For You (manxman)

HUNGER

Onward!

I actually found the real chapter one or prologue.

Image belongs to fabforgottennobility.tumblr.com

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Roman is always obedient. Only for the right price or consequences.

When he was a lad, he knew the ache from his bones to his muscles would amount him the silver to buy food for himself the entire week. He knew it from the blood that pooled on the ground where his opponents lie unconscious, from the red skin around his knuckles, and from the guards who laughed because they made the right thing in betting on him.

As the bard raised his hand to announce him the winner, he felt drunk with power, it fed his ego and tired body.

He raises his fists when he was deeply in need of money. Sometimes, he does fight even without any need for it.

He doesn't know what happened and as to why he lost the small bit of sympathy whenever he beats his opponents, and at the same time the sting from his knuckles has subsided or he's gone numb.

This, fighting, is the only thing he knows and will ever be good at.

Roman wonders if he could stop living like this one day, but his addiction would get the best of him most of the time, and he enjoyed every second

Though.

It felt so monotonous. It was monotonous. He wished for something better.

And that cycle continued on until the year he turns sixteen.

The king issued a notice from all around where his knights can reach to gather all the able men to take arms and protect their country from the barbarians that swore to defeat his army and take all the riches from the land.

He had no choice. They enlisted him.

There was no guarantee that he would come back safely or even alive.

Only the sure promise that glory is theirs if they won.

Imagine his surprise when he realized that he had killed one of the  Warchiefs. Roman didn't know what was going on, he simply wanted to find a safer place where he could rest but he was pushed into the fray and in the middle of the battlefield.

He felt like vomiting all the bread that he ate before the battle began. It stinks. And all the limbs and heads rolling around didn't help his situation so does the incessant shouting from foes and comrades.

Roman hears a mighty grunt from behind him, so he darts backward and almost trips on a severed foot. His enemy wears an animal's skull on his head, he did not know what but the horns made him more intimidating along with the blood splattered across his broad axe and armor. This man looks like a mythical creature with his gigantic stature and substantial build.

Roman looks at his left hand, his sword already broken from excessive use, it looks like a cheap piece of metal glued on a hilt. His right hand already soaked in his blood and the enemy's blood. He looks for anyone who can help him, but he can already see his allies fleeing or dying by the enemy's blade. Each one of them busy doing the either two. He sighs.

There was no time for self- pity or to blame the sluggish pace of their cavalry when one wants your life.

The giant of a man swipes at Roman, but he swiftly bolts forward, sliding on the mud and blood on the ground, and aims a strong kick on the giant's knee. And when Roman's foot came in contact with the joint, there came this sickening pop, a second of blessed silence, and the undeniable howl of pain.

Roman stands immediately, and takes the broad axe lodged on the ground using one hand. He walks slowly towards his enemy who lay immobilized and terrified. He smiles, the weariness he felt forgotten, and he knew, this will be over very soon.

He knows what to do. He grips the axe with his strong two hands, lines it up on the colossus' neck, lifts it, and brings it down.

...

Their opposers retreat upon seeing Roman holding a pike with their leader's head embedded on top.

His remaining comrades cheer for him he felt no pride, no happiness, simply tired and satisfied.

But he knew that all bloody deeds always come with a far better price than two coins of silver.

Be it by land or sea, he fought and killed. It pleased him that it is he who can turn the tides when the enemies gain advantage. Only he can turn the brave into cowards. All of them will die cowards by his hands.

The loud thrum of adrenaline coursing through him makes Roman feel invincible, like he could take on anyone who is far bigger and stronger, which he did.

The soldiers, tacticians, captains, and every commanding officer took notice. So did the King.

They were more than happy to reward him.

In exchange for all the gold, silver, rank, glory and fame he gets comes an equal or surpassing amount of blood and lives on his hands.

He couldn't care less.

But his excitement came to a stop.

Finally, when it was over. All the remaining barbarians driven out of their country or killed.

The previous King all too pleased with his work.

And the new King grateful and generous.

He was given the title of 'Lord'. Fancy. And privileges only he can have.

Roman was given a big piece of land where he can build and govern a community of his own.

His own little kingdom.

"House Reinhart", where the fellowship of Lions are found. And Home of the "Butcher of Tyrants".

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He tries going into the fray once more even when it were only petty thieves, rogues and bandits. Heck! He had gone after wanted zealots and mercenary groups to ease the itch that won't go away.

But truly, it could not gratify the lust he feels.

So he tries a different method.

He went to taverns and brothels, meeting both men and women to relieve his uneasiness.

Also, it was no trouble to get a bed partner, especially with all the noble women, sometimes men lined up to meet him. Be it a barmaid, bellboy, tavern wench, doxies, or rich men and women with status, he'd lay with them.

Roman fucks every single one of his bed partners to ecstasy but he couldn't reach his own climax.

No matter how good his partners were in bed, it was but a moment and it simply made him want more.

It didn't matter whether they cried or were alright with him not loving them. He did not need a leash attached to him.

Nothing or no one can fill the his hunger for flesh and the hollow space in his heart.

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In writing, I think I got used to creating gentlemen.

I'm not saying Roman isn't one. He's just...you know...

Let's leave it at that. I don't know the right term.