They traded blows that illuminated the night. The girl was fast and driven by a desperate courage, but Arkhan was a master of a thousand wars. He deflected her strikes with brutal efficiency, slowly wearing her down.
"No," Arkhan said softly. "The world has had enough of conquerors."
Arkhan paused, looking at the young hero. He saw in her the same burning passion he had possessed centuries ago. For a fleeting second, he felt a pang of something he hadn't felt in ages: regret. He raised his heavy blade. Arkhan
Then, the crowd parted. Standing before him was the young warrior the scout had mentioned. She was clad in silver armor that glowed with a pure, brilliant light, holding a sword that seemed to be forged from a fallen star.
Slowly, Arkhan drove his greatsword into the earth at his feet. The dark energy flared one last time and then went silent. He reached up and unlatched his heavy iron helmet, letting it fall to the ground. For the first time in centuries, the cool night wind hit his scarred, weary face. They traded blows that illuminated the night
He turned away from the stunned warrior and walked toward the dark waters of the river, leaving his weapon, his army, and his empire behind. The legend of Arkhan the Conqueror ended that night, not with a clash of steel, but with a silent walk into the unknown.
With a powerful overhead smash, Arkhan shattered her guard and sent her sprawling to the ground. Her sword flew from her grip, landing in the shallow river water. Arkhan stood over her, the dark energy of his blade crackling. "No," Arkhan said softly
Arkhan did not speak immediately. He reached down and touched the hilt of his massive greatsword, which pulsed with dark energy. A faint memory stirred in his cold heart, a memory of a time when he too believed in the light, when he too fought for hope.