Josh Aratat walked towards Granero step by step, his boots crunching against the sandy soiled earth. His pace was unhurried, deliberate — the kind of walk that carried more weight than any battle cry. Around him, hundreds of thousands of soldiers froze where they stood. None dared to move closer. It was as though the entire battlefield was holding its breath.
Granero, battered and bound, raised his head weakly, watching Josh approach with a mixture of disbelief and grim satisfaction.
Then — the silence broke.
Supreme General Vincent Kim, veins bulging with rage, could no longer endure the humiliation. His pride, sharpened by decades of war, would not allow him to stand idle while one man mocked the might of the empire.
With a roar that split the tension, Vincent launched himself forward, sword raised high. His speed was terrifying, his killing intent suffocating. The soldiers who stood between him and Josh barely had time to step aside as he charged, aiming to cleave Josh in two before the latter could even react.
But Josh did react — effortlessly.
He did not dodge. He did not even look alarmed. With the calm of a man brushing aside a stray leaf, he flicked his wrist.
The kingly rod — a relic older than the empire itself — hummed softly, releasing a ripple of invisible force. It was the rod that was granted to him alongside the kingly system. As he raised his 'I Am King' levels, the power that his rod could unleash also grew astronomically.
With Josh's casual reaction, what happened next froze every soul present.
Vincent Kim never reached his target. In mid-charge, his body twisted unnaturally, then shattered into dozens of neat, clean pieces, as though some divine blade had sliced him apart faster than the eye could follow. Blood rained down on the earth in a crimson spray.
The supreme general of the Nazare Blade Empire was no more.
The battlefield went deathly still. The soldiers who had idolized Vincent Kim stood rooted to the spot, their faces pale, some trembling so hard their weapons rattled in their hands. The smell of blood was thick, metallic, cloying — and Josh Aratat stood untouched, his expression unreadable, the kingly rod glowing faintly in his grip.
No one dared to move now. No one dared to breathe too loudly. For the first time, the soldiers of the empire felt true fear — not of death, but of the man standing before them.
Many among the soldiers were secretly relieved — even pleased — at Vincent Kim's death. The arrogant, overbearing general who had bullied friend and foe alike was finally gone, cut down in the most humiliating way possible. Since the time her was appointed a few days ago, they had endured his barked orders, his impossible standards, his punishments for the smallest infractions. Now, his voice would never again ring over the battlefield. They were all equals now — equally terrified of the man who had killed him.
Josh Aratat, however, looked entirely unmoved by the monumental event he had just caused. He walked forward with the same unhurried calm, as though what just happened was nothing more than the annoying buzz of a hungry fly.
He knelt beside Granero.
"Granero…" Josh's voice softened, the sharp edge of war melting into something warm. He reached out and brushed the dirt-matted hair from Granero's face with a tenderness that belonged more to a parent than a comrade-in-arms.
Then he reached into his cloak and drew out a small crystalline vial — a health potion. Dozens of them now lined his inventory, gifted to him by the kingly system as a reward for his past successes, which was a real boost and a handy help win war situations like this, as though the heavens themselves had decided he would never again watch those he loved die.
He uncorked the vial and gently tilted it to Granero's lips.
The effect was immediate.
A faint golden glow spread across Granero's body, knitting flesh, mending bone, restoring vitality. His breathing steadied, then deepened. His eyes cleared of the haze of exhaustion. Within seconds, Granero was back at his peak — full of the agility and strength that once made him a terror on the battlefield.
The boy didn't hesitate. He leapt forward and threw his arms around Josh, hugging him tightly.
Josh's stern expression broke into a smile, and for a moment, the battlefield felt lighter.
"You have suffered a lot," Josh said softly, his voice carrying the weight of a promise, "but now I am here. No one will ever bother you again."
Granero's throat tightened, and tears he had fought back for days finally spilled over. He cried openly, shoulders shaking as all the pain, fear, and helplessness came pouring out.
After a long moment, he pulled himself together, his tears drying on his dirt-streaked cheeks. He pointed to the far side of the clearing, where a frail woman lay bound and broken.
"My mother," Granero said, voice quivering. "She broke her spine a week ago when trying to get wood for us to prepare dinner, and she became bedridden for a while, today after these inhumane vermin's captured us, they tortured her for a long time. She could die any moment if nothing is done."
Josh's expression darkened, his calm eyes flashing with something dangerous.
"Then she will not die today," he said.
He rose and walked to where Granero's mother lay. The soldiers standing nearby instinctively stepped back, parting like waves before a ship.
Josh knelt and gently slid his hand under her chin, lifting her face with infinite care. Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale. With his other hand, he pulled out another vial of potion and poured the shimmering liquid between her cracked lips.
The change was nothing short of miraculous.
Her body glowed faintly, the light running along her spine like molten gold. Bone cracked and reformed, her back straightening. Her wounds closed before the stunned eyes of every soldier present, the bruises vanishing as though time itself had been rewound.
Her ropes snapped as her muscles regained strength, and she stood — straight, tall, her strength returning like a bull that had just been roused.
She blinked several times, her mind trying to catch up with the sudden rush of vitality. Then her gaze fell on Granero — and the man beside him.
Josh Aratat.
The man, the myth, the legend. The Black Dragon. The one whose name had been whispered in desperate prayers by millions who had lost hope. The one whose return had been long prophesied but never witnessed — until now.
Tears blurred her vision as she rushed forward to embrace her son. For the first time since her capture, she held him close, sobbing with relief.
Then she turned and looked at Josh. Slowly, reverently, she sank to her knees before him.
"You saved us," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You saved us all."
Around them, silence reigned. The soldiers who had once been their tormentors now stood as silent witnesses to the rebirth of a family — and the rise of a man they would never dare oppose.