There was no time for more banter. The battle was intensifying, enemies pouring in like an unrelenting tide. But amidst the blood and chaos, Variss and Atris fought as if engaged in a familiar dance... a dance between fate and death, between blades and words.
Where corpses littered the ground and the air crackled with the clash of steel and the glow of fire, Ser Darren fought with relentless fury. Every swing of his sword felled an opponent, every turn of his body shielded his back from unseen dangers. Yet, something was weighing on his breath…
He glanced back for a brief moment, scanning the battlefield. Their forces… had dwindled terribly. They had entered the fight as a unified army, but now? They were scattered, struggling to survive in fragmented groups.
Then his eyes caught sight of something beyond the battlefield… Not far away, Dame Barbara Starkov stood firm amidst the chaos, fending off her attackers with fierce determination. She threw her sword with deadly precision at an approaching foe, but he dodged at the last second. She lunged forward, sinking her blade into his chest before kicking him off her weapon, sending his lifeless body into the mud.
There was no time to rest. As she turned, another knight rushed toward her, soon followed by a second from her flank... like starving beasts drawn to blood.
And in that moment, Ser Darren moved like a ghost, weaving through the battlefield, leaping over corpses, dodging raised swords, and stepping over pools of crimson, reaching Barbara in the crucial instant.
With a swift stroke, he knocked aside her attacker's weapon before it could land. Then, spinning with precision, he intercepted the second knight's strike. Sparks flew as their blades met in a violent clash before Darren delivered a swift, clean cut across his opponent's throat, unleashing a dark fountain of blood.
Barbara, catching her breath, eyeing him with exhaustion: "I could have handled them..."
Darren, wiping the blood from his sword with a lopsided grin: "Of course. But wouldn't it be better to keep you alive until the end of the battle, right?..."
There was no time for a reply. More enemies were surging forward from every direction… The night was far from over, and the earth had yet to drink its fill of blood.
Amidst the roar of battle, Aqua moved without fear, dodging attacks as if his body was sculpted for combat. He struck back with brutal efficiency, weaving through the battlefield like a phantom, his blows as swift and furious as a storm. His body bore countless wounds, but his eyes burned with dark, unyielding madness.
At that moment, Earl 'Diablon Vollmar' noticed him. His pitch-black eyes reflected the flames of war, his lips curling into a sly smile as he withdrew his sword from the corpse of an Arkadian knight. He strode forward with unhurried confidence, thrusting his blade into another foe's chest without so much as a glance. He moved across the battlefield like a predator, and when his gaze met Aqua's… the outcome was set.
Diablon lunged toward Aqua with terrifying speed, his sword raised high, descending in a killing strike.
But just as Diablon's blade was about to tear into Aqua's flesh, Earl Yukron appeared out of nowhere... like a falling meteor... intercepting the attack with immense force. The impact sent both men stumbling, their balance lost as they crashed onto the blood-soaked ground.
Both struggled to rise, but Yukron was faster. He surged to his feet first, driving his sword straight toward Diablon. The count barely managed to deflect it. They stepped back for a breath... then charged at each other once more.
The swords clashed, sparks flew, and hell erupted between them.
Yukron pressed forward, striking with relentless force, each attack carrying the weight of an entire battle. But Diablon was no easy opponent.. he countered with precise strikes, calculated parries, and a smirk that never left his face, as if the battle was nothing more than an amusing game to him.
Behind them, Aqua watched the scene, his breath heavy, his eyes darting between the two. This was no time to stand still. He knew the decisive moment was approaching, and that he, too... had to move.
The swords continued to collide, sparks scattering, the ground trembling beneath the force of their blows. Earl Yukron Windsword and Earl Diablon Vollmar were engaged in a brutal struggle. This was not a duel of honor or a noble contest... it was a battle for survival, one where mercy had no place.
Yukron pressed fiercely, his strikes like an unrelenting storm. His body was drenched in sweat and blood, yet his eyes never lost their sharpness. As for Diablon, he simply smiled, as if relishing this hell. He moved like a serpent, deflecting smoothly and retaliating with sudden, hammer-like blows.
In a fleeting moment, Yukron lunged forward, catching Diablon off guard with a swift sideways slash. His sword nearly tore through his opponent's flank, but Diablon leaped back. At the same moment, he swung his sword toward Yukron's face.
A thrust... but merely a feint.
Yukron dodged, but that was exactly what Diablon wanted. In the fraction of a second before Yukron realized the trap, Diablon twisted with blinding speed, his entire body rotating with the momentum of his strike. In a devilish motion, he gripped his sword with both hands, aimed directly at Yukron...
And drove it violently into his chest.
"AAAGGHHH!"
A scream tore through the sky. The blade pierced flesh and bone, slicing through all the way to the spine, its tip emerging from the back.
Aqua froze. His eyes widened in sheer horror, his body trembling as if a nightmare had come to life before him.
Yukron staggered, his lips parted as if trying to breathe... but there was no air. Only blood... gushing from his mouth, dripping down his chin, and spilling onto his torn chest.
His eyes... dimmed slowly.
Diablon grabbed his shoulder and whispered into his ear, his voice as cold as hell itself.
Diablon: "You were strong... but not strong enough."
Then, he wrenched the sword out of Yukron's body. The sound of tearing flesh was sickening. Blood spewed from the gaping wound as Yukron coughed up another mouthful, his body swaying... then collapsing.
His lifeless body hit the ground, his eyes still open, staring at the sky as if his soul had yet to grasp that it had left his body.
Diablon stood over him, his sword dripping with blood. Then, his gaze shifted... directly toward Aqua, who remained paralyzed. His body trembled, his hands clenched so tightly around his sword that his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded violently.
Yukron was dead. Right before his eyes.
And he had died in a way he was never supposed to.
Aqua's world began to shatter. The monster within him began to awaken.
The scene was nightmarish... blood soaked the ground, bodies collapsed, and screams mixed with the clash of steel.
Marchioness Atris Starkov was still in shock, her body unmoving, her mind struggling to process that Count Yukron Windsword had just been slain before her very eyes.
But a thunderous voice shattered her spiral of thoughts.
"Lady Atris! Watch out!!"
It was the voice of Ser Variss Sathray, shouting hoarsely, his eyes wide with terror.
There was no time to think... A sword was hurtling toward her with blinding speed.
Atris spun around in desperation, raising her own sword at the last second... had she been a heartbeat slower, she would have lost her head.
The clash was brutal, sparks bursting into the air. The force of the blow pushed her back a step.
She locked eyes with her attacker... Ser Nithor Rakalion.
A towering man with a short beard and streaked black hair, clad in dark green armor, belts lined with daggers and small swords. His piercing green eyes gleamed with merciless cruelty.
Nithor smiled slowly as he pressed his sword against hers, pushing her back.
Nithor: "Oh... Marchioness Starkov herself? I didn't expect to see you among the corpses."
His sword shot forward like a serpent... swift and sharp. in a moment, She evaded the strike, spun her body, and delivered a quick, lateral slash. But he leaped backward, and with a swift motion, pulled a dagger from his belt and hurled it at her.
Atris barely dodged it, but the blade grazed her shoulder, making her grit her teeth. He wasn't an ordinary opponent... He was a dirty fighter, one who relied on tricks and unexpected tactics.
Then, as she refocused on him, another sword was already lunging toward her. This time, the clash was more intense... Nithor pressed down on her, as if his strength had suddenly doubled.
Nithor: "You know..."
he said coolly, as he brought his face closer to hers.
Nithor: "You're better at fighting than I expected... but in the end..."
A sudden stab. Atris felt it before she saw it. Something cold pierced her side... The pain erupted like lightning. Her eyes widened. She looked down. A small dagger was embedded in her waist. Nithor was smiling as he pushed it in deeper until the hilt touched her body. He whispered softly.
Nithor: "You're too slow."
The air froze around her. The pain paralyzed her body. Her knees began to tremble.
Variss: "Lady Atris!!" He said it loudly as he ran to her. But he was too late...
Atris couldn't hold on any longer. Her legs failed her, and her body began to fall. And as she fell, she saw Variss's face distorted with shock, fury, and horror.
But she didn't hear his voice after that.
Everything became a blur.
Elsewhere, the battle was raging, as if a war had broken out inside Aqua's own mind.
At that moment, everything blended together... sounds, bodies, blood, wounds. His mind boiled with rage and madness, and his heart pounded with furious intensity. His gaze was heavy, filled with hatred, and his eyes glowed with an unparalleled ferocity.
Amidst the chaos, Earl Diablon Volmar approached him, wearing a sinister, confident smile. But Aqua wasn't afraid. His icy eyes, always carrying a ruthless stare, now burned with pure malice.
Diablon moved swiftly.
He raised his sword with elegance and struck. Aqua didn't hesitate... he twisted his body with full force to dodge the attack, then lunged at him as if the entire earth was beneath his feet.
The clash was powerful, as if light and darkness had collided.
Aqua had gone mad.
The fight became something beyond an ordinary battle... deep, rapid strikes, clashing swords, wounds bleeding profusely. Diablon was fast and strong, his expression never losing its indifferent smirk. Every time he raised his sword, his strikes fell like thunder, and every time he struck Aqua, Aqua countered with blows that ignited pain in his body.
But Aqua, in his fury, began to surpass his limits. His attacks were wild, incredibly fast, as if his mind had stopped thinking, leaving only his emotions to rage within him. His strikes were deep and precise, forcing even Count Diablon into retreat.
Despite his resilience, Aqua was stronger, fiercer.
And the end was inevitable.
At a decisive moment, when Diablon thought he had stopped Aqua, Aqua lunged at him at blinding speed, wielding his sword in one hand and plunging it into Diablon's body. But he didn't stop there... he severed his head in a single, swift motion.
The severed head, blood spilling from it, fell to the ground slowly, and Aqua stood firm, gripping Count Volmar's head by the hair, raising it in the air as a sign of victory.
Then, in a surge of rage, he lifted his head toward the hill where the Malacard was watching.
Aqua: "What are you waiting for!!?"
he roared, his voice filled with fury, cutting through the air like a storm.
Aqua: "You cowards! Do you bring an army to fight in your place? Where are you? Are you afraid to dirty your delicate hands?! Your disgraceful defeat will be recorded in history! All of you!!!"
His words flew from his mouth like bullets, weighing down the already charged battlefield. Aqua was howling at them, but inside, this cry was one of hatred and reckless determination.
In a moment thick with tension and anticipation, Kray Malacard stood atop the hill, watching the scene with growing agitation. Every word Aqua shouted was like a dagger plunging into his chest. The insults filled the air, staining his honor in front of everyone... even before his father, Duke Malacard, who watched in silence.
Then, in a moment where patience could no longer hold, Kray clenched his horse's reins tightly, his hands trembling with rage, his eyes burning with malice. He refused to show weakness before such insults, especially before this beast who was filling the battlefield with his furious cries.
Rossipov: "Stop!"
it was Duke Malacard's shout, an attempt to restrain him, but Kray had already charged. He struck his horse's reins with full force, galloping forward at an astonishing speed toward Aqua, everything around him fading as if he were in his own world. The sound of pounding hooves echoed in his ears, his heart beating wildly with every step as he closed in on Aqua.
The scene was majestic. Only dust rising from the hooves, distant screams, and Kray speeding toward his target. Aqua, standing at the brink of life and death, turned to see Lord Kray rushing at him, as if the fate of the battle now rested in their hands.
Kray Malacard leaped from his horse, gasping in that moment filled with fury. The ground beneath him trembled, as if breathing under his rapid steps. His eyes blazed with malice, and his mind repeated Aqua's insults over and over, making every step toward his target even more determined.
His sword was drawn before him, glinting in the light, its gleam like a bolt of lightning tracing the path to the end. Without hesitation, he strode toward Aqua, while the sounds of battle raged around him like a storm.
The first knight in his path lunged with full force, raising his spear high to drive it through Kray's heart, but Kray was faster. With a swift maneuver, he deflected the spear with his sword, then leaped into the air, twisting to evade the attack before slicing off the knight's head in a single stroke. Blood burst into the air like red rain, and the metallic scent of blood filled the battlefield, staining his luxurious green armor.
The second knight attacked without delay, but Kray moved with seamless fluidity. His movements were as swift as bullets, evading each incoming strike while keeping his focus on his opponent. His hands moved rapidly, his sword circling his body before piercing through the second knight's chest, emerging from his back. The knight collapsed like a lifeless hunk of flesh, his blood soaking into the ground beneath Kray 's feet, seeping between his armored toes.
The third appeared... stronger, clad in heavy armor and wielding a massive spear, tearing through the air toward Kray. But Kray did not retreat. As if his sword was the instrument of fate, he surged forward with incredible speed, striking upward at his opponent's head, splitting the body in two without hesitation. The corpse fell to the ground, leaving behind a trail of blood splattered across the battlefield.
As he moved forward, more attacks came from the knights trying to block his path.
Kray moved between attacking and dodging, his sword slicing through the air. He swung like an arrow, cutting down enemies from the front and back, leaving them no chance to retaliate. The knights' bodies scattered, blood stained his armor, and its scent filled the air around him.
Another knight leaped from behind, trying to strike him unnoticed. But Kray sensed him, turned with terrifying speed, and stabbed him brutally in the abdomen. The knight's spear slipped from his lifeless hands, hitting the ground with an unnatural sound beneath the weight of death.
Every movement was driven by one emotion: vengeance. The corpses piled up on the ground, blood washed the earth beneath his feet, and every step he took was another judgment in the battle. The enemies who tried to obstruct his path became fleeting shadows, scattering and vanishing among the corpses.
He knew that Aqua was his ultimate target.
And as he finally approached his opponent, who stood in the middle of the battlefield, it felt as if the very earth was watching that fateful moment.
The battle between Aqua Nightover and Kray Malakard was more than just a physical clash; it was a confrontation between two opposing forces, where deep desires for revenge collided with cold, unyielding willpower. The ground beneath them cracked under the intensity of their fight, a war of unseen forces surrounded by the flashing lights of clashing swords and the rain of blood that fell like a storm of death.
Aqua stood in the center, sword raised, his fierce gaze locked onto Kray. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. His hands tensed around the sword's hilt, ready to strike at any moment. Sparks flickered in his eyes... eyes that glowed like melting ice in the heat of the moment. His movements were swift as lightning, dodging every attack with seamless precision, his muscles moving in perfect harmony between defense and offense, a deadly rhythm of war.
Kray stood just a step away, gripping his sword tightly, his face frozen, his features as rigid as stone. His anchor was his unwavering gaze on Aqua, as if seeing in him a reflection of his own tormented past... an image of death that he could not escape. In a single moment, he lunged forward at full force, his sword cutting through the air at an unimaginable speed.
Aqua stepped forward, avoiding the strike, focusing on the blade hurtling toward him like a whirlwind. He retreated with agile steps, twisting his body to the side to evade the attack before leaping high into the air, narrowly escaping the sword that slashed past his body.
Kray gave him no time to recover. Immediately after his strike, another powerful blow followed. Aqua relied on his speed and supernatural reflexes, extending both hands to clash swords with Kray. The collision echoed like thunder, sparks flying from the entangled blades. Aqua struggled to break free, his body moving with fluidity and precision. In a split second, he shifted swiftly to dodge Kray's sword, which sought to pierce his heart.
Their swords wove a web of silver lightning and black fire. Each strike split the air like a scream of fury, each parry spawned sparks like shards of shattered memories.
Aqua: "Traitor!" Aqua's voice roared, cold as ice, yet his eyes blazed with painful contradiction. "You've sold your land to rebels and murderers!"
Kray launched forward like a wounded wolf, his savage blows forcing Aqua back a step. Then, in a sudden clash, Kray invaded his personal space, so close that his hot breath mingled with Aqua's.
Kray: "At least..." Kray whispered, his voice sharp as a dagger, laden with years of pain, "I never knelt to the Crown that roasted my family alive in their gilded palaces!"
Aqua's eyes froze.
The whole world halted. The cacophony of battle faded into a distant hum. He saw nothing but void. Those words pierced his psychological armor as no sword ever could.
In that frozen moment stretching into eternity, the gates of hell swung open in his memory. Images flooded like poisoned glass shards shredding his mind:
The image of his younger sister—her final embrace reminded him of the jasmine scent that clung to her hair, before she turned to ash he never even saw.
His father's voice—not merely a command, but a broken final plea: "Keep the oath, my son..." in a voice drowning in agony, as if dying between the words.
His mother's corpse—no ordinary remains, but a sculpture of ash and suffering.
Every memory was like a dagger twisting deep into his soul, and the words Kray Malacard had spoken were the hand turning those blades in his old wounds.
But Kray gave him no time. A vicious kick slammed into Aqua's face, blood spraying from his nose like crimson rain. The white knight staggered backward, nearly falling into a sea of corpses.
The first drop of blood fell upon the soil of Draxul, followed immediately by two more. Aqua stared at them as if seeing through them: the forgotten blood of his family, the blood of the oath he had sworn, and the blood of the innocence he had lost.
He clenched his fists. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony that suddenly awoke in his chest. Yet he regained his composure with astonishing speed. He raised his sword just as Kray descended upon him like a thunderbolt.
Aqua twisted like a shadow, Kray's blade passing millimeters from his neck. Then Aqua surged toward his foe, this time with a different fury. No longer the rage of a loyal knight, but the wrath of a man who had remembered he, too, was a victim.
Aqua: "I did not forget," Aqua whispered to himself as their blades clashed anew, "I buried the pain beneath the oath... but you, fool, have dug it from its grave."
The battle raged on, but something had changed forever. Every strike from Aqua now carried a memory, every defensive move from Kray held an era of pain.
They fought not merely as opponents, but as two sides of the same shattered coin—two men who had lost everything, yet had chosen different paths to confront the same wound.
And the soil beneath their feet drank their mingled blood, as if writing with a pen of flesh and blood a new chapter in the tragedy of Vulkorth.
Their swords clashed again, sparks flying as they exchanged blows and parries above the blood-soaked ground. Aqua's voice rang out, loud and defiant, as he faced Kray.
Aqua: "Enjoy your life, Kray!... As long as the ice has yet to break!!"
Kray tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his expression steely, before both warriors surged forward, their swords once again locking in a violent, unyielding clash.
The sound of swords clashing echoed through the air, while the footsteps of armored warriors resonated on the harsh ground. Kray Malcard, his face twisted with intense anger, stared at Aqua Nightfury with eyes filled with hatred.
As Aqua was about to launch a counterattack, he was stopped by the sharp voice of Kray that rang out across the battlefield, rising high, sweeping through the air with deep malice.
Kray, in furious rage: "Ice doesn't last forever, Aqua! I'll melt it, and I'll burn your kingdom until nothing is left but ash!!"
Kray's words were like fire, consuming everything in its path, a reflection of the pent-up fury that had finally erupted. His voice was filled with deep threat, as if the very ground would crack beneath the weight of his words. The sound dominated the battlefield, cutting through the heavy air and filling it with a deadly charge.
Every word that left Kray's mouth was like an unavoidable harsh sentence, as if the entire battlefield was echoing his threat, brimming with the promise of an impending end.
In a fleeting moment, Kray charged with all his might, delivering a quick and powerful slash toward Aqua's right side. The movement of the sword was like a storm... sharp, deadly. But Aqua, with the skill of an experienced fighter, moved with impossible speed, narrowly dodging the massive swing. Yet, the sword was faster than time itself. It grazed Aqua's right cheek in the blink of an eye, leaving a shallow wound on his skin.
Aqua felt a sting of pain, but he didn't let it distract him. His blood scattered, but it didn't stop him. Instead, he doubled his speed and retaliated with a counterattack, charging toward Kray with all his strength. His sword collided with the other's in a shocking moment, and it felt as though the very earth trembled from the force of the impact.
Suddenly, Aqua spun violently, striking Kray's right side. His sword pierced through the heavy armor, but Kray absorbed the blow with expertise. Instead of retreating, Kray intensified his attacks. As their swords clashed again, Aqua reached out, grabbing Kray's blade to pull him closer, attempting to throw him off balance before launching a fatal strike.
Kray was fast enough to withdrew at the last moment. Aqua tried to press him, but Kray had other plans. With a sudden move, he kicked Aqua's leg, sending him flying through the air.
Aqua hit the ground but landed in a combat stance, ready to attack instantly. He rushed toward Kray like a missile, his eyes burning with fury, his sword cutting through the air parallel to the ground, tearing through the sky itself. The clash was ferocious; their swords struck against each other, the sounds of impact roaring like thunder.
For a moment, the entire battle seemed frozen, as if time had stopped to witness this decisive moment. The ground trembled beneath the warriors, the air thick with pain and rage. The battlefield revealed another face... a face of pure madness, drenched in blood and strewn with remnants of the fallen, like unhealed wounds across the land. Aqua was surrounded by deep darkness, his eyes glowing with the cold fire of shattered ice. His body trembled with the overwhelming fury coursing through his veins, his mind drowning in echoes of agony and screams.
Kray Malacard stood opposite him, his chiseled face cloaked in deadly silence, but his eyes blazed with the flames of vengeance. His sword, gleaming like a star in the darkness, swung down with devastating force, aiming to rip out Aqua's heart. And in that moment, Aqua watched everything unfold as if time itself had frozen... he took a deep breath, as if preparing for a journey within himself. Then, in the blink of an eye, he moved with an indescribable motion, shifting like a raging wind, narrowly avoiding Kray's sword as it slashed past his head. He spun in midair like a phantom, leaping across the battlefield, his feet racing over the earth as if he were flying.
Then, suddenly, he raised his sword high. His body, caught in a moment of madness, lunged like a lightning strike. In an instant, his sword pierced through Kray's body. The thrust was sharp... like a bird diving at full speed, driving its beak into its prey's heart. Blood sprayed into the air like red rain, covering the ground and sky. The heavy droplets fell like lead, tearing through the air with violent force.
When Kray looked at Aqua, that final moment before his eyes slowly closed carried all the terror he could never have imagined. What he saw was more than a mere opponent; it was Aqua's terrifying smile, a grin that resembled the fangs of a predatory tiger, protruding from tightly drawn lips. His icy eyes, lifeless at first glance, contained in their pupils blood that had coagulated, forming a solid mass of reddish ice, as if pain, rage, and vengeance had frozen at the core of his gaze. The veins in his cheeks, extending up to his eyes, throbbed with intensity and sharp pain, each pulse like a lightning strike ready to explode uncontrollably.
Then... in a single, swift, decisive motion, Aqua drew his sword. Sparks flew, and blood scattered into the air, raining onto the ground like crimson drops. And with a silent yet deafening presence, Kray Malacard's body collapsed to the earth, lifeless and drenched in blood, falling as if the very world had abandoned him in that instant.
In that moment, Aqua let out a chilling laugh.... a laugh filled with insanity and unrelenting joy. It echoed through every corner of the battlefield, rising from the depths of memory as if calling for destruction. Its sound resonated in Kray's fading consciousness as he stared at Aqua with vacant eyes, his lips attempting to form words, but no voice emerged.
Aqua lifted his head, his face ablaze with unquenchable fire, forced to scream with all his might. His voice roared across the battlefield, calling out to House Malacard from afar, condemning them all. As if this battle had surpassed mere enemies.... it was no longer just about Kray Malacard; it had become a cry against tyrants, against the cowards who moved armies with the blood of others.
The silence that followed was heavy, like a massive stone crushing the heart. Corpses lay scattered like dead trees, blood staining everything. Even the air itself was saturated with the scent of death. The scene was horrifying in its details... madness had reached its peak, leaving only Aqua standing, his sword dripping with blood, his heart brimming with vengeance. He gazed at the horizon, as if he had finally achieved what he sought.
But with his scream, the madness had transformed into something else... something indescribable, something only those who witnessed it could understand. It was a victory that burdened the soul, but also a death that invaded the heart, as if Aqua had slain himself while killing Kray.
In that moment, Aqua stood motionless, as if time itself had stopped around him. The battlefield was a storm of chaos, yet Aqua remained eerily still, his eyes fixed on what lay ahead without fear. A smirk formed on his lips... bitter, mocking everything around him. It was a smile of defiance, as if the surrounding chaos was nothing more than passing mist.
And then, from the distance, Duke Rossipov Malacard surged toward him like an overwhelming tide, his gleaming sword raised high like a thunderbolt, slicing through the wind with raw force. His voice roared through the battlefield.... harsh, brimming with fury and vengeance, shaking the very earth beneath him. His sword carried an immense wrath, yet Aqua did not move. His eyes watched the incoming blade, racing toward him with terrifying speed. That sword in Malacard's hands was not just a weapon... it was fate itself.
Aqua closed his eyes for a moment, letting the world dissolve around him. He drowned in a profound silence as everything faded into another dimension. He felt every heartbeat, every breath, as if time itself had stretched into an eternal moment where nothing mattered but the approaching fate.
Then, just as the sword reached its mark, something appeared from his left.
A shadow emerged...
A black horse suddenly emerged from the thick dust clouds, moving with terrifying speed as if born from the very storms themselves.
Its hooves struck the ground violently, carving a path through time and space, advancing toward Duke Malacard's horse, which was racing at full speed, unable to stop.
In that moment, the movements intertwined in a horrifying way, as if time itself had fractured. Suddenly, the black horse surged forward with crushing force, colliding with the duke's horse with such immense violence that the ground trembled under the impact.
Then, in an unbelievable instant, the movements accelerated, and the rider on the black horse threw his sword, driving it powerfully into the left side of the duke's waist, ripping through his armor and sinking deep into his flesh.
The sound of the impact was terrifying, echoing through every corner of time and space, enveloping the air in thick dust. Aqua, still in his place, watched the scene unfold, as both horses crashed to the ground with overwhelming force, tumbling together. The heavy sound returned to the place as if the earth itself had shaken under the blows of that power.
At that moment, when the earth was ablaze with screams and blood, Raymond Vanheim appeared.