The shockwave had left a crater of silence across the northern edge of the battlefield.
Noelle Lanis lay on the ground, fingers clenched tightly around her sword. Her thoughts raced in sharp fragments.
What was that? A shockwave of Arqui? No… impossible. She had braced for it, had been ready—yet the force had still knocked her down. That wasn't just Arqui. There was something else in it… something darker. Something demonic. But I could still feel the Arqui woven inside it.
Pushing herself upright, she let the golden strands of her hair fall loose in the wind, framing her face in the kind of beauty that could still an army. The sword in her grasp was no ordinary blade—its hilt bloomed like a rose, its sheen kissed with a dew-like glimmer.
Her eyes—serene yet commanding—were like a heaven carved into flesh. Even the sun seemed to shy away behind drifting clouds, as if to keep from disturbing her perfection. She was known across kingdoms as the God of Beauty. But beyond her ethereal allure was a sharper truth: her will. A presence so absolute it could make even a devil hesitate.
Across from her, the dark figure stirred. Jeffrey Hawkins—his name carried no titles, no legends. Only whispers. A phantom in black cloth, his form unreadable except for the faint silhouette of his nose beneath the wrappings.
Slowly, he rose.
With deliberate care, he unwound the fabric concealing his face. Noelle's breath caught.
Beneath the cloth was not the face of a man—it was a vision of ruin. Flesh warped and melted, a tapestry of scars sewn together with coarse stitches. His was a visage born of fire, cruelty, and survival. A mask of nightmares that could drive even devils to retreat.
This was no ordinary duel.
This was not just Noelle versus Jeffrey.
This was Beauty versus the Beast.
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Northern Front – Robert vs. Nyros
Farther west along the same wind-swept front, the devastation of a single clash lay in ruin. White ash carpeted the ground. A cold mist clung to the earth, shifting slowly under the bite of an icy breeze.
Through the haze, two shapes emerged—one standing tall despite his wounds, the other seated on the blood-soaked earth, his body battered but unbroken. The mist veiled their faces for the moment, as if the world was holding its breath.
"In my lifetime," the standing man's voice broke the silence, calm but laced with respect, "I have never met a man like you… a man who could fight me, blow for blow. Impressive, Nyros Varkari. I'll never forget your name. Join me. Join the Seven Warrior Kingdom—not as a subordinate… but as a friend."
The seated man—Nyros—gave a weary smile. "So the rumors were true… You are strong. Strong enough to kill the second-strongest of the Varkari Family, and yet… you didn't. That makes you kind as well." He exhaled, his voice steady despite the pain. "But I cannot join you. The Varkari are bound to serve the King of the Heart Kingdoms."
He pushed himself to his feet, his body trembling under the weight of his injuries. "Yet we are also known for honoring our debts. So I promise you this—until my last breath, if you need me, I will come. Even if I must leave my family behind. And this… is the promise of a friend."
The wind shifted, pulling the last shreds of mist away. The dying light of the sun fell across them—Robert, standing like a lion victorious, and Nyros, seated like a warrior who had lost the battle but not his honor.
They laughed then—two men on opposite sides, bound now by something rarer than victory. Respect.
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