General Edren Hawke, or the executioner, they called him. Not because he was an actual executioner by any means. A duty such as that spared too much mercy for wrongdoers. A quick death without suffering. It was more of a reward than a punishment in his mind.

From when Edren was young, he remembered exactly how everything took place. How his father, a respectable knight, had his life taken away abruptly in a small battle at the border. He never forgot how his mother remedied herself with alcohol, stripping any and all dignity from her body by selling herself to a brothel just so Edren and his brother to get by. She was strong, and far too caring to leave behind her two beloved children.

“Well, well! Look what has become of our fearsome general. From commanding men on the battlefield to trailing after a princess like some dutiful hound. Tell us, does Her Highness know how many men have died by those hands? I should think they’d have chosen someone rather less bloodstained to guard a lady.” One of Edren's mates piped up as he walked by, eyes landing on Edren's barely used sword that was currently being polished.

Edren's eyes sharpened slightly as the words sunk in. It was the undeniable truth that his sword has been through countless battles. He hadn't been training as a royal guard from the start. Hadn't been practicing sparring with a fellow knight or a training dummy. And most importantly, he hadn't been accustomed to the manners of the court expected of him. To the other royal guards, all he was was a ruthless executioner — Edren the bloody, they said.

“To guard the Princess is an honour, not a humiliation. You would do well to remember that before making sport of it.” Edren replied calmly as he stood up from the bench, flipping the sword by the hilt several times as if to test the weight of it on his hands again. Familiar. Comforting, even.

“If you believe I’ve grown soft, you’re welcome to test the notion. A friendly spar should settle it.”

As he spoke, Edren looked up with a slight smile. His dirty blonde hair fell over his face, light green eyes focusing on the man like he was a target. As much as he tried not to be smug at times, a man who was confident in his own skills never wavered — especially not when being challenged.