all, they had been unable to fight back. Unable to protect themselves. Unable to protect each other.

Marrick still remembered it. The pain. The humiliation. The helplessness. Being unable to fight back. Being unable to protect himself. Being unable to protect his father. And worst of all... knowing that there was nothing he could do about it.

They had been reduced to prisoners. Kings and heirs meant nothing once they were chained. Titles meant nothing. Bloodlines meant nothing. Strength was all that mattered. And they had possessed none.

But then, everything had changed.

A young man had appeared. A stranger. A young man they had never seen before. He had stormed into Vrethka with an army of undead. He had fought the warriors of Vrethka as though their numbers meant nothing. He had torn apart their defenses. He had killed Chief Dross. He had killed Dross’s ally. And somehow... he had won.

The King of Harrowhold still couldn’t fully understand what he had witnessed. He had watched a single man walk into Vrethka and turn the entire settlement upside down. Undead had filled the streets. Warriors had fallen. And eventually, the people who had once seemed untouchable were kneeling before him. The sight had been unbelievable.

But for the King of Harrowhold and Marrick... it had been beautiful.

They had been sitting inside their prison when the noise began. At first, they thought it was another punishment. Perhaps another group of warriors had come for them. Then came the screams. The sound of steel. The roar of something monstrous. The pounding of footsteps. The entire settlement seemed to erupt.

The guards protecting their prison immediately became alert. "What is happening?" one of them shouted. Another looked toward the entrance. Then someone yelled from outside.

"THE NECROMANCER!"

The guards exchanged looks. Then they ran. They left the prisoners behind. For once, the guards weren’t concerned about them. They were concerned about themselves.

The King of Harrowhold and Marrick had looked at each other. Neither had spoken. Then they heard more screaming. More fighting. More chaos.

Eventually, curiosity overcame fear. They stepped outside. And what they saw... they would never forget.

A young man stood in the middle of the battlefield. Around him were undead knights. Undead beasts. Undead creatures they couldn’t even identify.

The warriors of Vrethka were being crushed. And the young man himself fought among them. He wasn’t hiding behind his undead. He wasn’t commanding from a safe distance. He was right there. In the middle of the slaughter.

Eventually, the King of Harrowhold saw Dross. Then he saw what happened to him. And for the first time in days, something inside the king changed. Hope.

Dross was dead. The man who had imprisoned him. The man who had humiliated him. The man who had made him feel powerless. Dead.

And now the guards were gone. The prison doors were open. Nobody was coming to stop them.

They stood beside the prison building, staring at the battlefield. Then Marrick looked at his father. His father looked back. Neither spoke for several seconds.

Then a smile appeared on the king’s face. "We are free."

Marrick smiled too. "We are free."

His father immediately began speaking. "We need to return to Harrowhold." His excitement grew as he spoke. "We can rebuild."

Marrick listened.

"We need to gather the remaining soldiers. Retake the territory we lost. Reestablish the castle. Find the nobles who survived."

His father continued speaking as though the future was already decided. "We can recover from this."

Marrick remained silent.

His father looked at him. "Marrick?"

The young man finally looked away from the battlefield. "You’re right."

The king smiled. "We’ll return home."

But Marrick’s expression didn’t change. Because something had changed inside him. His father didn’t understand it. He couldn’t. He hadn’t experienced the same things Marrick had. He hadn’t carried the same weight.

Marrick had been sent into battle. He had been given responsibility before he was ready. His father had expected him to lead. Expected him to succeed. And when the battle had gone wrong... Marrick had been the one who suffered.

He remembered the day the war began. His father had stood before the assembled warriors of Harrowhold, his voice carrying across the courtyard as he spoke of glory and conquest.

He had painted a picture of victory, of territory gained, of enemies crushed beneath their boots. And the warriors had cheered. They had believed him. They had believed in the cause.

Marrick had believed too. At first.

He had ridden out with the army, his father’s confidence ringing in his ears. He had felt proud. Honored. Chosen. His father had trusted him with command. His father had believed in him.

But the confidence had faded quickly. The war had dragged on longer than expected. Vrethka’s warriors had been fiercer than anticipated. Their defenses had been stronger. And the battles had become bloodier with each passing day.