Newfear

Dreamcrown – Near the Golden Gate of the Royal Palace

At the gates of the royal palace in Dreamcrown, the fierce winds swirled with strange breezes that carried the scent of thick smoke, enveloping the area.

In that moment, a large, ornate carriage approached, surrounded by knights on their mighty horses.

The carriage was as black as the ink of the night, bearing a symbol artistically etched onto its side; The Crimson Serpent.

As the carriage came to a stop before the gates of the royal palace, one of the knights, stepping forward from their ranks, produced an ornate torch crafted from gleaming black metal. He raised it steadily towards the sky and then slowly released it upwards. Thick crimson smoke billowed from the torch, quickly filling the air and cloaking the sky. As the smoke rose, the crimson hue spread across the horizon, seeping into the clouds and covering the sky like a curtain of blazing fire, as though telling an ancient tale of wars and pacts.

This was the "Call of Fire," a tradition of the Vanhaim family that never changed. Every torch released in this manner, wherever they arrived, served as an official proclamation. A declaration of their arrival. The crimson smoke mingled with the city's air, seeping into every corner, as if the sky itself were responding to their call.

The knights halted their horses before the palace gates, each of their eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sun disappeared behind the crimson clouds, as if awaiting a pivotal moment. The carriage, elegantly engraved, whispered faintly into the air, but it carried a great dignity that matched the aura of mystery and authority surrounding it.

From afar, the people of Dreamcrown began to gather in the streets, their whispers rising as if the winds themselves carried the scent of their fear and curiosity. Some whispered, their eyes watching every movement intently: "The sky... and the crimson serpent... that means..." before an unnatural silence interrupted them, as if time itself had paused for a moment.

Some nobles began to retreat slightly, their jewels glittering on their arms as they tried to avoid looking directly at the carriage. Words raced on their lips, anxiety evident on their faces, weary from the twists of fate. They brought their hands to the edges of their cloaks, whispering not out of fear of being overheard, but because they were uncertain of what the next moment would bring.

In that moment, muffled cheers rose from the awaiting crowd, repeating the words Dreamcrown knew all too well, words that had become a ghost on their tongues...

"When the sky turns crimson, we have arrived."

The voice echoed in the air, as if the very words of the Vanhaim family had become part of the city's fabric. The crimson sky grew brighter, its fiery red lights seeming to take the shape of a raging fire, ready to consume all that stood before it.

The knights began to dismount their horses slowly, step by step, as though bearing the weight of the past with all its dark secrets. The carriage quivered slightly in the air, as though something had awakened deep within it, much like armies preparing to descend into the field.

The Vanhaim had arrived.

Royal Palace – The Outer Hall

Lucas Nightover stood in the covered hallway, both hands resting on the cold marble railing, while the wind flowed between the columns of the corridor, moving the leaves of the trees. His white hair swayed gracefully, like snowflakes escaping the grasp of the wind. In his blue eyes, the cloudy sky of Arcadia reflected, as though it were a mirror carrying silent battles.

The silence was broken by the sound of steady footsteps, their rhythm calm yet heavy, carrying echoes of a past that would not fade. Lucas turned slightly, without looking directly, sensing the presence of King Irvin Loscarth, who slowly approached, his cane tapping faintly on the stone floor before stopping beside him.

They didn't exchange words immediately; silence ruled the moment, as if they were waiting for the winds to speak first. Then, without raising his gaze from the trees ahead, Lucas spoke quietly, yet with a weight that filled the air.

Lucas: "I should be there now... in the heart of the battle."

Irvin tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a barely visible smile before responding in a calm, yet firm tone.

Irvin: "I would gain little from a dead deputy. Your presence here is of more value to me."

Lucas looked at him for a moment but did not respond. They remained standing there, two men caught in the midst of a whirlwind of change, each carrying a burden that was never meant to be shared.

King Irvin stood beside Duke Lucas, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sky grew more radiant with crimson, as if it were witnessing the dawn of a new chapter in the events. The winds howled through the air, carrying with them wisps of thick smoke that enveloped the city, making the atmosphere feel even denser.

Irvin sighed deeply, his voice faint, as if the words were struggling to escape him, like a heavy burden on his chest.

Irvin: "The Vanhaims are here..."

Lucas didn't respond immediately. His gaze shifted slowly toward the sky, lifting his head gradually. When he looked at the horizon, he saw the crimson sky widening, the tongues of smoke seeping through it, as the blazing red color spread across the heavens.

At that moment, Lucas's expression shifted for a brief instant, he exhaled deeply, his brow furrowing as he stared ahead.

Irvin: "I know you don't accept them much, but you need to get past that. The kingdom needs all of you."

Lucas hesitated slightly, as if weighing his words, then said in a sharper tone.

Lucas: "My problem isn't with the whole family. There's someone among them I see as promising... but it's not Blatir. That scoundrel hasn't sent any support for the war."

Irvin glanced sideways at him, as though his features still held a hidden smile that hadn't quite appeared.

Irvin: "He is responsible for protecting the East. He may not have participated in the fighting, but he serves the kingdom every moment. Throughout his reign, there hasn't been any threat from the East, even though there are two kingdoms lurking behind those borders."

Lucas didn't move, but narrowed his eyes slightly, as if what he was hearing wasn't enough to convince him.

Lucas: "And do you think he's doing that for our benefit? Don't be naive, Irvin. He's building his own empire there, just to ensure he'll be in a good position when he decides to flip the table on the throne."

At these words, Irvin stood straighter, and returned his gaze to the royal garden before him. He paused for a moment and then spoke.

Irvin: "Then, Lucas, tell me... why does he seek the throne?"

Lucas glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then returned his gaze forward, silent.

Irvin: "Because of the law. The law of governance."

Lucas: "What? I don't understand... What does the law have to do with this?"

Irvin raised his head slightly, as if his words carried more than their apparent meaning:

Irvin: "The current law of governance makes the throne just an empty seat. At first, it seemed like a fair and strong system, but over time... it becomes as though their existence means nothing."

His tone was calm, but deep, carrying a weight beyond mere political analysis. He wasn't just speaking of governance, but of the human soul, of the emptiness created by continuous deprivation.

Irvin: "To live your whole life serving a throne that will never be yours. To spend your life serving different kings, without even the right to aspire... What do you think that will create within them?"

Lucas kept staring ahead, but his voice sounded as though it were resisting a slow conviction seeping into him.

Lucas: "So, you think the solution is to return to the old system? That the king should be chosen only from the royal lineage?"

Irvin nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming with a light that was not certainty, but determination.

Irvin: "That way, the throne will regain its weight. Loyalty to it will become more stable."

Lucas smiled lightly with sarcasm, but his eyes remained serious:

Lucas: "Let's assume you're right. Where will you find a suitable king? Even if you found the perfect king... how do you know his heirs will be like him? Will they be worse than the first king of Arcadia? Or the eleventh? That's the real question."

At this sentence, Irvin cut in with a low but decisive voice.

Irvin: "My reign is nearing its end, Lucas."

At that moment, Lucas turned to him, looking at him for a long time, not as if he had just heard surprising news, but as if he had known it all along, yet wasn't prepared to hear it.

Irvin continued, in the same calm tone, but this time more direct.

Irvin: "Do you really want to go through the royal test again... after I'm gone?"

Lucas didn't answer, he simply averted his gaze, lost in his thoughts. He knew Irvin had spent years carrying this burden alone, but the idea of that weight disappearing from his shoulders wasn't as comforting as he might have thought.

After a moment of heavy silence, Irvin spoke, his voice light, but it cut the air like a sword's edge.

Irvin: "I've found the right person."

Lucas turned to him, his eyebrows rising slightly in surprise, before he asked in a low but taut voice.

Lucas: "Who?"

Irvin didn't answer him directly. He simply moved slowly, resting his hands on the railing, gazing at the royal gardens as if the answer no longer belonged solely to him.

Then, with a barely visible smile, he spoke in a quiet voice, but one that carried a thousand questions.

Irvin: "You'll know at the next meeting."

Lucas Nightover stood leaning on the marble railing, his eyes lost in the expanse of the royal garden before him. The cool breeze stirred his white hair, and the leaves of the trees around him swayed, as if they were dancing silently to an unheard tune.

Beside him, King Irvin stared at the horizon, his features still, but carrying something hidden, like a heavy shadow lurking beneath the calm surface of the water. A long silence hung between them, not just the absence of words, but an overwhelming presence of something unsaid.

Then, in a low voice, as if he hadn't meant to be heard, Irvin spoke.

Irvin: "You know..."

Lucas glanced at him from the corner of his eye, slowly, as if his instincts sensed something unfamiliar.

The king added, his voice hoarse, like a confession.

Irvin: "Sometimes... I feel like I... want to die."

At that moment, Lucas's eyes gleamed with something strange. It wasn't astonishment, nor shock, but a deep understanding, as if he had seen the shadow of this feeling before, as if his words weren't strange to his ears, but familiar, very familiar.

He slowly gripped the marble railing, closing his eyes for a moment, as if retrieving something distant, something buried under layers of memory, but he didn't want to dig it up.

Then, with a voice that almost sounded like sarcasm, he broke the silence.

"Heh..."

He sighed a little, before continuing in a tone closer to a whisper.

Lucas: "How many times..."

Irvin slowly lifted his gaze from the horizon, as if the words brought him back from another world. At that moment, the iris of his eyes regained its shine, and the daze that had enveloped them faded. A faint smile appeared on his lips, devoid of joy, but not entirely sad; it was more like the smile of someone who had found the answer but didn't know if he wanted to accept it.

He spoke in a calm voice, but one that carried a dark certainty.

Irvin: "Once... just one final time."

Then he moved, grabbed his cane, and turned, closing his eyes as if he didn't want to see anything else. As he approached Lucas, he placed his hand on his shoulder, pressing it slightly, as if it were a final touch, or a silent acknowledgment of something that needed no explanation.

He sighed softly, almost inaudibly, then continued his path into the palace, leaving behind an invisible trace, but one heavy enough to remain.

As for Lucas, he stood still, silent, staring into the emptiness ahead. But this time, it was not just emptiness; it was a reflection of a feeling he could not fully identify, but it was there... somewhere within him.

Lucas was about to leave, his heart weighed down by an indescribable feeling. His steps were slow toward the palace gate. But suddenly, he stopped. He heard a strange sound, faint at first, then growing louder, filling the air like a fragmented scream. He tried to focus... it was the scream of a woman, coming from the royal garden corridors, echoing through the place.

On that side, within the garden, there was a maid in her twenties, with brown hair and dark eyes. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, standing at the edge of the colonnade, staring directly at one of the royal guards.

"I've told you before!" she said in a trembling yet firm voice. "I don't like you! That night, I only asked for your help, and you've been following me ever since! Stay away from me, please! Don't cause any more trouble!"

But the royal guard showed no signs of retreat. He staggered in place, swaying as if drunk. "You... you tricked me! How dare you, you filthy maid, deceive me!.. me!!"

Then he took another step toward her, his hands clenched into tight fists, his eyes blazing with rage.

The maid, trembling, tried to move away in fear, but before she could escape, the guard grabbed her hair tightly, yanked her toward him violently, and drew his sword, placing it near her neck.

"I'll show you the consequences of your betrayal! You'll regret every moment!" he said in a deep voice, moving the sword near her throat.

At that moment, Lucas appeared, walking steadily. When the maid saw him, she screamed with all her strength, "Duke Nightover! Please!!"

The guard cast a sharp glance at Lucas, tightening his grip on the maid's pinky finger, his eyes filled with threat. "Stay away! This has nothing to do with you! I'll take this filthy girl with me, and you'll stay where you are until I leave!"

Lucas, as if he hadn't heard anything, stood still without uttering a word. He then exhaled briefly, took two slow steps forward. His voice was unwavering. "You know very well that the one you call a filthy maid is Lady Isabel Windsword's personal maid. So, if even a single hair falls from her head, your head will be severed before your family's ever touches the ground."

The guard was boiling with rage. "This damned woman tricked me! I'm the victim here, not her!!"

Lucas remained silent, his gaze fixed on the guard. He then said quietly, "You're right... just look at her face. She's smiling, mocking you while she led you to this pitiful state."

The guard's eyes slowly moved toward the maid, staring at her face in madness.

In an instant, Lucas moved with incredible speed, as though time had stopped. In one second, he was on the left side of the guard, and the latter couldn't even move a part of his body.

Lucas raised his left hand in a sudden, swift motion, and in the same moment, he shoved the guard's face hard, sending him crashing onto the marble floor with immense force. The resounding sound of the impact filled the room.

The guard, in a state of unconsciousness, fell to the ground, and blood began to spill from his head. The sight was so shocking that the maid, who had recoiled in fear, collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath.

Lucas slowly raised his hand. He looked at the maid, her eyes wide in shock, drowning in a whirlpool of awe and fear. He raised an eyebrow, smiled faintly, and spoke in a low voice that brought a sense of reassurance to her heart.

Lucas : "Are you okay... my lady?"

The maid, gasping for air as though each breath cost her double, her heart pounding at an extraordinary rate, her eyes filled with astonishment and confusion. Her words faltered as she responded with a broken voice, trying to compose herself. "Y... yes!... I'm fine... your grace, thank you very much.

She quickly rose, took a few steps back, but for a moment, something compelled her to return, turning to Lucas and bowing gently. She then quickly moved away again.

As she stepped back, Lucas remained still, his eyes never leaving the guard lying on the ground. He muttered to himself in a low tone, filled with disdain, as he watched this pitiful scene.

Lucas : "Those eyes that once overflowed with pride have become nothing more than empty gazes, lost in the absence of will and honor."

He sighed quietly, as if trying to free himself from the weight of this shattered world. Then he turned his gaze forward, where the horizon seemed choked between the heavy clouds, as if life itself had lost the ability to continue, leaving no trace of chance or hope.

Savirus – Above the Tower

As those men reached the top of the tower, Liana stood there, her gaze darting between the attackers and Raymond, who remained completely silent, as if nothing had changed within him.

Liana's heart began to race, a sense of anxiety and confusion creeping in, but Raymond showed no signs of fear or tension. He stood firm, his eyes exuding a deadly calm.

With hurried steps, Liana moved forward slightly, but the wind howled around her, growing stronger. Her heart pounded in her chest. The atmosphere was thick with fear and unrest, and she couldn't help but feel bewildered. In a moment of hesitation, she whispered in distress:

Liana: "No, no, no, no!!... What are we going to do?!"

But before she could finish her thought, the deep voices of the men climbing up filled the horizon with threats.

"You won't escape this time!"

Liana looked at Raymond, then stepped back slightly, her eyes flickering between him and the incoming threats. Her heart raced, but she found no sign of fear on his face, despite the dangerous situation. Then, he looked at her, his eyes surrounded by an impenetrable aura of calm. Before she could say another word, he spoke to her in a cold, controlled tone.

Raymond: "Either we stand and fight, or... we choose to flee. The choice is yours."

Then he looked at her more intensely and added, without any change in his expression:

Raymond: "But I can't guarantee that you'll survive if you jump from here."

Raymond advanced with steady steps, his eyes blazing with focus, as he drew his sword with skill. But he felt Liana's strong hand gripping his arm with concern, pulling his attention for a moment. He looked at her silently, her eyes filled with tension. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke slowly, as though trying to reassure her without using many words:

Raymond: "Don't worry, I'll be done quickly."

With those words, he moved towards the men, his body flowing like water, his eyes carefully watching every movement. At that moment, the heavy-set man on the left moved with great speed, lunging at him, but Raymond was faster. His sword gleamed in the dim light, cutting through the attack in a swift motion, then shifting to an offensive stance. At the same time, the man in the middle lunged, but Raymond surprised him with a quick reaction, flipping his sword and parrying the strike with a precise maneuver. The metallic sound of clashing swords echoed.

His heart raced, but he remained calm, mentally and tactically. The heavy-set man attacked again, but Raymond had fully anticipated his moves. With fluidity, he pulled his sword violently, knocking the heavy-set man's sword far away, and moved closer to him. He was ready to deliver a killing blow, but suddenly he remembered Liana's words, which had been echoing in his mind: "I don't want to see more bloodshed on this land... at least, not today."

In a moment of clarity, he changed the direction of his sword in a quick motion, using the side of the blade to strike the heavy-set man's ear, knocking him to the ground, screaming, while his tears mixed with words directed at Raymond, but he did not stop.

As the other man attacked savagely, Raymond moved with agility, expertly evading the strike. In the moment the sword came toward him, Raymond's sword struck with great force, ripping through his defense. Then, with a sharp glance, he returned his sword to its sheath and took a firm step forward, directly toward the man in front of him.

Incredibly fast, he delivered a powerful punch to the man's face, and the sound of his nose breaking under the force of the punch echoed as the man staggered back, falling unconscious to the ground.

In the next moment, the last man rushed to attack, but Raymond had already prepared for him. He grabbed him with swift movements and forcefully slammed his head into the tower's column. The impact knocked the attacker out cold, sending him crashing to the ground.

All of this happened while Liana watched the scene from behind, her eyes widening in shock, her face marked by astonishment and confusion. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Everything was fast, powerful, and violent. But at the same time, Raymond had finished. His movement was so precise, it seemed like a deadly dance.

Raymond stepped toward Liana lightly, extending his hand toward her. He pulled her gently, then they moved away from the tower, descending the narrow stairs, and disappeared into the dark alley that had been their hideout before.

Raymond: "We're back to square one... right?"

But Liana wasn't in the mood for jokes. She remained silent, confused, her anxiety overwhelming her. She looked at Raymond with concern, placing her hands on his face, then whispered:

Liana: "Are you okay?! Are you hurt anywhere!?"

At that moment, Raymond felt something strange. A feeling that had been absent for a long time, a feeling that reminded him of his mother, the one person who had given him this warmth and compassion. He held her hands and smiled faintly.

Raymond: "Come with me."

Liana blinked in astonishment, feeling as though Raymond's words hadn't fully reached her immediately. There was a heavy moment of silence, then she spoke softly, her tone carrying a hint of hesitation.

Liana: "What?"

Raymond: "Come with me. Let's get out of here. Let's go far away... together."

Liana: "I... I can't."

She looked at him, her eyes full of doubts she couldn't hide, as if the world she was living in had suddenly turned upside down. Then, Raymond spoke calmly, as though he had complete trust in what he was saying.

Raymond: "I have a mansion in a secluded place... there, where the rivers and mountains are, like you said. It was a gift from my mother. It was the place I was going to return to when I decided to leave everyone. Even them."

A deep silence lingered, as if it were a moment of heavy thought for Liana's heart. She tried to balance Raymond's words with the reality she couldn't ignore. Then, after a while, Raymond spoke again, his voice low and sad, but sincere.

Raymond: "I might be the disgrace of the family. I might be without a title... and nothing to them. But I know this place, this world, is not my place. Here, in this unbearable space, I can't be. And I'm ready to give up everything for this... for us."

As Liana listened to Raymond's words, she felt something strange seeping into her heart, something different from any previous feelings. It wasn't love, but a feeling she hadn't experienced before, a slow peace pulsing deep within her. She had just met him, and to her, he was still a stranger, someone she didn't know well, but his words carried something unconventional, something that made her stop for a moment to think about a new choice she might not be ready for. His talk of giving up everything for her, of escaping together from this hell, seemed to present her with a new path... far away from everything that weighed her down.

Inside, there was a struggle. She remembered all the difficult moments, the shocks she had endured, and all the pain she had lived through. How could she leave everything behind? How could she uproot herself from the past that still haunted her? The decision seemed like jumping into the unknown, and her mind was desperately trying to find a justification or a reason to back out, but something in Raymond's words was touching her depths in an unexpected way.

And as she listened, her fear began to creep into her heart. Not fear of Raymond, but fear of herself, of the decision that could change her life forever. And despite her doubts, this wasn't the first time she saw in his eyes that man who could take her away from everything she knew. There was something in his gaze, a kind of determination, that made him seem like the first person who could be by her side in this complex world.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Liana nodded her head, and in a low voice, she decided to speak what was in her heart.

Liana: "This might be... more than I can handle. But... I may not have another choice."

Her words were filled with hesitation, but they also expressed an internal decision that had begun to form within her. She looked at Raymond and saw in him the man who might be her gateway to a new world, a world unlike anything she had ever lived in. She needed this change, this escape, even if it meant she would have to give up a large part of herself.

Raymond smiled a small smile, but his eyes carried much that had gone unsaid. It was a smile that held both bitterness and resolve at the same time. He knew perfectly well that moving forward meant leaving behind everything he had thought was part of his identity. His family, his title, even the people he thought would stand by him. But he had decided that this was the path he had to take.

Raymond: "We'll only carry with us what we need... nothing more. Not the past, not the burdens. Just us... together."

Liana smiled as she wiped away her tears, her face filled with both hesitation and hope. That smile was a mixture of strength and vulnerability, as if she had finally started to accept that there was something in Raymond's words, something that might help her escape the burden of the past that had long weighed on her heart.

She didn't know him well enough, but deep inside, she felt that this decision might be the only path to salvation. And in that moment, she saw in him something she had never seen in anyone else before. A kind of protection, a kind of determination that resembled the lost hope she had been searching for her entire life.

Liana: "Yes... Let's go then... Together."

Her decision was filled with anxiety, yet she felt something pulling her toward the unknown future. That moment was the turning point in her life, where she decided to leave everything behind: her family, her past, and all the chains that had bound her life all along. She wasn't fully certain, but there was a light feeling in her heart that she would find something in this unknown beyond what she had ever imagined.

The night had begun to draw its curtain, and the distant horizon glowed with a different color. Something in the atmosphere had shifted, and together, they were about to start a new journey... full of fears, but also filled with hope. Raymond felt a strong desire to pull her to a safer side, away from all of this. One step toward the unknown meant a new beginning, a beginning with Liana, a beginning for the future they had both been searching for all this time.

It was a defining moment between leaving the old behind and embracing the new. And now, it was the moment of decision.

Then, slowly, he pulled her toward the outside, toward the horizon where mountains and rivers met, where their hopes were visible, shrouded in clouds that might just come true. And each step brought them closer to that dream, to that peace where they might find themselves.

The world around them remained still, but inside them, everything was changing.

Yet... while some whispered words of love beneath the moonlight, others screamed in pain beneath the glow of the flames.

Arcadia Kingdom – Draxul Lands

The wind carried the scent of blood, mingling with the sound of iron meeting flesh, and the screams of men whose bodies had been torn apart before their souls left the earth. Under a sky shrouded in the smoke of war, death ruled the battlefield, and the land drank the blood of those who tried to stand but could not.

The torn bodies piled upon each other like human wreckage, and the terrified horses neighed frantically before collapsing with spears embedded in their bellies. There was no honor in this battle, no glorious victory nor eternal heroism, only bloody chaos, where men were slaughtered mercilessly, and the strong trampled the weak to survive for a few more minutes.

Sir 'Darian Castro' Was in his late forties, his facial features bearing the harsh marks of time, yet there was something eternal in his deep blue eyes, glowing with intensity like the vast ocean. His long hair cascaded down to his shoulders, a pale green hue interspersed with strands of white, blending together to give him an almost mythical appearance, as if time itself had passed him by slowly.

Around him, the battlefield was a chaotic dance of death, men and horses locked in brutal combat, their cries blending with the shrieks of the fallen. The earth itself seemed to groan under the weight of destruction.

Darian stood at the heart of it all, his armor stained with the marks of war, his body battered and his breathing heavy. His sword, once a gleaming symbol of his house, now dripped with the blood of enemies and allies alike. He was leaning on the hilt of his sword, feeling the weight of the weapon sink into the soft earth beneath him, as if it, too, was exhausted from the battle.

The sounds of steel clashing and the cries of men filled his ears, but his mind was distant, lost in the flood of thoughts that seemed to surge in time with his labored breaths. He watched as warriors around him fell... some screaming, some silent, all lost to the unforgiving fury of combat. Blood stained the ground beneath him, a dark and glistening pool of death that seemed to stretch across the battlefield.

The sight of the blood, the relentless carnage... it all felt strangely familiar, like the earth itself was calling to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his house's legacy press down on him.

Then, without warning, he spoke, his voice carrying over the noise of battle with a quiet intensity, as if he were speaking not to the men around him, but to the earth itself. His words, ancient and filled with the weight of his ancestry, rang out like a battle cry.

Darian, his voice steady, yet filled with a deep, almost mystical resolve: "We are the blood of the earth, the fire of battle, and the heirs of a timeless legacy."

The words, both a declaration and a prophecy, hung in the air as if the very soil beneath him acknowledged their truth. He inhaled deeply, the scent of blood and smoke filling his lungs, and with a quiet grunt, he straightened up, his body stiff from exhaustion. But his resolve was unwavering. The battle was far from over.

With a swift motion, he pushed himself off his sword and advanced, his eyes locked onto a knight ahead of him. The man was already moving toward him, his sword raised, face a mask of determination. Darian's senses sharpened; every movement of the enemy felt like it was in slow motion. The knight lunged forward with a powerful strike, aiming for Darian's head.

But Darian was faster.

He twisted his body to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, his sword dancing with a fluid grace. With a low growl, he swung his blade in a wide arc, aiming for the knight's midsection. The knight barely had time to bring up his sword in defense, and the two blades clashed with a resounding noise that echoed across the battlefield. Sparks flew as metal met metal, and Darian could feel the force of the impact reverberate through his arm.

But Darian was relentless. With a snarl, he pressed down harder on the hilt of his sword, putting every ounce of strength he had into the strike. The knight's sword began to bend under the pressure, and with a sharp, sickening crack, it snapped in half, leaving the knight defenseless.

In one fluid motion, Darian stepped forward, his sword a blur of deadly precision. Before the knight could react, Darian drove his blade deep into the man's chest, piercing through his armor and into his heart. The knight's eyes widened in shock as the life drained from his body. The blood flowed freely, soaking into Darian's hands and the ground beneath him.

The knight crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as Darian stood above him, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his exertion. He did not look down at the fallen man. He didn't need to.

Instead, His blue eyes scanned the battlefield, which was no longer green as it once had been, but had transformed into a grotesque canvas of mud and blood. His breaths were heavy, not only from exhaustion but from the realization that this war would not end easily.

He turned to one of his soldiers, a young man barely twenty, holding his sword with trembling hands, his eyes lost between the chaos and the death surrounding him. Darian asked sharply, pressing his sword tightly.

Darian: "What happened to the third battalion!?"

The young man could barely speak, his lips trembling as though the cold had pierced his bones, but there was no cold in this hell, only the fire of war devouring everything. He swallowed hard, and his voice came out shaky, almost choked with fear.

"I... I don't know, my lord... The last thing they told us was that they weren't ready yet...!"

Darian's eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth in anger. He grabbed the young man by the collar of his armor and pulled him toward him forcefully, his voice like the roar of a trapped beast.

Darian: "Not ready yet!? Then what are you doing here!? Do you think this is a training ground, you fool!? Every minute of delay means another massacre for our men! Do you want to die here without meaning, or will you fight like a real soldier!?"

The young man trembled, but he tightened his grip on his sword, trying to find some courage in the midst of this hell.

Darian took a deep breath, then shoved him backward, his gaze fixed on the chaos ahead. He knew that reinforcements would not arrive in time, and they might never come. They had no choice but to fight until their last breath... or become just another part of this open grave.

He waved his sword and let out a war cry that shook the battlefield.

Darian: "Reinforcements won't come... Soldiers! No more waiting! Whoever wants to survive, stand with me... and whoever fears death, stay buried here!"

Then, without hesitation, he charged forward, carving his way through the blood and fire. A wound in his shoulder began to hurt, but he ignored it and pressed on, while the soldiers who had no other choice but to fight... or perish, followed him.

Sir Darian took another step, then added in a deeper, more steady voice.

Darian: "If you fall without staining your swords with blood, your names will only be remembered as cowards. If we win, our names will be engraved in history. The choice is yours!"

A moment of silence... then the sound of shouts echoed. The soldiers raised their swords and charged into battle again, with Darian at the forefront, like a silver storm in the midst of the tempest.

Draxol Lands – In a camp beneath the fluttering flag of the Arcadia Kingdom, bearing the emblem of a wounded eye with two claws, preparations were in full swing.

The soldiers and knights sharpened their swords, donned their armor, and readied themselves for the upcoming battle. Amidst the clamor of preparations, a figure stood out, imposing her presence on everyone.

Marchioness 'Atris Starkov', a woman in her thirties, exuded the dignity of her high rank. Her long, wavy blonde hair was tied in a side braid, and her blue eyes gleamed like the calm sea at dawn, her sharp features reflecting confidence and strength. She wore a tightly-fitted black coat adorned with luxurious golden embroidery, and her cloak was lined with red fabric that fluttered with every step she took. Her belt bore a red gemstone decoration, as though the blood of her enemies was embedded in the details of her attire.

Before her stood 'Sir Variss Sathray', commander of the third battalion, a man in his forties, with brown hair streaked with gray and black eyes that seemed to bear the weight of the wars he had fought. He wore a blue armor embroidered with gold, with a cloak draped over his neck, as if protecting himself from the cold of impending death.

Atris approached him steadily, her eyes locking with his, silencing any doubt.

Atris: "I will rely on you at the front, Sir Variss."

Variss responded with a slight bow, his voice carrying the firmness of a seasoned fighter.

Variss: "It is an honor, Lady Atris."

With a single gesture of her hand, the sound of horns rang out, signaling the march of the battalion. Their footsteps were heavy, as if the earth itself trembled under their advance, and the night eagerly awaited the moment when the moonlight would reflect the gleam of swords and blood.

As the armies moved toward the unknown, away from the clamor of commands and the noise of preparations, there was another place, isolated from the noise of the coming war. In the depths of the camp, amidst a series of large tents, one tent seemed to drown in an eerie silence, broken only by the slow breaths of a man lost in sleep.

The sound of metallic footsteps cut through the stillness of the tent, as though the echo of the battle followed her. At the entrance, she paused for a moment, letting the darkness behind her fade away in the glow of the torches. Dame 'Barbara Starkov', the young twenty-year-old knight, looked as though she had just emerged from the battlefield, but her face carried no warlike harshness. Instead, it bore a strange youthful energy, at odds with the black armor adorned with golden threads that embraced her body. Her light, wavy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, some strands braided delicately on the sides of her head. Her blue eyes shone with a mysterious gleam, lending her an aristocratic air despite her childish demeanor.

Without hesitation, she forcefully pushed the leather curtain of the tent aside. She cast a quick glance around before shouting with playful provocation.

Barbara: "You lazy... Hey, you!... When are you going to wake up!?"

She didn't wait for a reply but went straight to the man sleeping in the corner of the tent. She squatted in front of him, placing her hands on her cheeks in innocence, staring at him as if watching a strange experiment. After a moment, she began gently tapping his head, but with clear intent to annoy him.

Barbara, whispering: "Hmmm... you fool, how can you sleep in a position like this… The battle has already started. We've sent the third battalion now."

Before she could finish her sentence, the sleeper suddenly stirred. The blanket slid off him smoothly, revealing Young Duke... Lord 'Aqua Nightover', a young man in his twenties, whose appearance was more akin to a ghost from an ancient legend. His skin was so pale it almost seemed transparent under the torchlight, as though his body was made of cold mist. His messy silver hair hung lightly over eyes as blue as ice, holding a deep frost that never melted. His face was carved with meticulous detail, silent, offering no expression that could easily be read.

He wore a long white coat with silver buttons that reflected light ominously, beneath which he wore a dark shirt that heightened his cold appearance. He only moved to lift his head slightly, closing in on her in an uncomfortable manner, his cold eyes locking with hers without any emotion, as if he were studying her or wondering why she was still there.

But Barbara, with her usual spontaneity, was unaffected. She smiled lightly, then simply raised her finger, placed it on his forehead, and gently pushed him back, causing him to lie down again. Before he could respond, Barbara had already pulled the blanket back over him, covering him entirely as if she were dealing with a mischievous child.

But before she could utter another word, the tent shook suddenly as the leather curtain was forcefully pushed aside, and Marchioness Atris stormed in, her steps burning with fury, causing the ground beneath her to almost ignite. Her eyes blazed with unmistakable anger, and her furrowed brow signaled a coming storm.

Atris: "You damn fool...! The war has begun, the battalions are moving, and blood is being spilled outside... And you're sleeping!?"

Her voice was sharp, like the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath, charged with displeasure. She took another step toward the bed, grabbed the blanket firmly, and yanked it off him suddenly. Aqua slowly opened his eyes, as if emerging from a deep slumber.

He stared at her for a moment with cold, expressionless eyes before lazily raising an eyebrow and muttering in a low voice.

Aqua: "Oh... has the war started? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Barbara watched the scene in silence, suppressing a laugh, while Atris clenched her fist tightly, as if struggling against the urge to hit him.

Atris: "If you weren't his son, I would've given you a peaceful sleep forever. You fool, how do you think you're going to fight now? Or do you not intend to fight at all?!"

Aqua Nightover stood up slowly, as if time belonged to him alone. He adjusted his coat, which had slipped slightly off his shoulders, then began moving his body fluidly, performing a few light stretches as if preparing for an ordinary match. After that, he took a single step toward the actual battlefield. Picking up his sword with his right hand, he walked forward with calm, deliberate steps.

Leaving the tent, he circled around it before heading directly toward the battle taking place down the hill, as if every step he took had been meticulously planned.

Atris followed him and spoke firmly: "Where do you think you're going? Your battalion is waiting for you over there!"

But Aqua didn't look back. He continued walking, his steps steady and unhurried, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist, as if he were the one deciding the timing of the battle rather than waiting for it. Then, before she could raise her voice again, he spoke in a quiet yet resolute tone that cut through the air like an arrow.

Aqua: "There's no need. Keep them here."

He said it while continuing to walk with unwavering steps, as if every word was part of a carefully crafted plan, leaving his lips like a decree.

His voice was not loud, yet it carried an undeniable authority and gravity. Every movement of his body made it clear... his decision was made, and nothing would change it.