Sorcerer… Cyborg???

Chapter 191: Regret

"Graffius, my son. Can you hear my voice?" Anteris murmured, as he leaned over the son he had seen for the first time in years, mere hours ago. Graffius' features mirrored Anteris' own, with a heavy brow that shadowed his green eyes, and the strong jaw that he shared with the royals of Ursten.

"Grand Admiral, he's unconscious, I gave him a sleeping tincture, he won't be awake for a at the very least a few hours. His body needs to rest, the wound he sustained was serious. A hair's breadth more and there would be no saving him, but from what I hear Boson turned his axe aside at the last moment, that may have been what saved him." Quercus said softly as he walked over to Anteris, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"But will he be alright? Will my son be whole?" Anteris' voice was shaky and uncertain, as a child, Graffius had loved to fight, and where other children played with toys, a spear was Graffius' constant companion. If his son hadn't changed over the years that he had not seen him, then he would be devastated if he awoke to find he could no longer wield his spear.

"Other than a nasty scar, your son will be fine, Grand Admiral." Quercus reassured Anteris, but then took a deep breath before he continued.

"But I can't be certain as to how long it will take for him to heal, he is strong enough that his body will heal at an accelerated rate, and I will do what I can to speed things along. But the fact of the matter is, we are on a battlefield, and if his rest is disturbed then it will only mean it will take more time to heal, and maybe even put his life at risk." Quercus' voice was filled with concern, and it was clear that it was not only for Graffius, as he looked around to his other patients occupying the beds throughout the room.

"Not to worry, Quercus! Tam and I will hold the enemy at bay, for my son. Just tend to him and await the news of our victory!" Anteris said gruffly, and he gave Quercus a reassuring slap on the back that sent the healer stumbling.

"Thank you, Grand Admiral." Quercus gasped for breath after Anteris' hearty back slap. Then, after taking one last glance at his sleeping son, Anteris replacing his helmet and marched out of the infirmary.

All the while, Kothar watched Anteris, a smile on his face, he was glad that his words had persuaded Anteris to return to reason, and to return to his son. 

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While Kothar recovered outside the great wall of Aznur, the Inner City was packed with the citizenry of Aznur. Many had fled toward the countryside, but just as many had taken the opportunity to flee within the mighty wall, before the gates had been closed after the Imperials' shameful retreat.

The streets were packed with people from all walks of life, many of whom had never left the Outer City in their lives, finally getting to see the beauty of the Inner City up close, but in grave circumstances.

The great Arena was packed with people, and for once, it was not for some spectacle of blood and gore, rather it was filled with panicked citizens, and at the center of the Arena, a small group of Officials stood, reassuring the people of Aznur.

"Do not fear! Though the enemy has forced our soldiers to retreat, they fought against but a fraction of our might! At this very moment, the Storm Generals are making haste to return to the city! They will crush those presumptuous fools who dared stand against the mighty Empire! We will be victorious!" A colorfully clothed man, thin as a stick, with an extremely large nose gave a rousing speech to the people who packed the stands of the Arena.

His speech was answered with resounding cheers. For while the Emperor's might had always been something unreal, the talk of rumors and myth, the Storm Generals were the pillars of the Empire.

They were the very backbone of what allowed the Empire to dominate the entire southern half of the continent, and on their own, they were enough to decimate entire armies.

Further in the Inner City, the palace halls were packed full, but rather than the common people of Aznur, it was the wealthy and the important.

Those that often came to the Imperial Court, at the first hint of an invasion, had fled to the halls of the palace, bribing the guards or brute forcing with their own personal soldiers.

While the Emperor had taken his men and marched out to face the invaders, they had taken their men and forced their way into the Palace.

The Imperial Court was bare of the colorful characters that frequented it, their numbers holed away in the many nooks and crannies of the palace.

The Emperor stood within, pacing back and forth, the remnants of those that had fought at the docks scattered around the throne room. Captain Jeremiah and his palace guard, and those of the Arena fighters that had remained loyal to the Empire, mostly those who had joined the Arena by choice, in search of honor and glory.

As he looked around the room, the Emperor was filled with a deep sense of shame, these Arena fighters were the men who would likely never see the wonder of the Imperial Court, living their lives in a hurricane of blood, steel and adrenaline. 

They would fight for the chance for an audience with him, desperate for a position in service of him. And when the Empire was threatened, it had not been those that sung his praises, and stroked his ego that stood to defend the Empire, but it had been these men, who fought for merely the chance at an audience with him.

How did it come to this? The Emperor asked himself.