I Awakened A Divine Curse

The clash between the champions of both kingdoms intensified, tearing through the surroundings like a storm loosed from a cage. Any humans caught within the radius were shredded without mercy. Adding to the chaos, the Knight of the Highrise Kingdom fought with a ruthless fervor that bordered on cruel.

From what Auren had pieced together, the Kingdom of Highrise worshipped the God of Light, while the Kingdom of Heart revered the God of Darkness.

It showed in how their soldiers dressed. Highrise warriors gleamed in silver armor, each breastplate marked by a crimson cross. In contrast, the soldiers of Heart donned lusterless black armor that devoured light and reflection alike.

But the knight from Highrise was different—unnervingly so. He looked more like a warrior forged in the shadows of Heart than a beacon of Light.

If there was a difference between the champions, it lay in their armors. The Champion of Heart wore matte black plating that seemed to drink the light around him, absorbing radiance like a void made flesh. The Champion of Highrise, on the other hand, wore jagged, gleaming black armor that looked far too heavy for fluid movement but moved like smoke wrapped in thunder.

He bolted forward, and every swing of his broadsword fell like a divine verdict, merciless and final. His shield wasn't just a defense; it was a maw of retribution, ever-ready to snap shut around his opponent.

But the Champion of Heart was no less formidable. His molten gold shield shifted like liquid flame, flowing in real time to intercept each attack. It wasn't just him fighting—there was something else behind that shield, something unseen, whispering through every movement.

Yet their battle did more harm than good. Corpses piled around them, structures cracked from shockwaves, and the ground split beneath their feet. The Champion of Highrise, despite his wild and brutal style, was studying his surroundings with a calculating eye. There was precision beneath the madness.

Soldiers were dying. And despite the overwhelming numbers Highrise had poured from the forest, the Kingdom of Heart was holding their ground—with grit, stubbornness, and raw, unyielding force.

The Champion of Highrise slammed his shield forward. The Champion of Heart flew back, molten gold hardening midair into a jagged slab that collided with a descending spear. The clash sent ripples through the air like a stone tossed into still water, forcing the Highrise Champion to stagger back.

Seizing the brief lull, he drove his shield into the ground, a tremor shaking out from the impact. Then he reached behind him and pulled out a small horn, sliding it beneath his helm.

The sound that followed was not a note—it was a scream. A piercing, guttural wail that tore across the battlefield like a blade through silk. Every man froze. Every heart sank.

The call of retreat.

As soon as the soldiers of Highrise heard it, they began to pull back from the battlefield.

At first, the soldiers of Heart surged forward, ready to chase down their retreating foes. But a low, thunderous horn echoed from the fortress walls—an unyielding call not to pursue.

The Champion of Highrise remained still, unmoving as his people flowed past him like a receding tide. There was a gleam of darkness in his eyes—one that didn't belong to a man who fought for the God of Light.

Across from him, the Champion of Heart stood just as motionless. His gaze remained fixed on his opponent, sharp and unwavering, laced with a quiet unease. Even beneath his helm, the lower half of his face and his dull, ironclad eyes were visible. The red plume atop his helm trailed steadily in the wind like a silent flame.

The Champion of Highrise took a single step back, locking eyes with the Knight before him. The Champion of Heart did not see it so well, but it almost looked like his dark expression curved into a subtle, unsettling grin—then he turned and walked away.

The Champion of Heart swayed on his feet, then braced himself on his spear, coughing blood that splattered dark against the ash-colored ground.

Beside him, the molten gold began to harden and shape itself. In moments, it sculpted into a lithe, bald man formed entirely from glistening gold, carved with unnatural precision.

He moved with gentle grace, slipping beneath the Knight's arm and supporting him with quiet reverence. At the same time, the soldiers of Heart erupted into cheers, their ragged voices rising into the wind like a chorus of defiance.

It hadn't seemed possible—but somehow, they had defended their fortress from the ravenous advance of Highrise. The walls still stood. The banner still flew. Though many lay wounded and others would never rise again—they endured.

The golden man glanced back at the battlefield, a somber smile forming on his metallic lips.

"We survived…"

The Knight clenched his teeth behind his helm.

"Survived? Or merely delayed the inevitable?"

The golden man's voice was warm despite his glinting frame.

"Come now, even the Dark God seems to favor us today. How often do you see soldiers fall from the sky, carried by His pet?"

The Knight didn't respond. He couldn't—not to that. It was true, no matter how strange it sounded.

After a moment, he sighed and stood upright. Then glancing toward the fortress gates:

"Well, shouldn't we go entertain our guests?"

The two of them walked slowly— the golden man supporting the Knight as he limped with measured steps.

Elsewhere, Auren and Asenya moved among the ranks of soldiers. Many lay sprawled across the ground, their wounds half-treated, their breaths shallow. The stench of blood still hung in the air, and the weight of survival pressed on everyone like a second skin.

From the main keep of the fortress, a group of figures in black hooded cloaks emerged, striding toward them with hurried purpose.

But before they arrived, the golden man and the battered Knight who had fought so fiercely approached Auren and Asenya.

The golden man gave a fleeting glance to the hooded figures, then turned his attention to Auren and Asenya. He smiled.

Despite his strange, radiant skin that shimmered like polished gold, his smile was warm—unexpectedly handsome and striking.

Then he spoke with a smooth and reverent voice.

"It is a great honor to be graced by Divine Cadres of the Dark God."

The Knight beside him bowed, saying nothing. His silence was heavy, but not empty.

Auren raised his chin, a smirk playing on his lips as he scoffed.

"Well, you lot were getting slaughtered so badly that the great God of Darkness had to stretch His legs. Can't have His children falling like flies while He watches from a throne, can He?"