By The Blood

Adolla walked casually, but his steps were firm, his red hair marking him as one of the legionnaires of the Warmaster legion. His black cape fluttered in the wind as crimson dust fell around him. Though he was still a few miles away, Dunn believed it would take Adolla a couple more spans to reach him. But suddenly, the man leaped into the air.

Red flames surged from Adolla’s legs, propelling him forward toward Dunn. He’s not really going to do that, is he?

Just then, Adolla drew his chain sword from behind, his deep voice roaring like a thousand storms across the rock terrain.

"Get ready, Dunn! Time to die with honor!"

I regret telling him that, Dunn thought, wincing as he braced himself. He glanced at the guardsmen, startled by the sight of the legionnaire hurtling toward them. Some froze in place, staring as the ball of fire and smoke was plummeting down on them. What could they do against it?

"Fall back!" Dunn shouted, snapping the guardsmen out of their trance.

Quickly, they obeyed, retreating on their steeds. On the other hand, Dunn let go of his horse’s reins. He had no intention of meeting Adolla while mounted—that would surely kill the poor creature. Instead, he rose to his feet, balancing perfectly on the galloping steed.

Then, like a wisp, he shot into the air, his entire body burning with heat, feeling like the deepest of flames. It felt good.

Raising his blade, flames curled around it, turning it red-hot. The sword would soon melt—it wasn’t a blooded knight’s weapon and couldn’t withstand the heat for long. But hopefully, it would last long enough to tire Adolla out. If that was even possible.

Adolla raised his fiery sword, ready to strike. Dunn did the same, and their blades collided.

Boom!

An explosion of crimson flames, large enough to engulf a small village, erupted. Dunn was thrown backward, crashing into a stray boulder and shattering it on impact. Debris and smoke enveloped him.

Groaning, he clenched his melting blade, then tossed a glance at Adolla. What a monster! he thought, watching as the man effortlessly stood up from the small crater he’d caused with his body.

"You can do better than that!" Adolla bellowed, his face bearing the sharp features of a Maw rather than the tribe he claimed. What that was, Dunn had no idea.

With a grin, he raised his sword, summoning a blade of flames in his other hand—a swirling mass of fire, not a physical weapon. How much mana does he even have? Dunn was already feeling the strain of mana use.

Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and summoned a flock of red, fiery birds, which circled around him. With a thought, he directed them forward.

This was a battle, and though he didn’t fully embody the traits of the legion, he was still a part of it. Flames burn all things! The flame is the purest of forces—and in the face of a challenge, a War-Master is as calamitous as war itself!

He dashed forward, sword raised, commanding the fiery birds to swarm toward Adolla, who, in turn, summoned his own. This is the problem with fighting someone who shares the same powers—they know all the tricks.

Part of Dunn hoped for death, but another part of him hoped against it. If asked, he would prefer to die on the upcoming mission the Radiant Sir was leading them on.

Their burning blades collided again, and Dunn used the recoil to swing his left hand, now holding the real flames. Adolla grinned and brought down his own flames in response. The flocks of birds clashed around them, exploding on impact.

Boom!

As the smoke cleared, Dunn saw that Adolla had summoned his helm, his face now hidden behind a red helmet with a visor as black as night. Dunn didn’t follow suit. Donning the helm would mean officially accepting Adolla’s challenge, and he didn’t want that—not when his task was to recruit the man. So, he endured the scorching heat with his bare skin, refusing to take the battle to its fullest extent.

"Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?" Dunn asked, his voice cutting through the clash of their swords—his chain sword now nothing more than a half-melted piece of dripping metal. It was practically useless. "What if a nearby giant encampment hears the battle and comes?"

Adolla didn’t reply through the helm. Instead, he extinguished his flame sword, curled his plated fingers into a fist, and drilled a punch into Dunn’s gut, sending him hurtling backward.

Despite the impact, Dunn made an arc managing to land on his feet, his armor absorbing much of the blow.

The giants may have already heard the battle. Giants were a race that revered the glory of combat, and they were said to be drawn to it—an instinctual drive, almost like a need. Dunn recalled reading about it in a tome provided by a scribe from the Warrior God’s tome vault . Of course, he’d never actually seen the inside of one.

Shaking himself from his daze, Dunn heard Adolla say, "Should you really be distracted? I was planning to throw a fireball into a volcano and jump in, but when I saw you, I thought of a better idea. This way, you can help me stave off boredom, and I might get to kill you in the process."

Not many knew about Dunn’s hidden desires. As for how Adolla found out... well, he’d beaten it out of Dunn in their first week together in the legion. Back then, Adolla had been obsessed with figuring out what kind of man Dunn was, only to discover he was a selfless, suicidal person. What does that even mean?

Adolla lunged forward with abrupt speed, summoning his flame blade in his right hand. Dunn responded in kind, dropping his now-melted sword and conjuring flames of his own.

Just as their blades were about to clash again, horns suddenly sounded across the plains. Both men froze. How could they not? It was the horn signaling a giant company invasion. How many giants would there be?

Normally, this entire region of the Dominations would be heavily guarded against giants, but due to the recent defeat, the forces had been pulled back to the fortress—the tents, war temples, and other encampments perched on the cliff.

Dunn turned, spotting several horses racing down from the switchbacks of the mountain. Among them were Shard-bearers, guardsmen, Death Runners dragged by chains, and priest adepts here to bless the coming battle.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Adolla. "The Warrior saved you—you should thank him."

By the shattered heavens! Dunn could see the disappointment etched on Adolla’s face. He really wanted the battle to continue.

Adolla dashed toward the incoming horses, using the speed granted by his armor to close in on a guardsman.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the unfortunate man from his horse and tossed him aside, then swiftly took the steed for himself. The horse nearly buckled under the weight of the shard-bearer—high steeds were preferred for those in Shard-armor for this very reason.

Dunn imagined for a moment what would happen if a normal horse tried to carry someone in knight plate. The poor creature would be crushed into paste.

A guardsman reached him, holding the reins of a high steed. It was his—the horse he had sent away while battling Adolla. Dunn had expected the horse’s back to be singed from the previous jump, but surprisingly, except for a few singed hairs, it was unharmed.

The Sanitarium and their miracles, he thought.

"Is the Archon joining us?" Dunn asked as he climbed onto his horse.

The guardsman shook his head. "He seems to have taken ill."

No, he’s simply angry at how the Radiant sir treated him... Pride consumes him, Dunn thought, glancing at the landscape. Fumes of dust and smoke surged forward like the dust storms that would soon sweep across the southern Dominion during the middle of the year. The western regions wouldn’t escape the storms either.

Soon, the creators of the dust revealed themselves. As always, it was the Carapace Bugs that appeared first.

These large, armored insects skittered toward them in swarms, their tiny stick-like legs making a sound like hundreds of stones being shaken in a jar. Some of the guardsmen stared in horror at the approaching swarm, but soon their eyes burned with the fire of battle.

They were war-masters after all!

Behind the Carapace Bugs came humanoid figures—bronze-skinned, with a single eye and little to no clothing. They moved barbarically behind the insects.

They don’t seem very coordinated. Perhaps a weaker encampment outside the main forces in the Waning Forest, Dunn thought.

The giants carried clubs, some even wielding basic iron weapons, but their armor was primitive.

Dunn felt relieved that this was a weaker camp. If they had faced a more powerful force, armed with iron or the dreaded shard armor of the giants, the battle might have been far different. He had never seen one of their shard-armors, but supposedly, it was even greater than knight plate. How is that even possible?

Soon, the guardsmen formed ranks; The Death Runners were at the front, held by task enforcers with chains. Beside them stood several guardsmen armed with spears, their sharp tips glinting in the dim light. Behind them, the archers readied their bows, and at the rear stood the line of Legion shard-bearers, prepared to slay. They summoned their helms, their black visors reflecting the darkness of night.

Some issued commands in layered, screeching voices to specific guardsmen, while others gave speeches to boost morale.

Dunn spotted Rollo, the Archon Adept, standing at the center of the Legion line. His once elegant gaze was hardening into something primal—something barbaric, like the Maw.

Scanning the battlefield, Dunn waited for the command to advance.

Then it came. Rollo gave the order, and the formation began to move, slowly at first, since the archers needed protection. The death runners were whipped by their task enforcers into running frantically ahead.

A few guardsmen, however, broke off and charged ahead, riding up the staging field, led by a figure in red shard armor. Adolla. He was heading straight for the incoming horde, his helm already covering his face, though Dunn knew only Adolla was reckless enough to do something like that.

No! Dunn shook his head. He wouldn’t let Adolla distract him. Their earlier battle had been nothing more than a skirmish. This was a real war. He needed to stay focused, or he might lose his life to an unworthy foe. Honor was always at stake.

He closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, calming himself as the horde drew closer, their mighty roars filling the air. Fortunately, Adolla’s team would meet them first.

Letting everything fade away, Dunn felt the dust settle on his face. He could almost swear it carried the faint scent of blood—perhaps the blood of the prideful son.

Armor clanked, leather creaked. Dunn raised his gaze to the sky, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The white sun barely pierced through the thick ashen clouds, leaving the sky blood-red, casting an eerie glow over Ulshur.

Men shifted nervously, sweat trickling down their faces. They called out, cursed, poised their weapons, tested bowstrings, or loosened their chain swords. The tension was palpable—the craving for battle, for honor, for blood.

Fear and rage would have already overtaken the soldiers if not for the oppressive heat of the Dominion. Same was for the gu.

"Are you ready?" Rollo asked softly, his face hard as stone.

"Yes!" the army chanted in unison.

A few priest adepts sprinkled special glistening gold dust over the soldiers, supposedly ground from actual gold. It was said to bring the gaze of the Warrior God upon them. This was a battle they had to win, and they believed they could.

"GO!" Rollo shouted.

From afar, Adolla’s team collided with the horde, but the majority of the enemy still surged forward like an unstoppable tide. Cutting through the death runners like steel through paper.

The archers released their arrows.

Energy pulsed through Dunn’s armor as he dashed across the stone ground, gripping the new chain sword delivered to him by a guardsman. He galloped atop his steed, rushing headlong toward the horde of one-eyed giants.

For the Warrior God, the ruler, and the empire!