​The southern border of Brassvale had never witnessed a day this cruel. The red earth, usually parched and cracked by the sun, had transformed into a thick, brackish mire. The crimson fluid seeped and pooled, creating a foul-smelling mud that clung tenaciously to the boots of anyone still left with feet to stand on. This was no longer mere soil; it was a blend of hundreds of lives—the cold black armor of Brassvale clashing with the blazing red robes of Ignis-Sol. All had dissolved, merging into a single, shared color of death.

​The sun had long reached its zenith, yet its rays could barely pierce through the soot. The sky was veiled by a suffocating gray curtain—a combination of smoke from exploding fireballs, the remnants of burning tents, and the pungent aroma of charred flesh. Srak... srak... The sound of dragging armored feet harmonized with a symphony of death: ragged, interrupted screams, the wild clashing of metal, and the frantic neighing of dying warhorses, their neck veins bulging with strain.

​Amidst this hell, Orchid walked.

​His steps were slow and rhythmic, resembling the calm of a man strolling through his private garden. He passed piles of bodies without so much as a glance. His dark eyes were locked straight ahead, toward the center of the death vortex where mana energy pulsed wildly. His long black cloak fluttered softly, occasionally brushing against pools of blood and absorbing the liquid at its hem.

​Orchid shifted his right shoulder slightly. Krit. The sound of his joints echoed beneath his armor. The stiffness from a previous skirmish remained, leaving a dull, throbbing sensation, but he merely drew a deep breath to suppress the pain.

​Whoosh!

​An Ignis-Sol soldier lunged from behind a mound of filth. His face was smeared with blood, his eyes wild with adrenaline and terror. With a hoarse roar, he swung a curved blade toward Orchid’s head.

​Orchid did not stop walking.

​As the blade nearly grazed his hair, he simply tilted his body with a micro-movement of extreme efficiency. The opponent’s blade sliced through the air, passing harmlessly beside his ear. Without looking, Orchid’s left hand struck the soldier’s nape with the side of an open palm. Thud. The blow wasn’t heavy, but it was pinpointed on a nerve center. The soldier went limp instantly, his face collapsing into the red mud without a sound. Orchid didn’t look back to check if he was still breathing.

​He continued through the haze of smoke.

​A few meters ahead, a small scene momentarily halted his progress. Three Ignis-Sol soldiers were surrounding a helpless Brassvale trooper. They laughed, occasionally kicking the poor man’s ribs until a pathetic crack could be heard. They were feasting on suffering, toying with their prey before delivering the final blow.

​Orchid approached silently.

​The first soldier fell before he could even register Orchid’s presence, his throat neatly slit by a draw of a blade too fast for the eye to catch. The second tried to scream, but his voice was choked by blood as Orchid’s blade drove straight into his chest. Gurgle. The third soldier, seeing both his comrades dead in seconds, tried to flee in a panic. Orchid merely stooped slightly, picked up a grimy dagger from the ground, and threw it. Thwack. The dagger embedded itself perfectly at the base of his skull.

​"Hero... you..." The wounded Brassvale soldier stared with wide eyes, reaching for the edge of Orchid’s cloak.

​"Hmm." Orchid offered only a faint grunt, no more. He was already moving before the words of gratitude could be finished.

​The further he ventured, the more vivid and revolting the battlefield became. To the left, a Brassvale Mk. IV Golem, usually gallant, stood petrified—its stone body riddled with black holes from smoldering fireballs. To the right, an Ignis-Sol war chariot lay overturned, its wooden wheels spinning uselessly, while the draft horses lay dead with arrows protruding from their slumped necks.

​Then, he saw him.

​A man stood tall amidst the mounds of corpses. His skin was a reddish-brown, weathered and tempered by desert heat. His black hair was tied back with a simple, faded leather cord. He wore no heavy armor; only a deep red cloak charred at the bottom, revealing muscular arms covered in burn scars.

​In his hand, a massive cleaver blazed with an orange-blue flame that refused to flicker even in the biting wind. The fire hissed, devouring the surrounding oxygen and creating a heat shimmer that distorted the very air.

​The man had just decapitated a Brassvale captain. One clean, horizontal stroke. Zip. The captain’s body split, and before the blood could even spray, the flames from the cleaver had already seared the wound shut, charring it black and releasing a sharp, burnt stench.

​Khaleed. The Hero of Ignis-Sol, rumored to possess the power of a volcanic crater.

​Khaleed turned, letting the captain’s body fall into the mud. His glowing amber eyes met Orchid’s cold gaze.

​Silence reigned for a moment. The war surrounding them seemed muffled by an invisible wall.

​Khaleed grinned widely, revealing a row of white teeth against his grimy face. He raised his cleaver, pointing it directly at Orchid’s chest. "Finally. The Hero of Brassvale crawls out of his nest."

​His tone wasn’t mocking; it was relieved. It was as if he had finally found worthy entertainment after a day of slaughtering common soldiers.

​"You knew I would come," Orchid said flatly. His voice was low, nearly swallowed by the wind.

​"Eh, I certainly hoped so." Khaleed twirled his cleaver, creating a small, hissing ring of fire in the air. "Killing these regulars is boring. Tsk, they offer no challenge at all."

​Orchid didn’t return the pleasantries. He gripped the hilt of his sword, drawing it from its sheath.

​Fwusssshhh!

​A blood-red energy blade ignited instantly, humming with a low frequency that made the ground beneath their feet vibrate. Several soldiers nearby—from both sides—immediately backed away. They knew that being caught between these two meant seeking death.

​"Ho, that’s a beautiful sword you’ve got there," Khaleed complimented, eyes sparkling.

​"I could say the same about your fire toy."

​Without warning, Khaleed charged. His fire cleaver swung from top to bottom with a speed that defied logic for a weapon of that weight. Orchid raised his blade.

​CRASH!

​Sparks of red and blue fire scattered wildly as the two energy blades collided. The ground beneath them cracked instantly. The heat radiating from Khaleed’s cleaver made the air shimmer. Orchid withstood the pressure, then pushed back with full force.

​Khaleed stumbled half a step. It was enough for Orchid to spin his sword and thrust toward the solar plexus. However, Khaleed was incredibly agile. He spun his body, letting Orchid’s red blade merely tear through the fabric of his red cloak without touching skin.

​Rip!

​Khaleed countered with a horizontal slash aimed at the neck. Orchid ducked swiftly. The fire blade passed right over his head, close enough to singe a few strands of hair and release a burnt smell.

​They traded blows without pause. Every one of Orchid’s strikes was precise and cold, while every one of Khaleed’s swings was wild and powerful, like a firestorm. Around them, the soldiers gradually stopped fighting. They stood frozen, simply to witness two legends dancing on the edge of death.

​Khaleed jumped back, creating a distance of about three meters. His breath began to hitch, hah... hah..., but his smile remained. "You’re faster than the rumors, Orchid."

​"And you’re tougher than I initially anticipated," Orchid replied softly.

​Khaleed let out a short laugh, then twirled his cleaver above his head. The mana around him began to distort violently. The fire on his blade expanded, turning from orange to a blinding blue-white. The air around him hissed, krit... krit..., as if space itself were cracking under the heat.

​Orchid adjusted his grip. His red blade hummed louder, responding to the incoming danger.

​They were ready to strike again. For one final, decisive blow.

​But the ground suddenly shook violently. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

​Grumm... Grumm...

​This wasn’t the tremor from their impact. Nor was it from the Golems. This tremor was deeper, originating from the darkest depths of the earth. Orchid and Khaleed both froze. They turned toward the south simultaneously.

​A thick shroud of dust billowed on the horizon, swallowing the last of the sunlight. The sky, which had been gray, turned pitch black, covering everything like a massive, moving wall. Warhorses began to neigh hysterically, rebelling against their riders and fleeing wildly toward the north. Several soldiers lost their balance, falling to their knees with deathly pale faces.

​The war truly stopped. One by one, swords were lowered. The sound of clashing metal vanished, replaced by the sound of a wind carrying a strange, foul stench—the smell of long-buried carcasses, now breathing once more.

​From behind the veil of black dust, they appeared.

​One limping shadow. Then ten. Then hundreds. Thousands.

​The creatures walked with terrifying, jerky movements. Some dragged legs where the bone protruded. Others lacked jaws, leaving tongues dangling limply amidst dripping black fluid. Krit... krak... The sound of their bones creaking crawled through the silence.

​Their skin was blackened and cracked. Their eyes? Only hollow black pits without life.

​Plagueborne.

​Orchid stiffened, his fingers gripping his sword hilt until his knuckles turned white. An ancient instinct in his blood whispered that what had just arrived was far more dangerous than the entire Ignis-Sol army.

​Khaleed, beside him, lowered his cleaver. The white fire that had been so fierce dimmed, as if suffocated by the heavy aura of death.

​"Hah... what the hell is that?" Khaleed asked, his voice hoarse and stripped of its arrogance.

​Orchid didn’t answer. He only stared south, toward the horde of corpses now beginning to run toward them. And far behind that wall of monsters, something much more massive began to stir within the darkness.