Death Defying Book: The Devil Watches

Stone Keep Courtyard – Dawn

The sky hung heavy with clouds, a blanket of iron that matched the weight in Captain Cedric's chest.

Each step through the stone corridors of the keep echoed like a drumbeat of fate, his boots striking the worn flagstones in a rhythm of silent rage.

The mission was clear—a tower on the frontier, little more than a forgotten black stone finger pointing into a wilderness teeming with shadows.

He knew it, knew that The council had sent him to die, wrapped in the thin veil of duty.

He emerged into the courtyard, where the dawn's pale light painted everything in muted greys. Soldiers bustled around, sharpening weapons, adjusting armor, their faces grim with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

They were veterans, men who had fought alongside him for years, loyal to a fault.

"And now... I had to lead them into the maw of death." He thought to himself as he excel a breathe, his heart felt even heavier now.

A young soldier, barely more than a boy, stood by the armory, struggling to strap his breastplate on.

For a moment, the image of his hard-working but cowardly son flashed through his mind, he should also be around this boy's age, his eyes then narrowed; for he witness something out of the ordinary with this boy.

It wasn't weakness he saw but fear—honest, human fear. He sighed and walked over, the heavy folds of his cloak trailing behind him.

"Rowan," Cedric's voice was low but firm, carrying the weight of command.

The boy straightened, fumbling with the leather straps. "Captain! I—"

Cedric's gauntleted hand reached out, steadying the young man's trembling fingers. "Breathe, lad. Armor is no good if you're shaking in it."

Rowan took a deep breath, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "Is it true, sir? About the tower... that no one comes back?"

"And Where'd you hear that from?" Cedric's eyes softened for a moment. "Every soldier faces a battle they think will be their last. This might be ours. But we hold the line, no matter the odds."

Rowan nodded, the fear not gone but at least, it's lessened ever so slightly. "Yes, Captain." He said.

Cedric's gaze swept across the courtyard. The veterans were ready, their movements efficient, but there was a tension in the air, an unspoken awareness of the task ahead. He walked toward a group of men huddled by the stables, deep in conversation.

"Bran, Orin!" Cedric barked, his voice cutting through the din. The two soldiers snapped to attention, their weathered faces hardening into masks of discipline.

"Captain." Bran saluted, his scarred hand steady. Orin followed, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"We move out within the hour," Cedric said. "Check the rations, ensure the horses are ready. We'll need every advantage."

Bran nodded. "The men are prepared, sir. Supplies are loaded. Weapons..." He smirked, "well, they're as sharp as they'll get."

Orin added, "Rumors say the northern forests are stirring. Unholy creatures, sir."

Cedric's jaw tightened, he is silent for a moment before his face turned firm and resolute. "Then we'll burn them out if we have to."

He glanced toward the distant northern hills, where the tower loomed unseen. "This isn't just a mission. It's survival." He said, a little absentmindedly.

The men exchanged a glance, there was a tiny flicker of doubt for a second, but they swiftly replaced it with looks of determination.

Cedric's wondered on the horizon for a while and his thoughts slowly drifted to his family, already sent ahead to a small, inconsequential town near the tower.

His wife would keep order, he knew how capable she is and he believed her strength will be an anchor.

But his son... The boy's face flashed in his mind once again—intelligent, but timid, always with his head nowhere but in the books instead of training with swords.

"A scholar, not a warrior." Cedric thought, disappointedly.

He had never hidden his disappointment, he tried every possible way, from kind and gentle talks to harsh and angry beratings but nothing seemed to work.

The boy is just too stubborn.

As of right now, in his mind, a different thought surfaced.

Would the boy find his courage when it mattered most?

"Captain!" A voice broke through his reverie. One of his lieutenants approached, his face set in a grim line. "The men are assembled. We await your orders."

Cedric nodded, drawing his sword. The blade glimmered in the faint light, seeming like a symbol of some sort, a symbol of the burden he bore.

Seeing that the morale of the men is not at all that High, he raised his sword, the men fell silent.

"This is not the end!" His voice echoed. "This tower is not our tomb—it is our shield." He stated and it seemed to garner everyone's attention to him.

"We hold it because no one else can. We are the line between the kingdom and chaos. Remember your training. Remember your brothers. We march for honor and for survival!"

"For honour and survival!" A burly man of towering height, shouted first, raising his massive axe high!

"For Honour and survival!" Soon the others followed suit, a uniformed roar erupted from the soldiers, strong and defiant.

Cedric lowered his sword, his eyes meeting each man's gaze, he gave his towering lieutenant, Murdoch, a look of apprval and gratitude.

"I will lead them and I will fight." He said in his mind as If to reignite the blazing flames of his conviction.

And in his heart, he whispered a prayer to Arkyn and made a single request to his oldest child.

"Stay safe," he murmured. "Keep them safe Darius... until I return." He concluded and sheathed his sword, he then turned to face the distant north.

The march to destiny had begun.