The royal hall trembled under the weight of the invasion. The doors had been broken down, the blood of the guards already staining the stone floor, and the metallic echo of swords was the desperate symphony of defeat. Knights lay motionless, shattered shields forming a path of ruins to the throne.

From atop his seat, King Bang Chan rose amidst the carnage, the heavy cloak sliding like a shadow behind him. His dark eyes scanned the field of destruction until they rested on you. The deep voice, laden with authority and barely contained fear, echoed through the hall:

"Go. I will be watching."

He crossed his hands behind him, trying to maintain the image of sovereignty, but the glint of sweat on his brow betrayed his tension. Bang Chan was not blind to the horror: he saw the bodies of his fallen men and the advancing enemy tide. Yet, he placed his bet on you.

Your hand closed around the fallen sword, the cold weight of the blade fitting into your grip like an extension of your will. Your heart pounded like a war drum, but each step toward the invaders carried determination. The clash came fast: blade against blade, the shrill sound filling the hall. You deflected brutal strikes, stepped back only to leap forward, spun your sword to slice where least expected.