Hyrule Warriors Age Of Imprisonment Novels & Stories

But that girl was gone. For the next five years, I refused to be owned or put into a box. My time at the facility had gifted me a new ritual: hot Earl Grey tea with honey at sunset. The tea was sharp, like the desert air, but the honey was a promise I made to myself: I would never let the bitterness win. For twenty minutes every day, I wasn't a Hybrid, a survivor, or a daughter. I was one with the sunset, waiting for the moon to take its rightful place in the sky.

Among them, the Eastania Sword Demon was particularly notorious. The Eastania Sword Demon had invaded Dragoria alongside the forces of Eastania, another country, decades ago, wreaking havoc and causing countless deaths. His crimes were innumerable. After the defeat of Eastania, the Eastania Sword Demon was captured by the then-master of Sword Sanctuary and imprisoned in an underground cell a hundred meters deep. The lifespan of a level nine warrior was around a hundred years. After decades of imprisonment, his physical condition should have greatly deteriorated. Yet, the Eastania Sword Demon had managed to cause such a commotion?

I remember my job as an executioner for two years before I became Alpha. I stopped whipping them when they passed out in their own blood. The two warriors checked to see if they were dead. I was relieved that they were still alive, so I could whip them whenever I wanted. “Sentence them to 150 lashes a day,” I said. “We will do it, Alpha.” The two warriors accepted my order happily. Although tiring, whipping was a fun and addictive activity. They were stubborn and stupid as hell. They preferred to die carrying secrets that were not worth the payment they received. Yeah, it's the same thing with Spy Warriors.

Xander and I just got back together, but I feel like I had been their Luna for a long time. After breakfast, I went to the training hall with all the young warriors. I stood at the center, surrounded by eager faces—young warriors in the making, their eyes reflecting a mix of excitement and determination. The youngest was just thirteen, brimming with youthful energy, while the oldest was eighteen, on the cusp of adulthood. These were the future protectors of the pack.

Gamma Austin often invited him to spar with other warriors, so everyone there had already warmed up to him. By the time the six-month probation was over and the GPS tracker was taken off his ankle, Randall didn’t waste time and applied to be a warrior. The Gamma already told him that if he got accepted, he would start at the bottom of the warrior ranks, along with those who would train for the first time — the fifteen and sixteen years old or those who realized a little late that they wanted to be warriors. Randall was willing to take that. He was not bothered if he ended up being the oldest, and it only showed how great of a person he was. He was willing to start again and build up the life

About a hundred warriors stood on the field of battle, ready for one-on-one combat. They gather as usual before five every morning and put in the necessary work to improve. Gamma Mace was facing the crowds with one hand holding his weapon and the other resting by his side. Although Mace wasn't as tall as Simon, he was still attractive. At a very young age, he converted to the gamma state. He is now 22 years old. He was one of the most powerful warriors who had previously protected the packs from rogues.

AGE 8: THE BEGINNING It started with small tasks—cleaning floors, fetching water, and running errands for the warriors. At first, I thought if I worked hard enough, they might see me as more than just a prisoner. I thought wrong. The warriors saw my efforts as nothing more than an opportunity to exploit my labor further. By my ninth birthday, I had learned the rules of survival: speak only when spoken to, keep your head down, and never, ever cry. Tears only brought laughter, followed by harsher punishments.

I ordered, revealing my own bastard nature. *** "Open it," I commanded the warrior leading the most dangerous cell in my pack. We were in the dim corridors of my packhouse. The cell was tiny, barely enough room for a person to stand. And once inside, they were not allowed to leave except to eat. That meant if they needed to relieve themselves, they had to do it right there. The nearly lifeless body of Halsey tumbled out of the cell and into the arms of the warrior. She growled, locking eyes with me. The warrior set her down on the floor, and she dropped like a sack of potatoes.

After all, to train such terrifying guards, the lord is all the more so horrifying than them. Lyor arrived in time to see the start of the group of guards grappling to the dirt with their bare hands. Sounds of groans and pained exclamation could be heard as the losers fell down one by one while holding their body parts that have been hit to the point of swelling. “You all are roughhousing too much.” Lyor click his tongue as he walked closer to one of the fallen guards with an irritating smirk on his youthful face. Lyor is only seventeen years old this year, and he is the youngest of Samel’s six personal subordinates that he had adopted and trained when he was only fifteen years old.

The pack stayed. Wren and the others built a camp at the edge of the clearing. Makeshift tents. A communal fire. Wolves who had been enemies days ago now shared food and watched the tree line together. Luan moved among them, learning names, memorizing faces. A turned wolf named Holt. Fifty-three years old. Missing two fingers from a fight Julian forced him into. A woman called Sparrow. Twenty years old. Turned at sixteen. Had never been allowed to speak to a born wolf without permission.