Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

Bizarrely contradictory accounts sprouted like weeds, each more grandly embellished than the last—of how he had swept through entire battalions in searing firestorms of magic. With the actual events so steeped in the arcane, only those who had directly witnessed them could attest to the raw, visceral truth.

But whether that truth was taken at face value or reshaped into hyperbole, one stark reality remained: Jaegar had displayed a mastery over mystical forces on a level none present could truly fathom. Such might inspired as much terror as awe, and with terror came the seeds of reverent worship blossoming from pragmatic men simply grateful to be alive under his banner.

Within the central command pavilion, Kyra and the rest of Wrescia's nobles began the intricate process of consolidating their hard-won victory.

Prince Tavorn and Minister Kimon were deep in a hushed council, clearly still rattled by the day's events.

Tavorn, especially, was shaken to the core. What he witnessed was beyond his understanding of magic or other mysterious forces.

***

The main tent was suffused with a heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken tensions and the weight of a thousand unanswered questions.

Jaegar sat apart from the others, seemingly disinterested in the hushed council occurring between Kyra, Tavorn, Kimon, and other lords. His eyes were distant, and his gaze turned inward as if parsing some indecipherable thought trail only he could perceive.

Outside, the cacophony of the aftermath's grim labour droned on unabated—soldiers barking orders, the anguished groans of the wounded, the ceaseless clatter of rubble being cleared. The reek of smoke and charnel filled the air in an acrid, throat-catching miasma.

The soldiers had been taking care of the war prisoners, killing off those who resisted, sorting out the bodies, and collecting the armor.

For Kimon at least, there was the simple relief of having emerged victorious with remarkably few casualties amongst Wrescia's battered ranks. But greater questions gnawed at him, chief among them the mystery surrounding their newest and most formidable ally, at least that's what he thought.

What little he had been able to glean painted a scattered, contradictory picture. Kaeso claimed to have acquired the wizard from slavers, of all things—a gladiator purchased from merchants to bolster their war effort. Yet the sheer, overwhelming power Jaegar had unleashed defied such humble origins.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

As for how he and Kyra had initially formed their alliance...the princess had remained conspicuously tight-lipped on that matter.

The uneasy silence stretched onward until, finally, Drasus could no longer contain himself. Anger, resentment, and naked fear warred across his features as he rose jerkily to his feet.

"Your Highness, you cannot possibly be considering keeping this man in our company any longer!" He whirled on Jaegar, fists clenched in unconcealed loathing.

"He is wicked through and through, a dealer in foulest sorceries! That... that creature that came to his beckoning? I am certain it could only be some manner of demon drawn from the darkest pits of oblivion!"

Spittle flecked from Drasus's lips as his voice rose in pitch, reverting to the petrified growl of a cornered animal. "We cannot trust one who trucks with such profane powers! This...this is madness! He'll only bring more damnation down upon us all!"

The young lordling took a half-step towards Jaegar, raw challenge blazing in his eyes despite the tremors coursing through his frame. But the wizard merely shifted his gaze to bore into Drasus, his expression unreadable yet resonant with a sense of coiled menace awaiting the slightest provocation to unleash itself.

The tension in the tent had become a taut, suffocating miasma, ready to detonate at the slightest spark. Drasus provided that catalyzing ignition as his reckless accusations tumbled forth in a feverish torrent.

"We cannot be sure of his intentions," the young lord spat, eyes wide with a zeal bordering on madness. "This... this fiend must be restrained immediately before he brings further damnation upon us all!"

He whirled back towards Jaegar, fists clenched and trembling as he struggled against the primal urges of fight or flight roiling within him. There was no mistaking the hatred blazing in Drasus's expression—a naked, visceral loathing born of the wizard's incomprehensible power and the threat he perceived it to represent.

Perhaps if he hadn't allowed his fear to metastasize into this rabid mistrust, Drasus might have seen the futility of his present course. But all rational thought had abandoned him; the lizard-core of his brain was fixated solely on neutralizing this existential danger to himself by whatever means necessary.

Before anyone could raise a hand to stop him, Drasus took a stumbling step forward to loom over the seated Jaegar, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. "I feared you from the moment I laid eyes upon your wicked form," he hissed through clenched teeth. "And now my worst suspicions are confirmed! You would bring damnation down upon us, conspiring with denizens of the abyss itself!

Well, I'll not have it, monster! We must bind you forthwith before—"

Whatever venom-laced tirade would have followed was instantly choked off as Jaegar uncoiled from his repose with liquid swiftness. One calloused hand whipped out to seize Drasus by the collar, hauling him forward with enough force to lift the lordling half off his feet.

The wizard's other palm connected with Drasus's cheek in an explosive slap that sent shockwaves of concussive force rippling through the very air itself.

"What the fuck are you on about? Blabbering like a dimwit." Jaegar had not been paying enough attention to what they were saying. His mind was occupied with that man named Ximen Li.

And then came Drasus; he talked and yelled until Jaegar lost his patience. Initially, he wanted to humiliate Drasus once again, but this time, he wanted to do it in front of his wife. It seemed like Drasus was desperate to get his ass kicked by taunting Jaegar.

The crack of that simple hand slap resounded like a thunderclap, loud enough to set the entire pavilion's structure shuddering.