Page 167 of Warlord's Plaything

The outskirts of the battlefield.

A small war band.

Orcs.

Fighting. But not against elves. They’re fighting the undead.

And at the center of them, swinging a bloodied axe, teeth bared in a snarl.

Menias.

My mouth parts.

Not from shock.

Not from some fucking familial instinct screaming at me to save my long-lost father.

But with the knowledge that this war isn’t over yet.

If we don’t handle this now, we won’t have an army left to fight Kaelith.

I look at Xyron.

He already knows.

"You’re going to save him."

It’s not a question.

I nod, gripping my blade tighter.

"Not because I give a damn about him. If we don’t— We’ll be fighting this war alone."

The battlefield turns into a blur.

I move fast, too fast, cutting through reanimated corpses, dodging their clawing hands, feeling the burn of exhaustion claw at my limbs.

But I don’t stop.

I need to get to him.

Because whether I fucking like it or not?—

Menias is still useful.

He sees me coming.

His eyes narrow, confusion flickering across his face for a split second before he realizes what’s happening.

"Move!"I snarl, cutting down a rotting corpse lunging toward him.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He’s a warlord. A killer.

And even if he wasn’t a father to me… Even if he never cared about anything but power… He knows how to survive.

We fight together.

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