The battlefield was quiet only for a breath.
Mad Valen, his eyes bloodshot and mouth curled into a feral grin, slammed his blade into the ground with such force that dirt sprayed like shrapnel. Then, with a howl, he lunged toward Theo and Flint.
Theo's instincts screamed. He twisted sideways, sliding under the swing of Valen's blade. Flint, broader and slower but experienced, caught Valen's second slash on his own weapon, the clash of steel ringing sharp across the clearing.
"Stay sharp, Theo!" Flint barked. His muscles strained as he pushed Valen back.
Theo nodded, circling with the agility of a snake. His weapon trembled slightly, and then—rattle. The eerie sound of Rattle of the Deep echoed, a Theo's rapid and unpredictable slashes rapidly cutting through the flesh of valen. He snarled, his maddened eyes flinching at the pain even though he has gone mad, giving Theo just enough space to dash past his side.
Theo slashed again—and again, shallow but precise cuts across Valen's ribs.
But Valen was no novice. His blade spun backward like a scythe, parrying Theo's retreating strike even as he shoved Flint away with brute force.
"Persistent little gnats!" Valen roared, foam spraying from his mouth.
He lunged again. This time Flint stepped forward, feet planted like anchors. His stance was primitive—no polished form, no academy training—but the naga style he had learned in blood and hardship favored raw efficiency. He met Valen's blade with a cross-swing, locking the madman's weapon, and then rammed his shoulder forward.
The two clashed like bulls, Flint pushing, Valen resisting with manic strength. Theo darted in from behind, blade flashing like silver lightning.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Theo's attacks came rapid, dozens of minor cuts. Valen howled, flinging Flint back with a sudden twist and spinning to counter Theo's barrage. Sparks burst in the air as he parried again, but Theo kept pressing, his speed and the haunting Rattle of the Deep gnawing at Valen's focus.
"Khh—damn pest!" Valen snarled.
Every movement was madness incarnate, but madness had rhythm. Theo saw it now—Valen's rage made him predictable, his swings wide, his defenses riddled with gaps.
"Flint, again!" Theo shouted.
Flint surged back into the fray, his sword clashing with Valen's from the front. He absorbed the blow with gritted teeth, then shoved, forcing Valen to stumble.
Theo slipped low, stabbing toward Valen's knee—
Valen's counter came almost instantly. His blade curved, impossibly fast for a man in his condition, and forced Theo to disengage.
The fight spun into chaos. Valen's laughter echoed, high-pitched and wild. "Yes! Yes! This is living! The true thrill of battle and death!"
Kairo, watching from atop a small rise, remained calm though his hands tightened around a railing. He gave sharp orders to the kabolts.
"Clear the rest of the bandits. Now."
The kabolts roared in unison and surged outward. Steel clashed, screams rang, but within minutes the smaller skirmish was over. The bandits lay dead or scattered.
Now all eyes turned to the center stage—the duel between Mad Valen and the two warriors.
Theo danced, Flint endured. Together, they carved away at the madman. Theo's blade tore through skin again and again, shallow but unrelenting. Flint's strength forced Valen into head-on collisions that rattled his bones.
And then it happened.
With a perfectly timed strike, Flint locked Valen's sword. Theo darted in and with one vicious slice—SHRRT!—Valen's arm flew into the dirt.
The madman staggered. Blood spurted like a fountain.
But instead of collapsing, he laughed. A terrible, broken laugh that chilled even the kabolts.
"Heh… if I fall," Valen croaked, his remaining hand fumbling inside his torn armor, "I'll take everyone with me!"
Theo's eyes widened. "No—!"
Valen shoved another pill into his mouth and swallowed.
The transformation was instant. His veins bulged like snakes, his skin cracked with red fissures, and his eyes burned with nothing human. Power surged from him like a tidal wave, knocking Theo and Flint back.
"Damn it, he's rising again!" Flint spat, coughing blood.
Theo's face hardened. "No… he's gone. That's not a man anymore."
Valen roared, a beastly cry, and charged. His sword cut arcs that split stone, his strength now monstrous. Theo's quick slashes barely slowed him. Flint's parries shook his arms numb.
As the two faltered, Kairo's voice rang across the battlefield.
"Onyx."
From the shadows behind the bandits' corpses, a figure emerged. Cloaked in black, lance gleaming, the Shadow Reaper stepped forward. The air grew cold as death itself joined the fray.
Onyx appeared behind Valen in an instant, his lance sweeping down. Valen blocked barely in time, sparks showering the ground.
Theo, seizing the moment, slashed Valen's calf. Flint charged head-on, sword cleaving against Valen's guard.
Three against one—the tide shifted.
Onyx moved like liquid shadow, every strike angled for lethal precision. Theo wove around him, his rattling blade distracting, disorienting, cutting a hundred wounds. Flint stood his ground, a bulwark that refused to fall.
Valen screamed, slashing wildly, but the madness only hastened his end. Together, the three warriors hemmed him in, blows raining down like storms.
Finally, Onyx's lance swept across his chest, Theo's blade pierced his heart, and Flint's sword crashed down on his skull.
Mad Valen collapsed, broken and silent.
The battlefield exhaled.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Kairo descended from the rise, Shiri slithering at his side. The naga's brown scales shimmered faintly with dust and blood.
"We did it," Shiri murmured. "It's over, we won."
Kairo nodded, a small smile breaking his otherwise calm face. "Well fought. Theo, Flint, Onyx—you've earned more than victory today."
But the celebration was cut short.
The ground trembled.
From the treeline, an army emerged.
Dozens of bunnymen with twitching ears and short bows. Hobgoblins clad in scavenged armor. Wild boars snorting and pawing the dirt. Grey stone wolves padding silently, eyes glowing. Catling tankerds—catmen with massive shields and heavy armor—forming the front rank.
And at their head walked three figures.
The first was a woman with white hair and black horns, her presence sharp as a blade. Her eyes glimmered with cruel amusement, lord Lyra.
The second was a boy with spiky yellow hair and an orange jacket, his grin feral.
The third was a calm, professional-looking youth with grey hair and glasses, his gaze steady as steel.
Behind them trailed a bard strumming idly on a lute, Renn and three other indistinct figures whose eyes gleamed with hidden power.
Theo raised his blade, weary but unbowed. Flint stepped in front, breathing heavily. Onyx melted into the shadows again, ready.
The lyra lifted a hand. "Relax. We didn't come to fight."
Her voice carried authority.
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "Then why bring an army to my doorstep?"
The calm boy adjusted his glasses. "Because appearances matter. Allow us to introduce ourselves."
The yellow-haired one laughed. "Yeah, let's give him the show, Claymond."
The bespectacled boy—Claymond—nodded. "We are the Ruin Lord Alliance. An alliance of those who reject the stagnant powers of this world."
The bard plucked a playful tune. "In other words, the only real future left."
Lyra, the horned woman, smirked. "And we've been watching you, Kairo. You and your people. Impressive… very impressive. You dealt with Karhux without outside help."
Claymond's eyes glimmered behind the lenses. "Which is why we're here. To extend an offer."
Kairo's brows furrowed. "An offer?"
The yellow-haired youth spread his arms wide. "Join us, Kairo. Join the Ruin Lord Alliance. Together we'll topple every throne and rewrite this rotten world!"
The silence that followed was deafening. Theo looked to Kairo, confused. Shiri hissed uncertainly. Even Flint, hardened as he was, frowned at the sudden twist.
Kairo stared at the trio, unreadable.
"I…" he began.