Obed's voice rang with a fierce determination as he declared, "Now! That is pure revenge for what you have done to my sister! Now you have the taste of your own medicine!" He aimed the arrow at Taylor's head, and the tension in the room was palpable. The king, filled with dread, hoped for a miracle, but Taylor remained motionless, a grim silence enveloping the chamber.
With a swift release, Obed shot the arrow, and it struck true, smashing into Taylor's head. The king's anguished scream pierced the air, "No!!!" In a fit of rage, he called for his guards, Taylor's elite swordmen, who rushed in, swords drawn, surrounding Micah, Obed, and Dara.
Obed gripped his magic bow tightly, ready for the impending confrontation. Just then, Dara stepped forward, his voice calm yet firm. "I think it would be better if you all just surrendered and avoided further conflict!"
Jones, filled with fury, retorted, "No! You are the ones outnumbered, so you should surrender!" His disbelief was evident as he took in the sight of his fallen baron.
Dara, undeterred, replied, "Yes, we may be outnumbered, but we still outmatch your strength! Listen carefully, boy..." Just then, a chilling sound echoed from outside the walls—the unmistakable roar of a dragon, sending shivers down their spines.
The king's voice boomed, laced with fury, "Don't listen to him! He murdered your captain! Avenge him! Don't let this traitors live! They did this because they felt like they had a useless dragon to save them!"
The soldiers, however, hesitated. Their hands lingered on their weapons, their faces etched with uncertainty. They had known Dara as the true king before, and a flicker of respect for his lineage still burned within them.
They understood, too, that Taylor had been the aggressor, the one who'd repeatedly sought Dara's demise. Though they mourned Taylor's death, they couldn't deny the truth. The king's call for vengeance felt hollow, a desperate plea for control amidst the chaos.
Micah, the one with a wisdom forged in countless battles, knew the cycle of revenge too well. It was a bottomless pit, a never-ending spiral of violence. "Your Majesty," he began, but the king's rage drowned out his words.
"I order you to arrest him!" the king roared, his voice cracking with fear. But before the soldiers could move, another thunderous roar echoed through the air, a sound that chilled the king's very soul. The dragon, sensing danger, had arrived up at the roof of the house. Its immense wings beat the air, a tempest of fire and fury, and the ground trembled beneath its colossal weight.
The king's face blanched. The dragon's presence was a stark reminder of Dara's team power, a power that dwarfed their opponents. At the moment the king could no longer command the soldiers, his voice lost in the dragon's deafening roar.
The king's eyes darted around the faces of the soldiers, fear twisting his features.
Dara raised his voice, his words carrying a calm strength that resonated through the tense air. "My friends, what has happened is a part of our past. We all know the legacy of our friend Taylor. He was a force of chaos, a storm that swept through our lives. I am not saying his death is a good thing, but I am saying we must not perpetuate the cycle of vengeance. Revenge never ends, it only breeds more pain and suffering."
His gaze swept across the assembled soldiers, meeting each of their eyes, from the lowest rank to the king himself. He paused, his gaze settling on Captain Jones, the man who had been Taylor's closest confidante. Dara placed a hand on Jones' shoulder, a gesture of comfort and understanding.
"You were a good captain, a trustworthy one. That's why you never caved to Taylor's reckless ways. I know he manipulated you, used you for his own selfish gains. But I promise, I will restore your honor, your dignity. You will return to the Golden Castle, your rightful place, where you and your warriors will be respected once more. You will be warriors of good, not pawns in a tyrant's game! and when everything is over I will make you the barron of your armies" Dara declared, his voice ringing with conviction. He fixed his gaze on the king, who stood defeated, his power waning with every passing moment.
The king knew it was over. His special warriors, the very foundation of his power, were slipping away like sand through his fingers. Their silence spoke volumes. They were no longer his.
"And about this man you call your king! he doesn't deserve your royalty!!" Dara yelled pointing at the king.
"He never cared about you, he only cared about himself," Dara continued, his voice low and steady. "He used you to protect his own selfish interests, to line his pockets, to satisfy his own twisted desires. He didn't care about your well-being, your families, your lives! You saw it here yourselves, he want you to go into a fight he knew you couldn't win!"
Dara took a deep breath, his eyes searching the faces of the soldiers. "My friends, I ask only one thing: join me. Let's reclaim our kingdom, liberate it from that monster's grip. Let's return to the glory we once knew. Join me, and together we will save the kingdom you once risked your lives to protect. I promise you, your loyalty will be remembered, your place in the kingdom secure, once I reclaim my rightful throne!"
 
Jones hesitated, his gaze shifting between the fallen Taylor and the king seated on his throne. The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon him. Suddenly, he seized his sword and strode purposefully toward the king.
And his approach wasn't looking good which the king realised on time, that it was for no good.
“No! No! What are you doing? Please, hold it right there! I was joking! I’m giving you an order!” the king shouted, panic rising in his voice. He recognized the fierce determination in Jones’s eyes—a deadly ambition that could only lead to one outcome: his own demise.
As the king urged him to stop, Jones remained resolute. In desperation, the king commanded the two guards standing behind him to intervene. “Stop looking at me and stop him!” he yelled, but the guards, loyal to their king, rushed forward, unaware of the danger they were stepping into.
In a swift motion, Jones dispatched the guards, sending them crashing to the ground, bloodied and defeated, within moments. He continued his advance toward the king, who was now visibly trembling.
“No! Please don’t do it!” the king screamed, his voice laced with fear.
“You are evil! Those girls you sold into slavery—where are they?” Jones demanded, his voice a low growl filled with righteous fury.
“They are at the Golden Castle! I swear, I’m telling you the truth! They were taken there because Myth requested I bring them to him in exchange for power and friendship! I’m sorry! I was desperate!” the king pleaded, his fear palpable.