The Two Kings Revolution: Act I: Chapter 5

    Men and women of all races came to the Castle in Uzbeg. Each of them hoped to be given the honor and title of Man-Slayer. The whispers of one name was constantly heard, Hellsing the Man-Slayer. He alone set the standards to become the next Man-Slayer of legend. Many have tried copying Hellsing's technique, all have failed.

    Those who were original in their own way of fighting were brought to the king out of interest. Of these men, one of them stood out in particular. He wore a black mask that covered his mouth, and his hair was wield and uncontrolled; it was difficult to see what his eyes looked like. This man had black leather armor and carried a halberd.

    King Salvor stood in the courtyard with the would-be Man-Slayers. Most kings would be on some sort of balcony, but Salvor decided to go against that. Most of the promising Man-Slayers stood in line like they were in the army. One didn't, the one in the mask didn't stand in the line, he stood out of synch of the others and glared at the King with his red eyes staring him down. It was like he was trying to see into Salvor's very soul.

    “You there, why aren't you in line like the others?” Salvor asked as the man caught his attention.

    The strange man folded his arms, “I don't seem to remember you telling me to.”

    The King raised a brow in interest. “You're right, I didn't.” He approached the man, and inspected him. “What's your name, and why are you here?”

    “I'm called Michael Blackbent in my clan. “ The man bowed his head, “And am I here to kill your enemies.” The tone of his voice was, sadistic.

    “I see,” replied the King, “well, only one of you can become a Man-Slayer today.” Salvor turned to the others, “All of you will be facing each other in a nonlethal free-for-all.”

    Seven men were brought inside the castle. Down into the dungeon, they found themselves standing in a large room that seemed almost like a stadium. The area had sand and boulders, and was rigged with overly complicated traps. A swinging ax from both the walls and the ceiling. Spikes would come out of the ground at random times in random areas. The possible Man-Slayers were expected to fight and survive in this place.

    Michael turns to his king, “This is a joke, right?”

    “Something troubling you?” Salvor asked, as if mocking the man.

    Pointing to his cohorts, Micheal retorts, “These men will surely die by the traps.”

    Salvor looked at the man with a stern look in his eyes, “Then do something about it.”

    “I will.” Michael then moved his arms and began chanting in a different language. “Kalla Mu, Kalla Nir, Ro, Leha!” Melee weapons of all sorts began to be conjured from thin air. Long swords, bastards swords, spears, maces, and axes appeared in the room. Michael moved his halberd forward, and the weapons flew at all of the traps, causing a few explosions. The traps were destroyed and Michael turned to his king. “A king who tries to kill his followers to prove his point is no king at all!”

    Even with that insult, Salvor clapped his hands, “A real Man-Slayer would've done just that. You, Sir Michael Blackbent have passed the test.” He went to shake Michael's hand, “You will go far in this war, I can already tell.”

    Blackbent was given the rank of Lieutenant, much like Hellsing. After that, Salvor gave him two-thousand troops. Not even a week went by, and Blackbent had already taken over the city of Helgabal. During his invasion, his troops gave him the nickname: The Man-Slayer of Summoning Blades. With the northern center being controlled by the East, Valliard could now take over Lyrabar. Once that is under Salvor's control, he would have to worry about the Sea.

    The next couple of weeks went by, and at the moment only two Man-Slayers were in the Eastern Faction. Hellsing the Man-Slayer, and Blackbent of Summoned Blades. Salvor needed more, he needed two more at the very least. Without four Man-Slayers, no matter how powerful, he would never win in this war. Finally, after nearly a month, another Man-Slayer raised to the occasion.

    A Mage in blue robes, and a hood that masked his face appeared. He had no weapon; he was disarmed. The Mage did say a word, nor did he show his face. When asked to fight, this man only shook his head. Then the moment came, where Salvor had to test his honor.

    “I want all of you to fight in this pit of death.” Said the King.

    The Mage entered the room, and suddenly time stopped, the world turned to gray, and everything held still in its place. The only two who were not affected was Salvor and the Mage. The man in blue went over to his opponents and punched them with a loads of force into their stomachs. Then, time moved forward again, the greyness of it all vanished. The men who were going to fight dropped to the floor in agony.

    Salvor looked at the Mage, “You did this?” The Mage nodded his head, “What is your name, Wizard?” No response, “Can you speak?” He nodded his head, “Do you not have a name?” The man turned his head away, “I see, then I shall give you a name. From now on, you are known as Viceak, the silent Man-Slayer.”

    Viceak nodded his head, it seemed as if he was smiling at this. He went on to the southern part of Faerun. There he went to Port Kalmor, in Maarlith, from that point he used his magic to take over the Port City of Purl. Now, all Salvor needed was one more Man-Slayer to ensure him of safety.

    Only a few days went by, and the next Man-Slayer turned out to be a woman. She was part of some cloister religious cult. This woman wore the golden robes of Tempus. In times of war, this cult appears, such is the nature of their God. This woman looked harmless and beautiful, and yet, she passed the test before seeing it.

    “Thou, King Salvor,” The cloister woman spoke, “I refuse to enter that trapped room of yours.” She stepped up to him, “If thee so wishes to try thy patience, then fight me yourself. A king cannot expect someone to follow unless thou proves thy worth!”

    Salvor scuffed, “I have someone under my wing who far surpasses you.” Turning away, the cloister woman seemed insulted, “If you so wish to see my power, then face Hellsing the Man-Slayer. Since he follows me without question,” He tilts his head and looked at her with a frightening look in his eyes, “if he beats you, then you should have no argument when taking my orders.”

    The cloister woman stood at attention, “Very well,” She brought out a dagger and sliced open her hand, “I Dristan, of the Cloister that is Tempus, hereby accept this gamble. However, should I win, you must hand over Hellsing to my cloister.”

    “I agree to this bet.”

    At Uthmere, Valliard packed up his equipment on a horse. The midday sky was clear, not a single cloud was seen. Just as Valliard was making departure from the fortress city, he was stopped by a crowd of people. Both from the village, and his loyal soldiers. All of them had these long faces, which told the boy that these people were sadden see him leave.

    “Sir Hellsing,” Elliam began, “when will you be returning?”

    “I do not know,” replied the young man.

    Elliam bowed his head, “Please send word of your safe travels.”

    “I will, my good friend.” Valliard moved a bit further, he was then stopped by the village elder.

    This old man had a hunchback and a thick wooden cane. “Hellsing,” the elder spoke in a frail tone, “before you leave I would just like to thank you for all you've done for this village.” The rest of the villagers approached Valliard, “You have provided us with repairs, and gave us medicine. You even ordered your troops to guard us from any harm, should the Westerners attack.” He too, bowed his head, and so did the rest of the village. “Hellsing, you are indeed a man worth following, and if you so gracefully obey Salvor of the East, then we too shall follow his order.”

    In turn, Valliard bowed his head, “Thank you elder, your village's support will aid the Eastern Faction quite well.” He then made his horse gallop away, to Uzbeg.

    For the past two weeks Valliard rode on that horse. Morning, noon and, night, he traveled; only to stop to eat and to give his horse a break. Once they were ready the two of them would continue their travels on the road. At long last, the boy reached Uzbeg. At castle Griffon, Valliard saw his King once again for the first time in months.

    “My lord,” Valliard spoke, “I have returned, what is it that you have wished of me?”

    Salvor hugged the boy, and embraced him like a son. “It's good to see you once again.” He then backed away from Valliard, “I have called you here because I have a possible new recruit for another Man-Slayer.”

    Valliard was intrigued, “Is this person anything like Blackbent of Summoning Blades?” Seeing how that Man-Slayer took control of Helgabal; just north of Uthmere, Valliard was very interested in seeing who the third Man-Slayer would be.

    “This woman will be my personal bodyguard, if...” Salvor paused, which made Valliard fold his arms in annoyance. “If you can defeat her in combat.”

    Slapping his forehead, Valliard shouted in irritation, “You call me all the way over here, make me travel for two tireless weeks, just to make me fight some woman?”

    “Well...” The King began, “yes...”

    The Man-Slayer sighed, “Where is she?”

    The King was showing Valliard to Dristan's room, “Before you fight her, I must warn you about something.”

    The young man sighed, “This isn't going to be enjoyable information... is it?”

    “No, I'm afraid not,” Salvor sounded nervous. “You see, Miss Dristan and I made a bit of a bet. Should you win, she works for us, but should you lose... you belong to the cloister.”

    Hearing that made Valliard very anger. He trembled in that malice, and if you looked closely it almost seemed as if there was a black aura ebbing from the young man. “You gambled my life to a cult?”

    “I have full confidence that you're going to win.” Salvor spoke with a frail tone.

    “THAT'S NOT THE POINT, YOU JACKASS!”

    “I'm sorry!” Salvor actually bowed his head to Valliard.

    Sighing, Valliard spoke, “Raise your head, if you're seen bowing your head to a commoner people will question your rule, my lord.” Salvor brought his head, and their eyes met. “I will face this cloister woman,” Valliard placed his hand on his king's shoulder and then began to tighten his grip on the pressure point. “But if you ever gamble my life away like this ever again... I solemnly vow to cut off your dick, understood?” He gave a very discerning smile.

    Salvor writhed in the pain of his right shoulder, “Under... stood.”

    Valliard entered the dungeon. With a large room filled with sand and boulders, he stood. The traps, he paid no mind. His attention was focused on the mysterious, yet beautiful woman in front of him. Her brown and scarlet long hair was straight and flowing. Her robes, golden that shimmered in the light of the torches. This woman's face was near expressionless, the look in her eyes proved on how focused she was.

    “Before we begin,” Valliard began, “why do you wish for me to join in your cloister?”

    Dristan analyzed the young man standing in front of her, “Hmm,” came from her. “You're Hellsing the Man-Slayer? I guess the rumors of a boy being the most feared member of the Eastern Faction were true.”

That annoyed Valliard, “What does that have to do with anything?”

    “Nothing, but the fact that you're a human who's master the De'Alselah Style has everything to do with this.” Dristan got into a fight stance, she held a single dagger and hopped around in place. “The De'Alselah Style can't be learned by humans, so how is it that you've come to master it?”

    Valliard unsheathed his swords, “Find out yourself!”

    The woman charged at the boy with a surprising speed. With her head down, she leaned forward like a ninja and tried to do a back-flip kick to Valliard's face. Valliard stepped back and brought his defense up. Dristan kept going at it, her first attack was just the beginning of a combo. Her second attack was a leg sweeper. To keep up his evasion, Valliard did a side-flip to the left. That caught the cloister woman off guard.

    The young man kicked Dristan in the side of her ribs. The cloister woman went back a few paces but regained her composure. “Insolent boy, you had a chance to beat me quickly and you threw it away.”

    “Oh don't bullshit me!” Retorted Valliard, “Had I used my swords you would've kicked sand in my face, which is what you were hoping for.” He readied himself for another attack.

    Dristan ran forward a few steps and then jumped into the air. With that, she made a piecing kick formation. Valliard stepped to the side, making her miss. However, Dristan wasn't done, as she was sliding across the sand she threw her dagger at Valliard. Which hit him in the shoulder. The cloister woman had the dagger connected to a string, she then yanked it out of the young man.

    “AH!” Valliard shouted in pain.

    The woman laughed, “It seems you are weaker than I thought.” She approached Valliard ever-so-slowly.

    The sight of his blood made Valliard cringe. This isn't good... He looked at his hands, and then thought back to his training. Althir could be heard once again; giving advice.

     Even though the De'Alselah Style is the deadliest in history. Don't think that makes you invincible. You will get hurt, and one day you will die. The only way to prevent such things is to become something else... something only designed and conjured to kill. A true Man-Slayer, that's what the East calls them at least.

    Valliard closed his eyes for a moment, and pictured the night he raided Uthmere. He hated what he had done, he hated taking so many lives. The thought of him doing that. The young man clenched his fist, and kept his eyes closed. He sheathed his swords and stood sideways, partiality crouching. “You want to see the De'Alselah Style?” His voice was malicious, and Valliard opened his eyes. Those piecing and near demonic look he gives. He was no longer Valliard Rosenhill, but Hellsing the Man-Slayer. “Then I'll show it to you.”

    Hellsing charged at Dristan, he was so fast that it almost looked as if he disappeared and then reappeared right in front of her. He was about to unsheathe his sword and swing at her all in one go, but Dristan brought her dagger out and tried to stab Hellsing. However, Hellsing ducked, and spun around, while spinning, he unsheathed his sword and brought it to her neck.

    “With one sword, the De'Alselah Style's power is cut in half. You couldn't beat me at half-strength. What makes you think you can defeat me at full?” Hellsing asked.

    Dristan fell to her knees in such amazement. “Never have I thought that the De'Alselah Style could be so frightening.” She looked at Hellsing with fear and respect in her eyes, “For a moment... I swear I heard the Nine Hells sing your name, Valliard Rosenhill.” The cloister woman stood up and bowed her head, “That is how I know your name. And I will now serve the Eastern Kingdom, knowing that you are on their side.”

    Salvor watched in awe at what just happened. That is why he is called Hellsing the Man-Slayer. With Valliard on my side, there won't be a single person alive that can stop my army. Now all I need is the help from the other races.

    Hellsing sheathed his sword and began holding his wound. “Good, you learned your place.”

    “You must know that should you become this true Man-Slayer, it may be very difficult to stop it. Choosing to be a Man-Slayer is like causing a forest fire, very easy to start, but very difficult to stop. Should you be this thing, you may not be able to reverse it.”