Vuuxi nodded. He pulled the reins of his silver-maned white horse—Snowfire. With a light tug, the steed surged forward, galloping like a bolt of lightning tearing through the sky.
"Wait!" Vuuxi shouted as he neared the center of the field. "You think we'd waste time on a giant like this? I'm just a general… and you think he's worthy of facing me?"
His voice cut through the air like sharpened steel. Vuuxi spun Cindrael in his hand—his iconic weapon, a long whip-like cord with twin hooked blades at each end. Sunlight danced off the metal, casting a blinding glare that made the enemy troops squint.
"Come on then, weaklings... let's end this in a blink," Vuuxi said coldly.
Zarok let out a roar and raised his massive club high. But to Vuuxi, the movement looked no faster than a wooden puppet being pulled by a lazy string.
Vuuxi charged forward with Snowfire, the glowing white horse streaking like a desert storm over an empty plain. With no warning, Cindrael—that deadly, fluid weapon—spun into a vortex of steel and fury.
In a single precise swing, the blade slashed through Zarok's neck. The armored giant didn't even get a chance to swing his club. A sharp shrrkkh! sound sliced through the air... and Zarok's head flew upward, spinning several times before crashing to the ground with a heavy thud that seemed to shake the earth.
A heartbeat later, his massive body toppled. His club—split cleanly in two—looked no sturdier than rotten wood.
"YAAAAAA!!"The Whiteheaven troops roared so loud the sky trembled. Their cries of victory echoed all the way to the farthest hills. Meanwhile, the Balevad forces—who had just watched one of their giants beheaded in mere seconds—stood frozen. Faces tensed. Jaws clenched. A burning rage began to rise.
Bolisi's face flushed red with fury.
"Ten of my best knights! Step forward—now!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the field.
Ten towering warriors marched forward—covered in black tattoos and wielding massive weapons: axes, broad swords, spiked maces. They moved like a living iron wall. But Vuuxi didn't flinch. His weapon began to spin again, hissing like a serpent ready to strike.
One by one, the ten Balevad knights fell.Not a single blade touched Vuuxi.He leapt, spun, twisted, and struck with Cindrael like a dancer of death. The mighty knights collapsed—some headless, others missing limbs, chests torn wide open.
"Dear gods… he's not human," Bolisi muttered, lowering his gaze.
Neroxius shrieked, "Bolisi! This is an insult! They're humiliating you in front of all your troops!"
But Bolisi didn't respond. His eyes remained locked on the battlefield. "Elite squad! Twenty-five men—go!" he ordered.
This time, Balevad sent in their finest. A tight, disciplined unit moving in harmony, their motions like a rehearsed dance of death. But from the rear, a voice rose:
"Vuuxi, if this is getting too much—"
"Too much?" Vuuxi scoffed without turning. "What kind of joke is that, brother?"
Among the Doliex ranks, the generals watched with a mix of awe and dread.
"This is madness… I've only seen him fight once—back when we wiped out Lagosh—but this… he's truly a god of war," said Magnoli hoarsely.
"He might even… be able to rival Rogg himself," he added, unable to hide the wonder in his voice.
Even from across the field, some of the Larfex troops nodded quietly.
"A god… he's a living legend," whispered one of them.
On the Balevad side, Bondor and Billok grew increasingly uneasy. Neither had ever seen power like this. They were used to being the predators. But now… they felt like prey.
"You still doubt him, brother?" said Magnoli, turning to Damerius. "Three gods of war are on our side. We can win!"
"Three? You mean Robb too?" asked Damerius.
"No. Four. One more you've yet to see—Mendrova," added Xarvos, one of the Doliex elite commanders.
"Even with four gods of war, can we actually win this battle?" Zendaris muttered, brow furrowed.
Magnoli answered firmly, "Either way, we fight. Even if we die here, we die winning."
Damerius shook his head slowly. "But we're down to 160,000. They still have six hundred thousand… We might die before victory ever comes."
Then, almost in a whisper, he said, "I've already sent Valtros Gorn… to rally the people of Blacksand."
Magnoli's eyes widened. "What are you saying!? The civilians? For battle?!"
"They're the true owners of this city," Damerius said firmly. "If they won't defend it, who will?"
"You did this without Rogg's approval?" Magnoli's voice rose—angry and anxious.
"I know the risk. But I also know… sometimes, courage isn't born from strength, but from despair too heavy to bear," Damerius replied calmly.
Magnoli fell silent. His eyes pierced into his brother, but in his heart… he couldn't deny that maybe—just maybe—Damerius was right.But to sacrifice the people? Rogg would never agree. Neither would he. That was why Rogg had ordered the civilians out of the city.
The battle raged on.Now, Vuuxi faced 25 of Balevad's elite warriors, personally chosen by Bolisi. Yet again, they were reduced to little more than butchered meat under the Doliex General's blade.
Solvarya, Vuuxi's dual-bladed chakram, spun like a storm. The clang of steel and screams of agony filled the night air. Balevad's swords shattered. Their shields tore like paper. Every move Vuuxi made was a step in a deadly dance—graceful, swift, and utterly lethal.
They couldn't touch him.They couldn't even approach him.
The Balevad princes grew restless. Veins bulged in their necks. Fists clenched in frustration.
"Bolisi!" Neroxius barked. "Stop wasting our elite! That knight… he's not someone ordinary soldiers can handle!"
But Bolisi only shook his head slowly, eyes locked on the field with a strange glint of curiosity.
"I need to know… How strong is he really? How can one man slaughter so many of my warriors?" he muttered to himself.
Then he raised his voice once more:
"Fifty elite warriors! Forward!"
From Balevad's ranks, fifty of their finest marched out. Each one armored head to toe, eyes burning with bloodlust, weapons gleaming under the darkening sky.
Seeing a new wave descending onto the battlefield, Rogg scoffed and shouted a mocking taunt."Don't you have a worthier opponent? Why do you keep sending fodder—again and again?"
The Whiteheaven troops burst into laughter, while the Balevad soldiers clenched their jaws in frustration.
Vuuxi surged once more into the heart of the battlefield, his weapon spinning like a reaper's scythe. The clash was more intense this time, lasting longer than before. Yet still, one by one, the Balevad warriors fell—bodies sprawled, soaked in blood. Vuuxi suffered only minor wounds, but remained standing. His breathing grew heavier, but his gaze was razor-sharp.
That's when Bondor's fury finally erupted.
"Enough!"He roared with blazing eyes."I'll go in! Not to test strength—but for my blood brother!"
His eyes locked onto Rogg with a venomous stare."I will kill you, bastard!"
Billok quickly grabbed his shoulder."Brother, let the troops wear them down first. We can wait for the right moment—"
"Silence, Billok!" Bondor snapped, brushing off his brother's hand."I've seen enough of this pathetic display. That false Emperor must be erased—now!"
Bondor strode onto the battlefield. In his right hand, he carried a massive, forked greatsword. And in his left... the Dragnir Spear, once wielded by Rogg himself, now claimed after Bindor's death.
"Rogg!" he bellowed. "You wanted a real opponent? Here I am!"
Vuuxi glanced over his shoulder and chuckled."Looks like he's really after you."
Rogg gave a slight nod."You've done enough, Vuuxi. Now... it's my turn."
He stepped forward with steady purpose, each stride pounding the ground like a war drum. Then he stopped, facing Bondor, who was closing in with burning hatred.
"So… you're the one holding my spear," Rogg said, his voice cold as steel."Good. Then it's time you return it to me... along with your soul."
Bondor roared and hurled the Dragnir toward Rogg.
But as if the spear had a will of its own, Dragnir refused to harm its rightful master. It slowed in midair... then drove itself into the ground, landing upright—just inches from Rogg's feet.
The battlefield fell utterly silent.