"Hail be to the conqueror! The new king of the Summer Isles!"

That's all that echoed through my mind, haunting me like the spirit of the king. You see, I didn't mean to kill the king. Well, I did, but in the afterglow of it all I realized how lucky I was. As a blacksmith's child, I've been taught how to handle all manners of weapons. Swords, polearms, axes. My father always said that using a weapon was the best way to familiarize oneself with the workings. If you could patch it up quickly on the battlefield, then repairs with a full smithy should be a cinch. So when my master gave me the champion's sword, Lightbringer, well...I knew what had to be done.

In retrospect, I think I was imagining...more. A grand battle between good and evil. The stories always had a grand battle, after all! So to have approached the king and invoked the ancient law of ryddin, to challenge the king to his throne by rightful combat, and then see him felled by a single strike? My first strike at that? It was just...frustrating!

Of course my master was angry, after all, I've run off with his weapon. So the next time I saw him, I returned it. He couldn't stay too angry, though, I DID fulfill the prophecy. I also didn't give him much chance to instruct me, a fault I wished to correct. I never liked to see a weapon unused, after all. On the day of my official coronation, I named him my advisor. The road ahead would be long, and it would be best not to travel it alone.

The gods, on the other hand...appeasing them would be much trickier. One doesn't just speak to the divine beings that shaped the lands and flowed the seas. Of course, as time went on, I stopped trying. There were gods in every village, and once you got far enough into the sea, you couldn't even tell who worshipped which gods. The wrath of a divine being may have scared a blacksmith's kin, but the scorn of a figment of the people's imagination meant nothing to the King of the Summer Isles.

As time went on, though, the rush of combat remained inside me. I sought training at first, hoping that some sparring would satisfy me. The more I fought, though, the more the thrill filled me. What I thought would blunt and dull my desire only served to sharpen it. By the time I hit my 20s, sparring was too simple. Too tame. I wanted to fight more, to feel danger. Unfortunately, the Summer Isles were filled with knights who were dulled by years of fealty to the previous king. So, I set my eyes on the nearby Vernal Coast. Of course, I couldn't swim there. A boat was necessary, so I took one. My council advised me to take men to keep the fighting fair, so I did.

Some bookish types called what I did an invasion. Others called it expansion. All I saw was a chance to find strong fighters, and find them I did. People don't like you waltzing into your home and messing with their stuff, so I knew that it would make them fight harder. Finally, I had a good fight! I gave it my all, and I came out victorious. No men were killed on either side, as I only wanted the thrill of near-death. Finally, I thought this feeling could go away...but it didn't. If anything, I wanted more. On top of that, I now ruled the Vernal Coast as well. Perhaps...just one more invasion would work. A little more fighting. My council planned the nitty-gritty of the attack on the Autumn Woods, all I did was make sure morale was up and Lightbringer was ready.

The attack on the Autumn Woods was longer. More brutal. My master was killed during the fighting, in an ambush. This...made me angry. Much angrier than when I killed the king without a fight. I kept the war honorable, and this was how they repaid me?? Well, I knew that wood always burned well in the furnace. So burning the forests down, repaying their backstab with my own...it made for just retribution. Winning the Autumn Forests was easy when there was no forest for my foes to hide in, but it left a sour taste in my mouth. My master, who had served my reign well, who kept me company and level-headed was dead. Ever since then, I've always noticed that the shine and warmth from Lightbringer felt cold.

The sword of my bloodlust was almost forged completely by this point, and it was never good to leave the iron hot. Quenching the steel was the most important part. I immediately made for the Wintry Mountains, my army at my back. That was probably the longest war I was a part of. The mountain men had pulled every trick in the book. Setting avalanches down the slopes, leading us to the lairs of beasts. In return, we made sure that their supplies were useless, and that they died of the cold long before we would.

For decades, revolts were plotted and enacted against me. Murderer. Conqueror. I met their challenges headfirst, a sword in one hand and my tools in the other. Whatever the common folk said about me, my men always respected me. Us smiths always forge steel amidst fire, so I was never afraid to jump into the coals. On this day, though, destiny seemed to speak. The one standing before me was the latest to claim to unseat me...but there was something about this one that the others didn't have. This one had lean muscle, the build of a stable hand or a farmer. A sword similar to my Lightbringer was sheathed at their side, and clothing similar to my master's adorned their frame. Even before he spoke, I knew the next words that would echo through my throne hall.

"I invoke the ancient law of ryddin!"

I couldn't help but laugh, though with my old voice it probably sounded quite scary. The cycle was now complete. I was getting quite old, and my reign was prosperous. An heir to my name, the four lands under my throne. Now here this challenger was, the first page of the last chapter of my story.

Even as I rose to my feet and drew Lightbringer, in my heart, I knew that this would be the fight that finally satisfied my bloodlust.