THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The entrance to the noble elder's mansion was a monument to opulent excess. Forged iron, painstakingly sculpted into swirling vines and mythical beasts, gleamed under the soft morning sun. Two colossal pillars, topped with intricate carvings that whispered of forgotten grandeur, flanked the colossal gates. Yet, the air of serene majesty was shattered by the discordant symphony of a heated argument.

Seraphina, her usually composed face etched with frustration, stood toe-to-toe with a hulking guard. His polished silver spear, emblazoned with the elder's crest, danced menacingly in his grip. "I said, scram!" he bellowed, his voice laced with the authority of a man accustomed to blind obedience. "There's been a misunderstanding," Seraphina pleaded, her voice strained but resolute.

"We need to see the Elder." The guard, however, remained unmoved. A sneer twisted his face, revealing a gold tooth that glinted like a misplaced coin. "Appointment?" he queried, his tone dripping with disdain. "Do you peasants have an appointment?" Seraphina's jaw clenched. "It's... urgent business," she pressed, frustration gnawing at her composure.

But before she could elaborate, the guard's patience evaporated. "Urgent my ass!" he roared, his spittle flying. "Get lost before I run you through with this!" He brandished his spear with a flourish, its tip drawing a vicious arc through the air. Seraphina, caught between fury and the need for diplomacy, glared daggers at the man.

The tranquil beauty of the mansion facade seemed a cruel joke in the face of this uncouth brute. One wrong move, and their mission to confront the elder would be over before it began, or so she thought. A flicker of ice passed through David's sapphire eyes. "Peasant, was that it?" he inquired, his voice deceptively calm.

Beneath the surface, a coiled tension hummed, ready to spring at the slightest provocation. Seraphina's heart hammered against her ribs. "My Lord, please!" she implored, desperation lacing her voice. For reasons she couldn't quite grasp, a primal urge to shield the guard from David's wrath welled up within her. "This gentleman," she interjected hurriedly, "is from the main family.

Lord David De Gor himself, here to seek an audience with his esteemed uncle." A raucous laugh erupted from the guard, a sound so unhinged it sent shivers down Seraphina's spine. He doubled over, clutching his sides, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh, by the celestial spheres!" he wheezed between gasps.

"And I suppose I'm the long-lost heir to the throne of Solaria!" He wiped a tear from his eye, his face still contorted in amusement. "Alright, alright," he conceded, his voice regaining a semblance of seriousness. "You two have brightened my day with this little charade. Consider it a debt repaid for your attempt at impersonating the De Gors.

Now, scram before my patience, unlike my laughter, runs dry!" Seraphina, at her wit's end, cast a desperate glance at David. "I tried," she thought, a silent plea echoing in her mind. As if in response, David stepped forward, a chilling smile playing on his lips, a smile that promised pain.

His knuckles cracked with a sharp pop, a menacing counterpoint to the tense silence that had descended upon the scene. The guard, his laughter forgotten, met David's gaze with a cold wariness. The tip of his spear, no longer held casually, now pointed directly at David's chest.

"One more step, boy," he growled, his voice a low, guttural threat, "and you're a dead man walking." David's voice, though a mere whisper, carried the weight of a collapsing mountain. "Move," he commanded, the single word crackling with an unseen energy. It wasn't a request, it was a force of nature. The guard, however, was not so easily cowed.

"Make me!" he blustered, clutching his spear with white knuckles., ready to strike at the first sign of aggression. David sighed, a sound weary yet tinged with a hint of amusement. "Seems I haven't had the occasion to use this little trick yet," he murmured, taking a deep breath.

The air around him hummed with a strange power, a visible aura of swirling blue and dark mist that pulsed with each beat of his heart. He exhaled slowly, a plume of the same vapor escaping his lips like a silent warning. In a blur of motion that defied Seraphina's untrained eyes, David launched into action. A knee rose, a torso twisted, and then a roundhouse kick connected with a satisfying crack.

The guard, who had raised his spear in a half-hearted block, didn't stand a chance. Before he could react, the world became a dizzying blur of pain. David's attack sent him flying like a ragdoll, slamming with a thunderous boom against the imposing iron gates. The world held its breath for a moment before the gates themselves gave way with a deafening clang.

The guard lay crumpled beneath the twisted metal, groaning, his bravado thoroughly extinguished. David, on the other hand, seemed almost disappointed. "Nice!" he exclaimed, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Seraphina could only stare, speechless, as the consequences of his newfound power sunk in. "Did you have to go that far?

He was only a second-ranked swordsman," she finally managed, her voice a mixture of shock and a strange, begrudging awe. David shrugged, his nonchalance bordering on arrogance. "Meh, details," he dismissed, stepping casually through the mangled gates.

"Let's not keep the esteemed uncle waiting," he added, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes as he left Seraphina standing on the threshold, wrestling with a newfound respect, and a sliver of fear, for the enigmatic young man by her side. An ear-splitting scream, "Intruder!" sliced through the tranquil air, shattering the morning's peace.

It echoed with the clang of the crumpled iron gate, drawing a swarm of startled guards into the courtyard. A chaotic symphony of jingling armour and furious shouts erupted as the men, clad in a riot of red and black uniforms, charged towards the scene.

Eyes wide with shock and disbelief, they witnessed a singular figure calmly stepping over their fallen comrade – the cocky young man from the scuffle at the gate. Before they could react further, a warrior clad in crimson armour, rage-twisting his face into a grotesque mask, let out a guttural roar and charged with a battle cry. His sword, a sun-dappled arc of fury, aimed for David's head.

But the newcomer danced through the onslaught like a phantom. A graceful sidestep turned the deadly blade into a harmless whisper of air. A lightning-fast kick sent the crimson-clad warrior sprawling with a pained grunt, his body connecting with the cobblestone in a graceless thud. Undeterred, another guard, cloaked in an impenetrable suit of plate armour, advanced like a lumbering war machine.

He thrust his spear forward, a pointed finger of vengeance aimed straight at David's chest. But David, an embodiment of agile grace, defied expectations. With a powerful leap, he seemed to defy gravity, the spear passing harmlessly beneath him. As he descended, a devastating kick connected with the armoured warrior's helmet.

The clash resonated throughout the courtyard, silencing the shouts for a heartbeat. The guard crumpled to the ground, a heavy thud marking his unconscious defeat. From the periphery, a third guard, emboldened by a foolhardy sense of courage, lunged at David. His sword, reflecting malice rather than skill, aimed for a quick kill. Unfazed, David met the attack head-on.

A precise parry deflected the blade, using the momentum of the enemy against himself. Then, with the sudden ferocity of a waking predator, David unleashed a flurry of punches. Each blow was a hammer stroke, landing with pinpoint accuracy. The final punch, a sickening hook to the jaw, sent the last assailant sprawling, joining his comrades in a tableau of defeat.

David stood amidst the chaos, his face a mask of cool determination, as the guards around him reeled from his display of formidable prowess. Seraphina's jaw hung slack in the face of the unfolding pandemonium. He tore through the ranks of guards with balletic grace and brutal efficiency. Each strike, a flurry of fists and lightning-fast kicks, resonated with the sickening thud of bone meeting stone.

It was a macabre ballet, a symphony of violence where David was the conductor and the guards were his hapless instruments. Gone was the image of the drunken fool Seraphina had been fed. In his place, a tempest raged, a manifestation of the De Gor name carved from honed muscle and raw power. His movements defied logic, each attack calculated and precise.

He was a force of nature, a relentless tidal wave that crashed against the guards and left them broken and gasping in its wake. The De Gor name, once a mere symbol of wealth and status, suddenly felt imbued with a terrifying power. This was not an empty title, it was a lineage etched in battle scars, honed into a weapon of unrivalled lethality.

And David, this enigmatic stranger, was the embodiment of that power. Every effortless strike, every devastating blow, resonated in the courtyard not just as a display of skill, but as a chilling reminder. The De Gor family wasn't just powerful; they were a force of nature, and David, Seraphina was forced to acknowledge, might just be its most terrifying manifestation.

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