A day had passed. The skies above the Land of the Turtle were gray with judgment. In exactly four hours, Anne the Undead would lose her head.
Her fate was sealed not by her crimes, nor by Kay the Quick Blade's reckless act—his rage-driven invasion of the Land of the Phoenix, where he singlehandedly obliterated a decent amount of their standing military in less than a day, but by the people in charge--who found this as an opportunity to satisfy their greed to conquer all. What had long been a delicate stalemate between the four great nations now trembled on the edge of collapse.
The world was watching.
And far to the east, within the opulent stone halls of the Land of the Dragon, a conversation of blood and strategy had already begun.
The Dragon King sat motionless on his throne, robes of violet and gold spilling down the marble steps beneath him. His eyes, however, flickered with quiet calculation.
Before him, his Chancellors stood in a semicircle, draped in flowing robes marked with runes of wisdom and war.
"Let them destroy each other," one said, voice smooth as silk. "The Phoenix have been prideful for too long. The Turtle reckless. If both burn, the ashes are easier to sweep."
"Too simple," said Chancellor Detrix, older and sharper. "If we wait too long, the Turtle will rise from the ruins stronger than ever. Their forces remain largely untouched."
"Then we tip the scales," Chancellor Metrix chimed in. "Send reinforcements to the Phoenix under the guise of alliance. Even the field. Let them bleed one another dry."
A younger woman—Chancellor Nixix—spoke hesitantly. "But… what if the Land of the Tiger sees opportunity in the chaos? If they march on us while we're distracted—?"
A dismissive hand waved through the air. "The Tiger King is a pacifist. He wouldn't—"
The heavy doors of the throne room slammed open. Everyone turned.
A single guard burst in, panting, sweat on his brow. "Sire," he gasped, bowing deeply, "Tenza is coming."
The entire chamber fell silent.
Then—a metallic clank. Boots--Heavy, deliberate steps echoed through the hall.
Tenza entered. Her black armor shimmered beneath her long blood-red cloak. In each hand, she carried a massive battle axe, the blades already stained from some fresh conflict. Her eyes were sharp and without fear as she stepped directly into the center of the throne room and dropped both axes to the floor with a thud that rang like a war drum.
"If any of you fools dare to interfere in the feud between the Turtle and the Phoenix…" she said, her voice cold, "then come fight me."
No one spoke.
The king rose slowly from his throne, frowning. "You young ones…" he said, descending a step. "You think the title of Pillar makes you untouchable."
Tenza's lips curved into a grin.
"Oh no," she said. "That's not my only title, is it?"
She stepped forward, voice rising with iron weight.
"I am Tenza, the Severing Wind. I was also granted the title of the Strongest."
The air in the hall thickened.
Back in the Land of the Turtle, the earth trembled beneath marching boots.
Out of five hundred thousand soldiers, the Land of the Turtle had deployed two hundred and seventy thousand—a sea of black armor and discipline, stretching across hills and roads, their banners swaying beneath the overcast sky. Positioned to intercept any advance from the Land of the Phoenix, the remainder of the force was scattered across key strategic points throughout the nation, ready to repel invasions from the other kingdoms if they dared test the Turtle's fury.
But at the center of this vast military wall stood a small, elevated platform of stone.
There, kneeling on a wooden block, was a battered figure—a General of the Phoenix, her uniform torn and soaked in dried blood. Her red hair clung to her cheeks, and one of her eyes had swollen shut. Yet her pride held.
A guillotine hovered above her neck. Silent. Waiting.
Sitting beside her, calmly sharpening his blade, was a man known across all four nations.
Kay the Quick Blade. The Strongest Man in the World.
His sword shimmered like starlight, the edge impossibly thin. His eyes, quiet and unreadable, remained locked on the horizon.
"He's coming," he murmured.
The general smirked through cracked lips. "Who is that? Is a judge finally here to give me a fair trial?"
Kay didn't look at her.
"No.."
Back in the Land of the Dragon – Strategy Room
The Dragon King's strategy chamber buzzed with tension.
Tenza lay sprawled on the floor, arms behind her head, staring up at the domed ceiling like it was the sky itself. Her two massive axes were leaned lazily beside her.
Then they struck.
The Four Chancellors—robes flying—rushed her with spells blazing and blades drawn.
In an instant, the room flared with light.
Tenza rolled her eyes, sighing. "Can't I sleep for five minutes without a betrayal?"
Before she could retaliate, a voice boomed. "Enough!"
All movement froze.
The Dragon King, Laziri, descended from his throne. His violet eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark. His presence silenced the air itself.
"You come into my kingdom and attempt to slaughter my children?" he said, voice low and deadly.
Tenza yawned. "It's called self-defense. Didn't that exist in your time, Mr. Laziri?"
The chancellors stiffened at her tone, but Laziri only laughed—a deep, thunderous sound that echoed off the stone walls.
He looked down at her with amusement.
"Let's make this interesting, Tenza," he said. "A wager."
She sat up.
"If the Land of the Turtle wins… you leave my kingdom unharmed, no more chaos, no more swinging your axes at my advisors."
"And if the Phoenix wins?" she asked, tilting her head.
"You die."
Tenza stood, brushing dust from her cloak. "Easy bet."
Laziri's smile faded.
"It would've been," he said slowly, "if that man wasn't coming."
Back to the campaign.
The sound of horns echoed across the plains.
Blood red banners crested the far hills. And then—like an avalanche of flame and vengeance—two hundred and ten soldiers of the Land of the Phoenix came into view, their crimson cloaks dragging through the dust, their armor marked with burnished gold.
They moved not like an army—but like a storm.
At their head walked a man no one had seen in years.
A legend. A ghost.
His armor was cracked with age but still gleamed like molten fire. Chains hung from his wrists, not as shackles—but as trophies. His skin was pale, death-like, and his steps echoed as if the ground itself remembered who he was.
Matthew the Undead.
His eyes, sunken and emotionless, scanned the Turtle lines like he was reading a story he had already memorized.
Behind him, the Phoenix soldiers marched with unnatural rhythm—controlled, silent, and utterly unafraid.
A Phoenix general galloped beside him. "Sir… are you sure you should've come out of retirement?"
Matthew didn't stop walking. "I can't let an uncivilised boy do whatever he wants with my title... can I?"