BannerLord VR

I had always dreamed of being someone who would protect the weak from tyranny. I thought joining the army would make me that man, the hero who would shield innocent citizens from raids, a figure praised by all. I imagined the glory, the cheers of gratitude, the admiration. But no one told me the truth—that the same army I joined to protect people could just as easily become the force that destroys them. The one who was supposed to stand as a savior could also be the one to plunder and ravage.

That dream of mine didn’t last long.

I joined the imperial army thinking I could hold on to my ideals, but those ideals were the first things to crumble. In the early days, I was naïve and full of hope. But soon, reality set in. Idle time was spent gambling, drinking, and frequenting brothels. It started small at first—a little gambling to pass the time, a quick visit to the nearest whorehouse after a battle to celebrate our "victory." But the deeper I got into that life, the further I strayed from the person I thought I was.

Before long, I was in debt. Deep debt. And not just to anyone—my debt was owed to Rita the Butcher, a name whispered in the dark corners of empire territory. She was part of the Hidden Hand, a secret society that operated beneath the surface of the empire, pulling strings that most people didn’t even know existed. They had influence everywhere, especially in the Western Empire, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I was caught in their web.

I don’t even know when it happened exactly, but at some point, I abandoned the ideals I had once held dear. I became a pawn to the Hidden Hand, informing them about anything I knew about the Western Empire’s military movements, about Tadeos and his plans. All because of a debt I could never repay. Every bit of information I passed along chipped away at whatever was left of my conscience, but I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t obey, they’d kill me. That was the reality of dealing with the Hidden Hand—you either served them, or you died.

When Tadeos’ army disbanded, I thought I’d be free, or maybe they’d come to collect the debt I owed with my life. I begged for mercy and pleaded for them to spare me. To my surprise, they did, but mercy in the Hidden Hand always came with a price. Instead of killing me, they assigned me a new mission. This time, my task was far more personal.

I was ordered to follow someone I had once looked up to, someone I had idolized during my time in Tadeos' army—Mannes. He was my superior, a man I had aspired to be like. But now, my mission was to betray him. I was to retrieve a banner before it reached Garios’ hands, a banner that held more significance than I could understand.

Mannes didn’t know it, but from the moment we reunited, I had been keeping a close eye on him. The journey was long and filled with obstacles, but finally, we arrived in Charas. That’s when Mannes was handed the banner. My mission was clear: get the banner, no matter the cost. But Mannes was smart. He never told anyone where he hid it, and he was always careful. Too careful.

I spent the next few days searching for it. Whenever Mannes was away from his quarters, I slipped into his room and tore through his belongings, looking for any sign of the banner. But no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find it. It was as if he had hidden it in plain sight, just out of my reach.

To make matters worse, Nadea had assigned equites to accompany us. These elite cavalrymen were more than capable of keeping us in check, and I knew that trying to trap the group or ambush them with the help of the Hidden Hand was out of the question. The equites were too sharp, too disciplined. I was on my own.

I had to bide my time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. That chance came when we camped in the forest. Mannes, exhausted from the journey, was more relaxed than usual. I convinced one of his men, a fellow guard, to agree to take shifts watching over Mannes’ tent, and we alternated our patrols. It wasn’t hard to convince him—it seemed like an innocent enough request.

When most of the recruits and Mannes had fallen asleep, I made my move. The camp was quiet, the flickering light of the campfire casting long shadows on the ground. I approached Mannes’ tent, slipping inside as silently as I could. My heart was pounding in my chest, the weight of the task ahead pressing down on me. I was betraying a man I had once admired, and though I knew it had to be done, a part of me still rebelled against it.

Inside the tent, I searched for the banner. I rummaged through his belongings, my movements quick and desperate, but no matter how thoroughly I searched, it wasn’t there. Frustration began to build inside me. Where could he have hidden it?

Suddenly, Mannes stirred. My heart jumped into my throat as his eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, our eyes locked. He knew something was wrong. Before he could fully wake, I acted on instinct, moving to him and pressing a knife against his throat. My voice was shaky, but I forced myself to sound calm.

“Don’t scream,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire outside. “Give me the banner, and this can end peacefully.”

Mannes, to my surprise, didn’t flinch. There was no fear in his eyes, no panic. He simply looked at me, his expression unreadable. “What happens after that?” he asked, his voice steady. “You think you can escape? You won’t outrun the equites. They’ll catch you, and you know it.”

His words stung. He was right. There was no way I could escape once the equites caught wind of what I had done. Still, I couldn’t back down. I needed that banner, and I needed to believe there was a way out.

Mannes reached out slowly, his hand moving toward mine. It was a calming gesture, but I misread it. Fear took over, and before I could stop myself, I slit his throat.

Time seemed to stop. The knife moved across his skin as if it had a mind of its own, and then the blood came. Dark, thick, and pouring from the wound in a way that felt unreal. My heart was pounding, the weight of what I had just done crashing down on me.

I had killed him.

Mannes, the man I had idolized for years, was now dying by my hand. I stumbled back, my mind reeling from the shock of it all. What had I done? How had it come to this?

In my daze, I barely noticed Mannes reaching for something. Before I could react, he swung his arm, knocking over a candle stand. The flames caught on the fabric of the tent, and within seconds, the entire structure was ablaze. The fire spread quickly, consuming everything in its path.

I panicked, trying to think of a way out. But it was too late. The flames had already attracted the

attention of the recruits and equites. Shouts filled the air as people rushed to extinguish the fire, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the glow of the blaze. I knew I had to get out. I had to run. But my legs felt like they were made of lead, my body frozen in place as the realization of what I had done crashed over me.

I killed Mannes.

My mind was a whirl of chaos. I wanted to escape, to disappear into the forest and never be seen again, but my legs refused to move. The fire continued to grow, and I could hear the sound of boots pounding on the ground as the equites and recruits approached. It was only a matter of time before they found me.

Desperation took hold, and I finally forced myself to move. I turned and ran, but I had barely taken a few steps when I was met with resistance. Equites swarmed the camp, and in the chaos of the fire, I found myself surrounded. One grabbed me by the arm, pulling me to the ground. I fought back, thrashing and struggling against them, but it was no use. They were too strong.

“Hold him!” one of them shouted as more equites piled on top of me. I could feel the weight of their bodies pinning me down, the sharp sting of pain as they twisted my arms behind my back.

The guilt, the shame, the overwhelming sense of failure—it crushed me.

I had failed everyone.

The equites dragged me to my feet, and I didn’t resist. There was no point. I had killed Mannes and set the camp on fire, and now I was going to face the consequences. There was no escape from this.

As they led me away from the burning camp, I couldn’t help but replay the events in my mind. I had wanted to be a hero, someone who protected the weak. But instead, I had become a traitor. I had betrayed the man I looked up to, and for what? A banner? A piece of cloth that wasn’t even worth the blood on my hands?

Rita the Butcher, the Hidden Hand, the debt I owed—it all seemed so insignificant now. What did any of it matter when I had just killed the only person who had ever believed in me?

The flames still roared behind me, but I barely noticed them anymore. All I could think about was the sound of Mannes’ voice, his calm words in those final moments. He had known that my actions would only lead to this. But he had still tried to talk me down. And I had ignored him.

Now, I was nothing more than a prisoner, trapped by my own mistakes. The Hidden Hand wouldn’t save me, not now. They’d find someone else to do their dirty work, someone more capable, less burdened by conscience. And I would be left to face the judgment of the equites, of the empire.