Prologue

“AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWS!”

They were coming from every direction I could look at. Left, right, front. All were full of waves of arrows.

Maybe I should have just become a simple farmer, with a beautiful wife, happy children and a big house, but I wanted to be remembered. To have a bright future. To come back to my family with a proud smile on my face and show them I could do it. But that is all a dream now. I am going to have a long sleep. Perhaps I will meet Allah, if he truly exists.

I just wanted to be… remembered, he thought as the arrows pierced his armor, striking his insides. He fell down. He didn’t feel any pain, just falling into a warm bath of mud and blood, after a long day.

While the small group of Ottomans were dying by the Romanian soldiers’ arrows in the swamp, Baiazid I ordered the soldiers to put up a camp and build some defences around it.

“You! Over there!”, the sultan yelled at one of the higher ups soldiers.

The soldier who was in charge of the platoon gets up from the fire and presents himself to the sultan. He could feel the sultan’s rage emanating from his raging eyes. Bowing before him, answered.

“Yes, my lord. What is the matter?”, asking on a firm tone hoping he wouldn’t get beheaded.

“Get two teams of men and cross the Jiu waters. I want you to get to their camps and light them on fire. Teach these pests a lesson.”, saying while getting up on his horse and preparing to leave.

The soldier turns to his platoon and other men around them and shouts.

“Ayeee! You heard him! Get your asses up and ready the horses. Prepare your flaming arrows and get moving!”

***

“Commander, are you sure they’re gonna pass this way? It’s gotten so late.”

“Do you not trust your commander, Alex?”, the tall man asked. He was taller than any other man in the camp, that is why Mircea chose him for this mission.

“N-No, Sir!”, the boy said trying his best not to crack his voice.

“Sir, look!”, a young boy whispered out to the commander. “You were right to wait here!”, saying with on an excited tone.

“Follow me, and don’t make a sound.”

Tudor, the commander, also called The Dark Death, by his allies, was soundless in the night. He could kill his enemies in an instant. He was unseen… unheard.

Moving soundlessly in the night, he grabbed himself onto a branch, pushing with maximum force through his legs, onto the tree, he dashed through the air pulling he pulled out his daggers, cutting through his enemies’ throats leaving just a few alive.

The others came roaring, preparing to stab them with their spears when-

“Stop!”, Tudor said, stopping before his allies, pointing his daggers at their throats, just as they were about to kill the few lasting Ottoman soldiers.

“S-Sorry, Sir! We didn’t realise”, saying with a trembling.

Tudor lifts his hood, revealing his face. His figure inspired fear, even into his platoon mates. His big black eyes were reflecting the white purity of the moon.

He walked up to the ottoman soldiers that were slowly crawling on the ground and ordered them.

“You go back to your camp and request for a backup team, telling them you have found an open path to our camp.”

The soldiers full of fear stood up and got back on their horses. One of them gave a last quick stare at Tudor, watching his other crewmates stay behind as hostages, before leaving for backup.

How was he able to say that? How does he speak our language? He’s barely a platoon leader.

***

In the moonlight, the Romanian soldiers were gathering around the ottoman camp, waiting for the backup team to leave.

That is why Mircea trusted Tudor with this operation. He knew he could count on him to get the enemy forces out of their camp.

Tudor was a smart guy, he realized the backup would be big, so he waited for them to leave in order to attack the main camp and drive them off.

A young boy, came at Tudor, hurrying.

“Sir, they left! Shall we attack?”

Tudor turns to the swamp, watching the enemy backup team leave. Looking at the dark sky, answered with a calm voice.

“Prepare for my signal.”

He readies himself, hopping onto the tree branch, and shouts.

“Fireeeeeeeeeeeee!”

The sky turned bright red.

Abdul, a soldier who barely escaped the previous attack of arrows that caught them in the swamp, looked at the sky. He didn’t panic like the other soldiers, he knew his time has come. He escaped death once, it wouldn’t happen again.

And just like that, a wall of flaming arrows rained upon the Ottoman camp, piercing hundreds of soldiers in their way, and lighting up their tents and settlement.

In an instant, Tudor dashed through the enemy barricades, flying through the burning flames.

He jumps down, takes a deep breath and launches himself at the enemy, spinning, slicing up their throats. He grabs onto an enemy, using him as a shield for the incoming arrows and dashes again, this time through the arrows that were shooting at him.

He slices them up as he approaches the Ottoman soldiers who tremble in fear.

They could see their deaths coming, one after another, after losing their strength, and accepting their deaths, watching Tudor getting closer and closer, leaping from one enemy to another, spitting blood everywhere.

Before he knew it, the sun was rising. Abdul, who survived the flaming wall of arrows, got stabbed in the back, trying to let out a scream, but failing, choking on his own blood after getting his neck struck with a dagger.

Tudor looked eastward, as the sun was rising and the enemies were dying. He saw the Baiazid I, the Ottoman Sultan, leaving with his army.

He wiped off the dirt and blood from his face, pointing his dagger upwards and roaring proudly, as he claimed his victory.

Little did he know that this was just the beginning, and the battle was not over yet.