The first day of battle in the city of Blacksand had just concluded. This sprawling city, riddled with narrow alleys, had become a blood-soaked battleground from dawn till dusk. A decisive victory was achieved by Rogg and Vuuxi's forces in the central sector, right at the main harbor. However, on the western front, Eryndor suffered a bitter defeat. His troops were shattered, forced to retreat and seek refuge in the city center—territory held by Whiteheaven's main forces.
That night, Eryndor's imperial army regrouped at Rogg's command post, battered and demoralized.
"Your Majesty..." Eryndor staggered into the main hall. His face was haggard, his armor stained with blood. "The enemy forces... they're ruthless. They showed no mercy. Half of my men—fallen."
Karstus Frostbane, one of the empire's great commanders, had sacrificed himself along with his troops to allow Eryndor and his men to escape.
Rogg narrowed his eyes, silently observing the man, his anger and disappointment barely contained. It was becoming clear that Eryndor was not a commander suited for the battlefield. Perhaps assigning him to the western front had been a mistake.
Vuuxi, meanwhile, took a deep breath, restraining his frustration. "What exactly happened? Our forces shouldn't have been defeated so easily. Did they panic? Or... did you employ a flawed strategy? One that didn't align with the city's conditions?"
"Their numbers were overwhelming... I believed the western side would be easier to defend. But it turns out... they stationed their strongest forces there." Eryndor wiped the blood from his temple. His voice was heavy, tinged with regret, yet also defensive.
Rogg nodded slowly. "I had instructed you to remain in the city center. But you were stubborn."
"But, Your Majesty... the city itself posed a problem. It's filthy, cramped, chaotic. Our troops couldn't maneuver freely. Honestly, that place is disgusting... unworthy of being called a city," Eryndor grumbled.
"Stop making excuses!" Vuuxi suddenly snapped. "You're blaming the city? That's our territory, our people. The enemy doesn't care whether the city is beautiful or not. They came to destroy. And you—you treat this as a joke? Is warfare to you merely about locations and conditions?"
"Are you belittling my troops?" Eryndor stepped forward, furious. "Two-thirds of my soldiers are dead! Isn't that enough to be considered a fight?!"
"Enough!" Rogg's voice cut through the tension. "This isn't the time for blame. The war isn't over. In the east, Damerius and Magnoli are still engaged—they might be under even greater pressure. But we still have one advantage... we control the city center. That means we can divide the enemy forces. Cut off their supply lines, and we strike from both sides."
That night, they rested to regain strength before the battle resumed.
Suddenly, at midnight—a cry rang out from outside the tent.
"ENEMY ATTACK!"
"BALEVAD HAS ARRIVED! NIGHT RAID!"
The guards scrambled. The sound of war trumpets pierced the night sky.
Rogg immediately stood. His hand gripped the Dragnir spear leaning against the pole. His eyes blazed.
"Just as we anticipated," he said calmly yet firmly.
Vuuxi entered the room, carrying a small scroll.
"News from Josia. The enemy has walked into our trap. They thought they could launch a stealth attack..." A sly smile crossed his face.
Eryndor looked panicked. "You... you prepared for this in advance? Even for a night assault?!"
Rogg turned to him. "Of course. We've mapped out every gap and possibility in Blacksand. Balevad's forces are cunning enough to bypass and strike beyond their limits without leaving a trace. That only exposed their presence and intent to attack stealthily. Josia and his troops are already there."
"Y-You're going to counterattack tonight as well? Lead the troops?" Eryndor seemed confused, his voice rising.
"Why not?" Rogg replied. "I've never just watched my troops fight. I'm an Emperor, yes. But first and foremost, I'm a warrior."
Vuuxi grinned. "Brother, all troops are ready."
Rogg nodded. "Let's go."
In an instant, 500 elite Doliex soldiers were prepared. Their bodies clad in dark attire that blended with the night shadows. They weren't ordinary troops. They were hunters—silent, lethal. And tonight... they would infiltrate Balevad's camp on the western front, via the coastal waters.
That night, the war in Blacksand turned into hell. Fires blazed along the narrow, squalid streets, illuminating the sky like open wounds. In the city's central sector, Balevad's forces, intending a surprise attack, instead walked into an unforeseen nightmare.
Arrow formations awaited them from the rooftops, piercing the night sky. The alleys had been doused with oil—and in an instant, ignited as soon as feet touched the ground. Explosions. Mines. Silent traps. Screams. All merged into a symphony of death.
Josia stood at the end of the main road, his sword dripping with blood. Behind him, elite troops from Mount Larfex—silent, swift, and deadly. "Now!" he shouted. And they charged like living shadows. Balevad's forces fell one by one—as if they had come not to fight, but to be slaughtered.
At another city entrance, Hans and Nakhsa stood ready. They greeted each wave of enemies escaping the trap with a small, fast, and resilient cavalry formation. The remnants of the enemy forces were crippled, halted by an unexpected show of coordination.
Meanwhile, on the coast, Rogg and Vuuxi led 500 elite Doliex soldiers, infiltrating through hidden paths among the wreckage of old ships and piles of marine debris. Silently, they crept, slipping past the boundaries of Balevad's main camp.
The enemy camp was vast, hundreds of tents sprawled like a spider's web. In the center stood Marguk, one of the commanders, instructing his troops to prepare for continuous assaults to instill fear in the enemy forces. He appeared resolute—unaware that spies had already infiltrated the very core of his army.
Inside the main tent, the leaders of Balevad were already celebrating victory.Food was abundant. Liquor flowed freely. Laughter and cheers filled the air, as if the war had already been won.
"Are they… celebrating before the war is even over?" Vuuxi muttered from behind the tent, narrowing her eyes.
"Sweet arrogance," Rogg replied, a cold curve on his lips. "Look there."He pointed to a large man clad in golden armor and a horned crown."That's him... Bindor."
Rogg and Vuuxi stepped inside. Silent. Wordless. Like shadows in the dark.
Then—from the sea—BOOOM!A thunderous explosion shattered the night. Flames clawed at the sky.Balevad's warships were ablaze.The once-calm camp turned into chaos. Screams erupted everywhere.
"They're attacking our ships! Quickly, to the sea!" shouted Bondor.
He rushed out along with the other commanders to assess the situation.
Bindor, drunk and fuming with rage, roared,"Catch them!! Don't let anyone escape!"
Balevad's forces scattered toward the shore, scrambling to save their fleet.They didn't know… it was all a distraction. A decoy.
Inside the tent, Bindor remained seated—dead drunk. His face flushed red, mouth stuffed with roasted meat.
Rogg stepped out from the shadows. His face calm. His gaze piercing.
"My lord," Rogg spoke in fluent Balevad, removing his face covering,"Would you care to take war a little more seriously?"
Bindor squinted at him. "Who are you? A soldier from... Blacksand?"
Rogg locked eyes with him. "Give my regards to Borjong—and to every soul of Migase your men slaughtered without mercy."
In an instant, Dragnir, the spear Rogg had used to strike down other Balevad princes, flashed from his hand.
THUD!The spear slammed into Bindor's chest—straight through his heart.
Bindor's eyes widened. His chest seized.Blood burst from his mouth.
"Now, Vuuxi!" Rogg shouted.
SWISH!Bindor's head flew from his shoulders.His massive body didn't even flinch, remaining upright at the banquet table.
Vuuxi and Rogg slipped out of the tent, vanishing into the shadows.Behind them, the grand tent looked untouched—though every leader inside lay dead.
Seconds later, Bondor, Bindor's twin brother, stormed in.
"BINDOOOORRR!!!"
His scream echoed through the entire camp.Tents collapsed. Troops halted.All eyes turned toward the tent—then saw it.
Bindor's headless body sprawled across the floor. Blood everywhere.Dragnir still buried in his chest.
While Balevad's army froze in terror, the Doliex forces were already retreating.Their boats disappeared into the thick night fog.
Mission accomplished.
The enemy fleet burned.Their supreme commander—dead.And Blacksand? The war there still raged on.
Rogg and Vuuxi returned to their base.Their steps were calm, but their eyes burned with fire.As if the night wasn't just a victory—but a message:They were ready to defeat any enemy who stood in their way.