THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

[AFTER THE CRIMSON WAR]

The flames of rebellion burned brightly in the night sky as Lysora County trembled under the weight of revolution. Outside the grand gates of the castle, a woman cloaked in an inferno stood as if she had emerged from the very heart of vengeance. Her radiant presence illuminated the battlements, her crimson hair flowing like a blazing banner in the wind.

The flames that enveloped her didn't consume; they commanded. Her golden eyes locked onto the mercenaries blocking her path, their fear betrayed by their trembling grips on swords and shields.

One of them, a grizzled man with a scar slashing across his face, shouted over the crackling of the flames, "Who are you to challenge the might of the Lord of Lysora? Turn back or face your end!"

Before she could reply, Sir Frederick stepped forward. His armor, dented and blood-streaked, reflected the woman's fiery glow. He carried his sword with a calm confidence, and his voice, though weathered, was filled with respect.

"My Lady," he began, bowing slightly, "leave these dogs to us. If we waste time here, the Lord may slip away. You must not expend your energy here."

Elara's gaze softened as she regarded him. Though the heat radiating from her aura would make most flinch, Sir Frederick stood steady. "Sir Frederick," she said, her voice smooth yet edged with authority, "I trust you. But I also trust that you will survive this battle. Do not fail me."

Frederick bowed deeply, his silver hair glinting in the firelight. "Certainly, My Lady. By my sword and honor, none of these men will see another dawn."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

With a flick of her hand, Elara's flames intensified, and in an instant, she launched into the air like a comet. The ground beneath her cracked and scorched as she shot toward the castle, her trajectory a blazing arc destined for the throne room.

The mercenaries stared after her, mouths agape. One of them yelled in panic, "She got through! Retreat now! protect the Lord!"

But their retreat was short-lived. Sir Frederick blurred into motion, his sword gleaming as it cleaved through the night. Blood sprayed across the ground as he struck down the first mercenary, his expression resolute. "You will not interfere with justice," he growled, his voice like steel.

The rest of the mercenaries faltered, their ranks breaking apart as Frederick's men surged forward, swords raised high. The clash of steel echoed in the fiery chaos, the rebels fighting with unrelenting determination.

"Hold the line!" shouted one of the mercenaries, his voice desperate.

But Frederick was relentless, weaving through their defenses with the precision of a seasoned warrior. His blade struck true with each swing, and his men followed his example, pushing the mercenaries back toward the castle walls.

The air was thick with the sounds of war—shouts, the clang of swords, and the crackle of lingering flames. Yet amidst the chaos, Frederick's mind remained clear. Elara will reach the Lord. And when she does,A new era for Lysora County will come forth.

****

The castle walls offered little resistance to Elara's fiery descent. With a deafening explosion of stone and fire, she tore through the barrier like parchment, emerging in the grand throne room of Lysora. The air was heavy with the scent of charred wood and dust, yet Lord Augustas remained unfazed.

He lounged on the ornate throne as if the world outside wasn't crumbling under rebellion. A glass of wine rested casually in his hand, its crimson contents shimmering ominously under the flickering torchlight.

"Well, well," Augustas drawled, swirling the wine lazily. His gaze, sharp and condescending, bore down on Elara as she stepped into the room, her blazing aura lighting up the dark corners. "What an ungrateful mutt you've become. To think that a lowly woman like you believes she can claim my title. Amusing."

Elara's eyes burned brighter, her flames surging in intensity. "Enough talk, Augustas," she spat, her voice echoing with the wrath of a tempest. She shot forward like a bullet, her outstretched hand alight with searing flames aimed to end Augustas's tyranny in an instant.

But just as her fiery strike closed in, the air shimmered behind the throne. From the shadows, a woman stepped forward, her staff raised high. A dark magic circle formed in an instant, its intricate runes pulsating with malevolence. It erupted in a plume of dense, dark fumes that engulfed Elara mid-flight. The flames around her faltered as she was forced to stop, the oppressive fumes clawing at her strength.

Augustas's laughter rang out, cruel and triumphant. He took a leisurely sip of his wine before setting the glass down. "Did you think you were the only Monarch rank in Lysora?" he sneered. "Foolish girl."

Elara's fiery gaze locked onto the woman who emerged fully from the shadows, her face twisting in anger as recognition dawned. "You," Elara hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Witch."

The witch smirked, her grip on the staff tightening as her mana flared, the room trembling under the weight of her power. "Elara, dear," the witch purred mockingly, stepping closer. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment. To see you brought to your knees."

Elara's aura flared violently, burning away the fumes with a burst of heat so intense that the stone beneath her feet cracked. "Augustas," she said, her voice now calm but laced with deadly intent, "you've gone too far. To stoop so low as to consort with foreign enemies. By the Queen's law, I will deliver your execution."

The witch sneered, raising her staff as azure crystals formed in the air around her. They glinted dangerously before launching toward Elara in a deadly barrage. "Try and stop me," the witch taunted, her voice echoing with magical resonance.

But Elara didn't flinch. She raised a single finger, and a spark ignited—a spark that radiated a power unlike any other. The room's atmosphere shifted, the very principles of magic twisting unnaturally. The witch froze, her confidence replaced by terror as realization struck. "No," she whispered. "How is this possible? An original spell?!"

The spark on Elara's fingertip morphed, collapsing inward into a swirling singularity—a black hole born of fire and destruction. In the blink of an eye, she blurred forward, her weaponized singularity streaking toward the witch's crystalline shield. The two forces collided, and the black hole expanded briefly before detonating into a radiant beam of annihilation. The throne room was consumed in an explosion of light and heat, the force obliterating everything in its path.

When the dust settled, Elara stood amidst the ruins, her flames unwavering as the sun began to rise.

****

A/N: Time to dive back into the main story, haha! I know I've introduced some new terms like "original spells"—don't worry, I'll explain them soon.