Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

hired necromancers and warlocks to send plagues and diseases at his enemies and sent scouts to catch those who had failed to hide in the fortress. Unfortunately for them, they’d oftentimes meet a fate worse than death. Laughing manically, the soldiers raped and tortured, leaving their victims to die in agony. They showed no mercy.

Ash had released all possible horrors on Zadastra. He used everything he could come up with. His soldiers looked at him with both awe and horror, but also with respect. To them, Ash was the most daring and ruthless leader to have ever walked the roads of the thirteen kingdoms.

But with each new order, with each new brutality and sin done by his hand, Ash began to feel something that he did not yet understand. It was something that made him wake up in the middle of the night and stay up until dawn. It made his hands tremble and his heart race. Chest pains were common, as was nausea. Perhaps it was because of this that he didn’t let the scouts kill a young steed they had found, but instead gave it to the wolves to be raised as one of their own. Was he sick? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to forget about it and occupy his mind with something else.

Ash rode in front of his troops. Two thousand warriors, hardened by the most terrible battles stared back at him. Ferocious, skilled, merciless, and bloodthirsty. This was the Foul Legion.

“Ernesto,” he said to one of the men in the front row. “Only the most respected and skilled men are put at the front... I remember when you broke through the enemy line at the battle of Zelts. Unarmed at that! I hope that you’ll be just as courageous today.”

“I serve the legion!” the man replied, striking his chest with his hand.

“Greb’dek, after each battle, your spear looks more like a skewer than a weapon. How many enemies will you kill today?”

“All of them, general! All but one! I left him alive for you!”

The legion burst out laughing.

Followed by Racker who held the legion’s banner adorned with a head of one of their enemies, Ash rode onward. The banner bore the picture of a demon devouring a screaming child. They couldn’t have picked better imagery to depict the Seventh Legion.

Myristal appeared in the east, heralding the beginning of the young night. The wind rushed to bring the travelers the long-awaited coolness from the Seven Seas. It would all be calm for a moment, but then everything would change. Zadastra would soon be hotter than any pit of Hell.

“Men,” Ash barked. “What do you see ahead?!”

“Nothing!”

“That’s right! Nothing! Just a whole bunch of cowards! Twenty days... For twenty days, they hid behind their walls while we watered their crops with blood! If nothing else, at least the harvest will be bountiful this year!”

The men burst out laughing like a pack of hyenas. There was nothing human in their voices, only madness, and bloodlust.

“Today, we’ll either become immortal heroes or food for the vultures! Some of you, perhaps all of us, will never again grab the bosom of a wanton wench or see how good the local gentry is at dice! Some will return home with a couple of their limbs missing! But will any of that make us back down?!”

“No!”

“Are we afraid of these cowards?! These weaklings who hide behind their walls?! These nobodies that don’t even deserve to taste our steel?!”

“No!”

“That’s right! Tonight, men, we’ll dye the walls of Zadastra crimson. There’ll be no mercy! Kill everyone who stands in your way! Cut, burn, rip, tear, and rob! For tomorrow, you’ll be free and the law will forbid you from doing whatever you please! I have only one question left for you men... What are we going to do?!”

“Kill!” The soldiers roared.

“That’s right!” Ash nodded. “Blow the horns! Shout till your throats hurt! Today is our last feast so let’s make it a good one!!”

Horns and drums sounded in the distance. The legion’s hearts beat in time with their march. Putting on his helmet, Ash turned his horse and snapped the visor shut. Gripping the staff, he raised his hand high in the air and uttered a battle cry.

The light of torches flickered on Zadastra’s walls, ready to bring the flame to the wicks of the cannons. Steam was rising from the cauldrons filled with bubbling oil just waiting to be dropped on the heads of the assailants. Golden lights adorned the staffs and wands of the mages, casting a shimmer on the steel of muskets and arrowheads.

But the Foul Legion stood still, beating their shields with their blades to the sound of the war drums.

“General,” Racker exclaimed, adjusting his mask. “In case we die today and are reunited in Hell... This was one hell of a ride.”

“Glad you enjoyed it.”

“You’re in a good mood.” Racker grinned. “Good, that’s a sign of victory.”

Ash had no idea what his friend had meant by “one hell of a ride,” but it wasn’t like it mattered right now.

The young mage raised his hand. He stood in front of his men so that everyone could see him. It didn’t suit a general to sit in a tent, or a mage to fear a fight.

Clenching his hand into a fist, he yelled, “Charge!”

Spurring his horse, he rushed forward.

“Charge!” the soldiers shouted and followed their general.

Ash held his staff in front of him like a lance. The wood glew with an unbearably bright flame that soon engulfed him. His men shouted, their voices mixing with the sound of drums and horns, creating a grotesque composition that became the voice of death itself.

Zadastra’s defenders stood silent, staring at the fiery figure rushing at them. Ringing in their ears was the laughter of demons