Somewhere remote. Unknown.
The stench of blood lingered heavily in the air.
Not fresh.
Not sharp.
But thick—like something that had been left to rot under the moonlight.
Bodies were piled high.
Dozens.
No—
Hundreds.
At first glance, they were nothing more than corpses, stripped of identity, reduced to flesh and silence.
But upon closer inspection…
Their ears.
Long.
Tapered.
Elves.
Their lifeless forms had been arranged—no, placed—with deliberate precision, forming a massive circular pattern etched into the ground.
Blood seeped outward from beneath them, flowing into intricate lines carved deep into the earth.
The circle pulsed faintly.
As if it were breathing.
Alive.
Standing at its center was a man clad in armor.
A knight.
His blade rested casually against his shoulder, darkened with drying blood.
Despite the carnage surrounding him, his posture was relaxed.
Almost… satisfied.
A figure stepped closer beside him.
Short.
Unnaturally so.
Its hunched frame hidden beneath a black hooded cloak.
From beneath the shadows, a low voice emerged.
"...As expected from a long-lived species."
A thin, crooked finger pointed toward the bodies.
"Their blood carries far more 'weight' than that of humans."
The knight let out a quiet chuckle.
"Is that so?"
His lips curled into a grin.
Sharp.
Cruel.
"I did hear rumors," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "That the elves have begun to notice."
His eyes gleamed faintly.
"That they're preparing to move against us."
A pause.
Then—
His grin widened.
"Good."
A dangerous aura bled from his body.
"My sword's been getting restless."
To a keen observer, the blood coating his blade didn't seem still—
It writhed.
The hunched figure clicked its tongue softly.
"You should exercise restraint… especially at a time like this."
Its voice remained calm.
Measured.
"'Hero' Salazar."
The title lingered in the air—mocking, or perhaps ironic.
"We do not wish to attract the attention of those… who oppose our grand design."
Salazar scoffed.
"Tch."
He shifted his grip on the blade, the metal giving off a faint hum.
"Then tell me this."
His gaze drifted toward the circle beneath his feet.
"To complete this little ritual of yours…"
He smirked.
"…just how many more bodies do you need?"
"Still far from enough," the hunched man replied."But it has already begun to weaken their World Tree, from what I can tell."
"Glory to humanity," Salazar said, his voice laced with ferocity.
Then—
Something in him snapped.
A primal instinct.
A warning.
Danger.
His eyes sharpened—
—but by the time he realized it…
It was already too late.
A streak of light tore through the air.
A single arrow—compressed energy, blindingly fast—
—had already crossed into his range.
THRAAACK—!
A violent, piercing impact exploded against his chest.
"—Ghk—!"
The arrow drove straight through his armor, punching into the precise spot where a human heart should reside.
The force sent his body jerking backward—
—and he collapsed heavily onto the ground.
"Hero!"
The hunched man's voice cracked with genuine shock.
His head snapped toward the direction of the attack—
—and froze.
A woman.
Closing in.
Fast.
Her movements were silent, lethal—her presence cutting through the blood-soaked field like a blade.
Her eyes glinted coldly.
"'Hero'?"
She spat the word with utter contempt.
"If that is what you call a hero… then where is the justice in this world?!"
Rage trembled in her voice.
Her gaze flickered briefly toward the mountain of corpses.
Her people.
Elves.
"Who are you?! How did you get here?!" the hunched man demanded, unease creeping into his tone.
His eyes darted to her ears—
Pointed.
An elf.
This place was hidden. Carefully concealed.
And yet—
She had found it.
Infiltrated it.
And in a single strike—
Her arrow brought down their champion!
"ARRGH—!"
The hunched man suddenly screamed as his body slammed onto the ground.
A dagger had buried itself deep into his left thigh.
Pain exploded through him—raw, unbearable.
SHIIING—!
The blade was yanked free—
—and in the same motion, it reappeared at his throat.
So close it kissed the skin.
A thin line of blood trickled down his neck.
"Grand Elder!"
"Elder!"
The surrounding hooded figures erupted into motion, rushing forward before halting just short of the scene.
Everything had happened in an instant.
Too fast.
Far too fast.
"All of you—don't move."
Her voice cut through the chaos like ice.
"Take one more step…"
The dagger pressed slightly closer.
"…and his head falls."
Silence.
Heavy.
Tense.
"Now talk," she demanded, fury burning in her eyes. "What are you planning with this cursed ritual?!"
But then—
Something felt off.
Her gaze sharpened.
The hunched man…
He wasn't panicking.
Not enough.
Not like someone standing at the edge of death.
Her pupils shrank.
—Wrong.
She moved.
Instinctively.
Decisively.
A fraction of a second later—
A blade carved through the space where she had just stood.
The air itself seemed to fracture under the force of the swing.
Reality split—if only for an instant.
Her eyes widened.
Impossible.
The one who struck—
—was Salazar.
The very man she had pierced through the heart.
The arrow still jutted from his chest.
Cracks spread across his armor from the impact point, stained deep red with blood.
And yet—
He stood.
Alive.
"…Unbelievable…" she whispered under her breath.
Before she could process it—
He moved.
Fast.
Relentless.
Closing the distance in an instant, his sword came crashing down in a devastating arc.
She reacted just in time, drawing a second dagger from her thigh into dual wielding!
Steel met steel—
—and the battlefield erupted.
Blades clashed in rapid succession.
Sharp.
Precise.
Deadly.
Her movements were fluid, honed to perfection—dual daggers weaving a deadly defense while searching for openings.
But to her…
Something was wrong.
Every swing of her opponent blade carried overwhelming force—laced not only with energy, but something far more sinister.
Blood.
It clung to his weapon.
Moved with it.
The blade itself seemed to shift—stretching, warping, extending its reach unpredictably.
Her rhythm faltered.
Her predictions failed.
Again and again.
A shallow cut grazed her arm.
Then another.
And another.
Minor wounds.
Nothing fatal.
But—
Too much blood.
Far too much.
The bleeding infllicted is very odd.
Her breathing grew uneven.
Her strength—draining.
"What… is this…?"
Her vision blurred slightly.
Suddenly—
A black shadow moved and separate itself from her own.
It split from beneath her feet.
A mass of darkness surged forward—
—wrapping around Salazar like chains!
Binding him.
Freezing him in place.
For a single moment.
"…Run."
A voice echoed inside her mind.
Soft.
Unknown.
Her eyes widened.
What—? Who—?
That shadow wasn't her power!
But no one answer. She even feels like something ethereal leave, not knowing exactly what it is.
But she didn't hesitate.
She couldn't afford to.
Using that fleeting opening, she turned—
—and vanished into the night.
Leaving behind only scattered drops of her blood upon the ground.
"GRAAAH—!"
With brute force, Salazar tore through the shadow binding him, shattering it into nothingness.
But—
Too late.
She was gone.
Silence fell once more.
Slowly, he reached up—
—and ripped the arrow from his chest.
TING—!
He flung it to the ground.
The weapon, now stained with his blood, remained intact.
Unbroken.
Durable.
No ordinary arrow.
"…Tch."
A low, feral growl escaped the Hero Salazar.
His teeth ground together—
his eyes bloodshot, rage simmering beneath his skin.
---
"The Elf War Goddess is retreating cleanly."
A voice emerged from within the shadows.
One of the nine elites of Black Vow stepped forward—if he could even be said to step at all. His form was barely visible, shrouded entirely in a cloak of living darkness.
To an untrained eye, he simply wasn't there.
The others showed no surprise at his sudden words.
Given his role within the organization—
It was expected.
"Well done… Stalker."
The one who spoke stood at the center.
Still.
Composed.
His hands rested behind his back, posture straight—like an unmoving pillar.
A man the Lancer addressed as Axiom.
He did not turn as he spoke.
Yet his presence alone weighed heavily on the air.
At the mention of the "Elf War Goddess"—
—and the implication that she had been allowed to escape—
Mystic stepped forward, just slightly.
Hesitant.
But resolute enough to speak.
"Boss… why help the elves?"
Her brows furrowed.
"Wasn't the mission—the one you pulled me out from—meant to disrupt their forces before the war?"
A brief pause.
"Whether by killing them… or not."
Axiom answered without delay.
"You are correct."
A beat.
"There has been… a change of plans."
A low growl echoed from the side.
"Grrr… helping elves?!"
A massive figure shifted, muscles coiling beneath his skin.
"Axiom—even you're… I don't like this."
His voice was heavy with resentment.
"Helping them of all people…"
The hatred in his tone was unmistakable.
Deep.
Personal.
"Stand down, Carnage."
A calm voice cut in.
A woman stood beside Axiom, her posture elegant, refined—almost administrative in nature.
She adjusted her glasses.
A faint glint flashed across the lenses.
Only then—
Axiom turned slowly.
His gaze fell upon Carnage.
Empty.
Detached.
Devoid of warmth.
For a brief moment—
Silence crushed the space between them.
And strangely—
The man known as Carnage, despite his towering, heavily muscled frame—
Flinched.
A subtle reaction.
But real.
Fear.
Unnatural.
Yet—
He did not step back.
Not completely.
The defiance remained, flickering stubbornly in his eyes.
His hatred toward elves ran too deep.
Old wounds.
Everyone knew it.
"I do not act in favor of anyone."
Axiom's voice was calm.
Flat.
"This is… for the grand design."
His gaze lingered on Carnage for a moment longer—
Before drifting upward.
Not toward the sky.
But somewhere else.
Somewhere only he could see.
Something only he understood.
"Yes…"
He murmured, almost to himself.
"This is all… for the grand plan."