Page 3 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

“Nay,” he said calmly.

The single word nearly escaped notice.

The commander’s brow knitted, not sure he heard him right. “What?”

“Nay,” he repeated, his calm remaining strong.

The warrior swung one long leg over his saddle and dropped silently to the ground.

The commander hurried over to him. “You do not understand. We have lost.”

The warrior reached over his shoulder and wrapped one hand around the worn leather hilt of his sword.

“You are too late,” the commander pleaded once more.

The warrior drew his blade. Its polished steel caught the afternoon sun.

He shook his head. “Nay. They are.”

He walked toward the battlefield.

The commander stared at him. “Who are you?”

He paused, though didn’t look back. “Legion.”

He walked onto the battlefield, his stride powerful and confident.

Around him, swords clashed in a deafening chorus of steel. Warriors shouted battle cries as shields splintered beneath crushing blows. The air carried the bitter scent of blood, sweat, and churned earth.

None of it altered his stride.

An enemy warrior rushed toward him, sword raised high.

He never broke pace as one swift stroke sent the man sprawling lifeless at his feet.

He continued into battle.

Another warrior charged him. Then another, but neither slowed him.

It was then that those nearest him began to notice what he was doing.

A Highland warrior watched Legion dispatch another man without breaking stride. His gaze followed him as Legion continued toward the enemy line.

Another Highland warrior moved in behind Legion. Then another. Men who moments before had been struggling merely to survive began to follow the stranger who walked through the battle as though he already knew how it would end.

Legion neither looked back nor called for them to follow. He didn't need to. He had seen the weakness in the enemy line from the hill. Now he intended to break it.

Legion raised his sword and continued forward.

The Highland warriors closed ranks behind him, their confidence growing with every step.

Across the field, enemy soldiers began to notice the change.

The Highlanders were no longer retreating. They were advancing.

The enemy commander shouted for his men to hold the line.

Legion met the first line of warriors with the same quiet confidence that had carried him onto the battlefield. His sword moved with deadly precision, every stroke purposeful and every blow finding its mark.