The battlefield shifted. The war that had once only touched the borders now surged forward like a tidal wave.
Within the broken lands between the Beastfolk Kingdom and the Holy Empire, a brutal rhythm had begun to echo. Villages were razed. Skies blackened with smoke. The line between soldier and slaughterer grew thin.
The Holy Church called it a Purge.
The Beastfolk called it Revenge.
In the eastern territories, a second clash occurred. This time, the Holy Church took the initiative. Ten battalions of Light Knights led by Inquisitor-General Faelron descended on a beastfolk stronghold. With him were three High Priests and an army of zealous followers armed with flame and scripture.
Faelron was known as the "Scourging Light," a man who believed in salvation through fire.
"All sins must be burned," he declared, raising his flaming sword as the holy fire rained from the heavens.
The beastfolk defenders fought valiantly, but they were overrun. Families who hadn't even joined the war were burned alongside warriors. Screams echoed for miles. Children and elders, too slow to escape, perished. It wasn't war. It was a message.
Across the kingdoms, news spread quickly. Beastfolk survivors told tales of ash and holy laughter.
And the war escalated.
In the heart of the beastfolk lands, the King ordered a general call to arms. Tribal chiefs who once hated each other now stood together. Wolves, lions, tigers, hawks, bears. Even the rare dragonkin from the far mountains answered the call.
Among them, new names emerged:
Gorhal, the Bear Lord, who wielded a tree trunk as a weapon and crushed twenty knights in a single charge.
Shae of the Silver Fang, a blind wolf who could sense movement through sound, her daggers flashing like ghosts.
Ragna, the Flame-Touched, a tiger-warrior whose body was burned by fire magic, yet used it to fuel his berserk fury.
Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows, Ivan continued to watch. Never interfering, always observing.
He and a small team of Akatsuki agents moved silently through burned-out towns and ruined fortresses, recording names, tracking troop movements, collecting information.
He saw things that turned even his stomach—children crucified in the name of Light, beastfolk retaliations that butchered surrendering soldiers. The cycle of hate spiraled deeper.
"The world is ready," he whispered one night, standing at the edge of a mass grave.
Behind him, Kahl spoke, "Ready for what?"
Ivan didn't answer.
From the west, the human Kingdom finally reacted. The King, Alexus, condemned the Holy Church's actions publicly, claiming ignorance and ordering an investigation.
But the beastfolk didn't care. They no longer saw the difference.
A holy man was a human.
A human was the enemy.
By now, over a hundred thousand soldiers were mobilizing. Forests once alive with songbirds were now littered with traps and corpses.
And far above, in the Holy Capital, the Pope knelt before an ancient relic—a black sun sealed behind golden glass.
"Let the divine judgment begin," he murmured, and the relic pulsed.
The war had started like a whisper.
Now it screamed.