The Debt Of Fate-Chapter 306: Victory felt Heavy

The news spread faster than Lord Aureline had expected.

At first, it moved in whispers. In taverns, markets, and narrow streets, people leaned close to one another and spoke in low voices. They spoke of the late King George.

"He killed his own brother for the throne?" This news sent shock through everyone who heard it. For many generations, the fight for the throne had ended. It was a known fact that the first male son of the king would inherit the throne.

Although a few royal relatives tried to overturn the succession now and then, it was unheard of for a full brother to be killed for the throne.

Then the whispers grew louder.

Copies of the letters were read aloud in public places. The old guard was seen by trusted men, telling his story again and again, always the same, never changing his words. Those who had once doubted began to believe. Those who had been silent began to speak.

Anger followed belief.

"No wonder the gods rejected his son," someone said.

The people of the second region gathered in the streets, their faces dark with rage. They cursed the late king for deceiving the gods and bringing sin into the royal bloodline. They cursed him for inviting disaster upon the land, for staining the throne with murder.

"The gods turned their backs on us because of him!" another cried.

"No wonder war follows his son!"

"He wants to drag us into misfortune!"

"The late king’s death was sudden; perhaps the gods struck him dead for his evil."

King Edward’s name was soon added to their curses. To them, he was no longer a righteous ruler, but the son of a man rejected by the gods. They feared that if he won the war, the gods’ anger would fall fully upon the entire kingdom.

Temples and churches filled with smoke as people burned incense and prayed for protection.

Others demanded justice; they even went ahead to pledge their loyalty to Lord Aureline.

Soldiers stationed in the region began to waver. Many came from these same towns and villages. They heard their families speak with fear and anger, and doubt crept into their hearts. If they fought for King Edward, were they fighting against the will of the gods?

Moreover, some of the soldiers were also from the royal city. They knew of the rumors of King Edward plotting to kill his own nephew.

"Do you think the king is truly rejected by the gods?" one soldier asked another.

"What nonsense are you saying? I don’t worship the old gods. I will not believe anything their seers say," the second soldier frowned.

"But... I saw those letters. Even the one true God would never support a..." He did not mention the word, but the second soldier understood what he meant.

"I think it’s nonsense. Everyone knows Prince Christopher died during a royal hunt," the second said.

"You believe that?" the first soldier asked. He was young and did not know much about Prince Christopher, but every prince of Nixel was always a man of war, even if he was not the best at it.

The second did not know how to answer. At this point, another soldier who had been listening nearby joined in.

"Prince Christopher was a man of war. My father told me that in his days, he was more skilled than His Majesty, the late king. For a man like that to die at the hands of a bear, I do not believe it," the third soldier said.

Nobody knew what was true, but different groups held different opinions about the situation. By the time King Edward arrived, the camp was already divided into three groups:

those who believed and were looking for opportunities to leave the royal army; those who did not believe the news about Prince Christopher’s death but felt that King Edward was not a good king; and those who did not believe and remained loyal to the king.

King Edward arrived at the camp early in the morning. Trumpets sounded, and soldiers quickly formed neat lines. Banners were raised, and the generals stepped forward.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," they said as one, bowing before him.

Edward climbed down from his horse. His face was calm as he greeted them and walked through the camp. The welcome was proper and respectful. At least, it looked that way.

But something felt wrong.

The cheers were loud, yet not everyone joined in. Some soldiers bowed deeply, while others barely lowered their heads. Conversations stopped the moment he passed. Many eyes followed him, filled with worry instead of pride.

Edward noticed everything.

This was not how a united army behaved. He had expected his presence to build morale, but everything seemed different.

After the formal greeting, Edward went into the command tent. Once inside, his calm expression faded.

"Call the commanders and the men in charge of reports," he said.

When they arrived, Edward spoke plainly. "Something is wrong in this camp. The men are uneasy. I want to know why."

The officers exchanged looks before one spoke. "There have been rumors, Your Majesty. They spread before you arrived."

"Rumors about what?" Edward was a bit surprised. He wondered if someone was smearing him because of the second prince being kidnapped.

"About the past... about your family," another answered carefully.

Edward’s hand tightened, but he gestured for the person to go on.

"A man claiming to be the personal guard of Prince Christopher has appeared. He accused His Majesty, your late father, of murdering his brother for the throne." The man’s voice went lower as he spoke.

Edward was shocked by the news. "Nonsense," he said after the initial shock.

"Send my message. Anyone spreading such news within the camp should be killed," he ordered. He felt that nobody should believe such nonsense.

The men looked at one another. "Your Majesty, this man has evidence in his hand..." one commander said in a low voice.

"Who cares about that fake evidence?" Edward was angered at being questioned.

"Your Majesty, it is not that I believe such nonsense, but if we kill anyone now, it will look like you are guilty," a general spoke up. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"Kill," King Edward refused to listen to the logic behind the general’s words. He was too furious to think straight. Since he became king, rumors had been used to hold him down. He made up his mind that he would listen no more.

"Your Majesty," the general was shocked by the king’s command.

"Since you can’t take instructions, submit your position and leave," King Edward said.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. I will send the order out," the general said. He was unwilling to lose his position.

As instructed by the king, a few soldiers who gossiped about the situation were soon captured.

Then a general meeting was called, and those men were killed before everyone. They were accused of spreading false rumors and bringing disunity to the camp. They were labeled enemies and spies of Lord Aureline.

This scene stunned everyone. No one had expected them to be killed directly. Perhaps flogging or demotion, but to kill them because of a few whispers was indeed extreme.

Everyone within the camp was scared. No one dared to gossip again. Seeing the fear in their gazes, King Edward was very proud of his decision.

By evening, the camp seemed calm again. All gossip about the late king and his murder stopped, but what King Edward failed to realize was that the morale of the soldiers had also dropped considerably.

And as the general had predicted, more people believed that the late king was guilty and that the king was forcing them to remain silent.

At dawn the next, the horns of war sounded across the plain. The royal army moved into position, banners flying high, armor shining under the pale morning sun. King Edward rode at the front, his sword at his side, his posture firm and proud.

This battle should have been an easy victory.

Lord Aureline’s rebel army was smaller and less equipped. On any other day, the royal forces would have crushed them quickly. But this was not an ordinary day.

When the order to advance was given, the royal army moved forward—but without spirit. Their steps were slow. Their grips on their weapons were tight, not with confidence, but with fear.

Across the field, Lord Aureline’s men charged with loud cries. They shouted the names of the old gods and cursed the royal bloodline. Their voices were full of anger and belief.

The clash was violent.

Steel met steel. Horses screamed. Men fell. Dust rose and covered the field like smoke. King Edward fought bravely, cutting down enemy soldiers and pushing deeper into the battle. His guards followed closely, forming a strong shield around him.

But elsewhere, the royal lines began to shake.

Some soldiers hesitated. Others looked back instead of forward. When their comrades fell, they did not rush to fill the gaps. Fear spread faster than orders.

"Hold the line!" commanders shouted.

But doubt had already taken root.

Many soldiers believed that every fallen man was proof. When Lord Aureline’s troops pushed harder, parts of the royal army nearly broke.

For a moment, defeat felt close.

Seeing this, King Edward rode where the fighting was worst. He raised his sword and shouted for his men to stand their ground. His presence forced the soldiers to steady themselves. Slowly, painfully, the royal army pushed back.

By noon, Lord Aureline’s forces began to retreat.

The battlefield was won—but at a terrible cost.

Bodies covered the ground. The wounded cried out for help. Blood soaked into the earth, far more than anyone had expected. Victory felt heavy, not proud.

As the enemy withdrew, no cheers rose from the royal army.

The soldiers looked at one another in silence. Although no one dared to voice it out, they all believe that such losses could only mean one thing ’The king had truly been rejected by the gods.’