Last battle

They were advancing. I closed my helmet visor and waited tensely. Next to me on their armored horses were my fellow knights of the Kingdom of Valencia. We were the glory and pride of her army. The royal knights were ready to defend their kingdom to the last drop of blood. Behind me, there was a restless murmur among the infantry and archers. "Stop talking," one of the knights shouted at them. "Oh, you like it? How long can you hide your true self under this armor? Three years is a long time. From squire to knight. But how much longer? You're the apprentice of a cursed mage. Do you want to forget who you are? Will you succeed?" a sarcastic voice suddenly appeared in my subconscious. I shook my head, trying to drown out the words in my head. For some time now, this voice had been appearing sometimes even at night, keeping me awake. I thought I was going crazy. And now, it was just in time. There was a noise and a metallic screeching coming from the distant hill. And soon, they appeared on the hill. Wild barbarians in skins, armed with whatever they could find, with an insatiable thirst for blood in their red-rimmed eyes and painted faces, devastating everything in their path like locusts, leaving no one alive. "Well, what do you intend to do? Wield your iron again? You are one of your master's best students. You came to him as a student, driven by a desire for revenge. And he saw so much darkness in you that he accepted you unconditionally and taught you everything he knew. Your revenge was truly terrifying. There is nothing pleasant about absorbing a soul from a living person. Do you agree? And those screams of terror and the sight of agony. It is a song for your black soul and a delight for your black eyes. You've taken your revenge, but every power has a price, and so does magic. And powerful magic has an even higher price. And now you're no longer human, although you're hiding it well. And your foolish belief that there's no such thing as black magic, and that it all depends on the purpose of its use. Do you really believe that? Well, keep on hoping." "Shut up. I'm a knight of the great Valencia," I whispered, arguing with my subconscious, as if trying not to forget about it. The horse beneath me was impatiently stamping its feet and breathing noisily. It remembered the smell of blood from the battles and did not like it. I remembered it too. After shouting enough, the savages charged, waving their weapons above their heads. The archers fired a volley. The sky darkened with a cloud of arrows. I slowly drew my sword from its scabbard with a metallic clang, gripping the hilt tightly. The sword fit comfortably in my gauntleted hand, and I was ready to spur my horse into a dangerous gallop, crashing through the horde like a knife through butter. "You can feel it, the intoxicating smell of blood, the heady scent of death. Now all you feel is hatred, rage, and malice. But mostly, you feel a sense of icy calmness and indifference. Compassion, joy, and love are no longer part of your experience. This is the price you have to pay. You were warned about the consequences of your choice. You are despised by everyone. You are feared and hated. Even in death, you will never find peace. You are doomed to become a lich, a fiend from hell, a follower of the Order of the Death Watch. And you fled, afraid of what you were becoming." I tried not to listen to the voice that kept repeating what I was trying to forget and focus on the upcoming battle. The signal to attack was given, and the avalanche of knights set off, gaining speed as they charged forward towards the enemy. We crashed into a crowd of blood-mad savages. I swung my sword with a wide arc. There were screams and splashes of blood. And that intoxicating scent. It was uncomfortable to look through the eye slits in the helmet. It narrowed my field of vision and made it difficult to see what was happening on the side. One blow, two blows, three blows. There were too many of them. We were surrounded by them. Someone grabbed my leg, trying to throw me off my horse. I kicked someone in the face, injuring them. As I killed one, another took his place, and the deadly cycle made me feel dizzy. A push in the shoulder, and I felt the steel of my armor deformed. However, I successfully dodged a second blow from the mace on my helmet. I turned my horse around. I retaliated with a sword strike. The giant fell back, covering his face with his hands as he bled profusely. My horse was also active. It reared up, stomped its hind hooves, and turned from one side to the other, preventing anyone from approaching me from behind. The noise on the hill behind me caught my attention. There was a battle going on there, too, an unequal and bloody one. We had been outflanked. But how? We had been betrayed. This caused the knights to be somewhat taken aback, and some of them were still able to be knocked from their saddles. As they stood up, wounded and exhausted, they continued to fight. Not for the great, but essentially small, kingdom of Valencia, which was already doomed. But for their own lives. The men-at-arms fought desperately, but in the end they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Strike, another. I had already lost count of the deaths I had caused with my sword. Suddenly, my shoulder was pierced with pain. I looked in surprise at the tip of a crossbow bolt that was sticking out of it, having pierced through my armor. "They were shot at close range," I realized, and to confirm my guess, I turned around and saw a barbarian holding a heavy crossbow. I clutched the sword convulsively with tired hands, as if my life depended on it. Yes, it did. I fell out of the saddle, weak. The helmet flew off his head. Hot blood was flowing under the armor. Stand up...I need to get up. I'm getting up. I backhand with my sword, not even aiming. My swing is easily deflected. I know they're all around me. The weather-beaten faces are grinning with glee. Someone hits my hands with the butt of an axe, and I drop my sword. I look around. The entire field is littered with corpses, both my own and those of others. One of the surrounded knights falls dead, pierced through by a sword. An axe, thrown with a confident hand, strikes an archer who was trying to escape, lodging itself in his back and causing him to fall to his death. They were walking across the field, finishing off the wounded. There were moans and death cries all around. I felt the steel of a sword at my throat. Someone kicked my legs, and I fell to my knees. I had no strength to stand. Well, this was how it would end. There was no longer a confident, well-armed army. I was left alone. "This is what your stupid stubbornness has led to. You know who you are. Make up your mind, remember. You are who you are. You are the one they fear and hate. But right now, this is what is needed. You are the best student of the cursed mage!" The barbarian shouted something at me in his garbled language, brandishing his sword. Then he addressed his men in a language I did not understand. Apparently, it was a great honor to kill the last warrior of the enemy army. "I wonder how he's going to do it. He's going to stab me with a sword or decapitate me," I thought calmly. Strangely enough, I didn't feel fear or despair. It wasn't because I was so brave. I simply couldn't feel it. The barbarian addressed me again, but he quickly realized that I didn't understand him. Suddenly, a hunched, gray-haired old man in animal skins emerged from the crowd and spoke to me in a language I could understand. "What is your name, warrior?" "So that's it. He can't kill me until he knows my name, so he can include it in his story about his heroic deed. He must be one of the best warriors or leaders," I realized. I stood up from my knees and took a deep breath, awakening the spark of magic that I had been suppressing all this time. It quickly grew into a raging flame, consuming my entire body and mind. My memory returned to me, revealing everything I had learned and tried to forget. "I am the necromancer of the great kingdom of Valencia," I said quietly, grabbing the old man's clothes and pulling him closer. His eyes filled with blood-curdling terror. "What, my eyes have already started to change. Look into your death, old man," I smiled to myself. When I used this magic, a deep darkness enveloped them, and even their eyeballs turned black. In horror, he opened his toothless mouth, but no words came out. A spell flashed through my mind. His eyes and open mouth glowed with a greenish light, and a faint haze extended from him to my eyes. He tried to scream and fight, but to no avail. His life and soul were drained from his body, becoming my food and fueling my magic. And soon I threw aside his corpse, which had withered in an instant. The barbarians surrounding me, watching in amazement, recoiled in fear. A greenish flame flared around me, and my lips began to whisper a summoning spell. A wooden staff with a skull-shaped top, its eyes burning, and adorned with magical talismans that accelerated and strengthened my magic, appeared out of the ground and rested in my gloved hand. "I must look strange. A knight with a magician's staff," he thought. As soon as the staff was in my hand, I struck the ground with it, casting another spell, and the field was immediately shrouded in a greenish mist. Slowly, those who had been dead only a moment ago began to rise. Barbarians, knights, and archers with green-flaming eyes and still-bleeding mortal wounds. They had no memories, but their bodies remembered how to fight. They knew no fear or pity, and they felt no pain. What more could I do to avenge myself? Now it was my army. The barbarians around me looked around in fear. The dead archer pulled an axe from his back and thrust it into the head of a barbarian who had his back to him. The barbarian fell dead. Someone tried to stab the dead knight again, but the wound didn't matter. The barbarian fell to the ground and didn't move. And when life finally left his body, he rose up, becoming part of my army. This is the danger of necromancy. The more people who fall, the larger your army becomes. Once again, the sound of metal clanging echoed through the air, breaking the eerie silence of the place. The barbarians were still trying to fight, but what could they do against an almost immortal army? One of the invaders tried to reach me, but a dead barbarian blocked his path and decapitated him. This was not good. Decapitated corpses can't be raised. This is the only weakness of my warriors and the only way to defeat them. The magic flowing through my veins was like sparkling wine, intoxicating with its power and enveloping my body with a chilling cold. My eyes glowed with the same greenish flame, and the souls I consumed turned into light gray haze, fueling my magic. Thus, she did not weaken while there were dying people and their souls, and I did not have to use my own reserve to control the dead. Nothing compares to the feeling of being clearly superior to these savages. Clearly superior to everyone. "Oh, yes, you're finally in your element. You can feel how good it feels. It's like taking people's lives and drinking their souls with a snap of your fingers. You're clearly in ecstasy. That's why you made that choice. That's why you tarnished your soul by learning this cursed art. Now, you'll be feared and hated once again. You'll be ostracized by everyone. Your arrival in the village will be worse than the plague. But your power is fear-inducing. Fear is a good tool for control." The remnants of the barbarians finally broke, driven by some primal terror. But my command. not to leave anyone alive condemned them to death. They could not even reach the safety of the forest. Soon, the field was silent. After confirming that everyone was truly dead, I raised my staff and, after reciting the cancellation spell, I struck the ground with it. The green flames began to leave the eyes of my warriors, and they fell dead where they stood. Once again, I was the only living person on this cursed field. I returned the staff to the ground, and the green flames around me extinguished. I fell to my knees, exhausted. "Well, that's it... it's over," I thought. I avenged those I would never sit with in a tavern again, those I would never hear funny stories from. For making me remember who I truly was. The best student of a cursed mage, a follower of the Order of the Guardians of Death, a necromancer. I collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. This was always the case when I wielded a great deal of dark magic for an extended period. I could not feel emotional pain, but I could feel physical pain. I stubbornly clenched my teeth so as not to cry out. But who could hear me. When the wave of pain began to subside a little, and the darkness in my eyes disappeared, I heard the creaking of carts approaching the field. Apparently, these were peasants from the nearest village. The sound of footsteps, quiet talk. They were walking, examining the bodies of the fallen. "Are there no survivors?" the man wondered. My shoulder was touched, and I was turned over. I was looking into the blue eyes of a very young, blonde girl. "There is! Alive!!!" She shouted to someone, and strong arms lifted me up and sat me down on the ground. They pulled out a crossbow bolt stuck in my shoulder, which I had completely forgotten about. Another wave of pain. They took off my armor to bind up my wound, and brought a mug of some kind of decoction to my mouth. I looked around. The peasants who came to the battlefield were collecting weapons and armor. Yes, the local blacksmith will now have plenty of work, albeit very lucrative. He would return our soldiers' armor to the king's guard, but he could use the enemy's armor as he saw fit, which would bring him and the entire village significant income. Suddenly, the girl embraced me, hanging on my neck. Although I was surprised, I did not resist. A sharp pain pierced my wounded shoulder, but I managed to control my emotions. If she knew who I truly was, she would have fled in terror. "Thank you, Sir Knight, you have saved us all...you have won," she said with tears of gratitude in her eyes. "No, I lost," I thought.