The clang of steel and the roar of men filled the air, echoing across the entrance to Dand Valley. The ground trembled under the stampede of thousands, the clash of the Boomi Empire's armored phalanx against the hardened warriors of the valley. Spears splintered, shields cracked, and the sharp scent of blood began to taint the mountain breeze.
But amidst the chaos, two figures stood apart.
Vick stepped forward, his armor scratched but gleaming under the light of the blazing midday sun. His gaze was locked on the towering figure ahead — Ke'dil'cho, the Rakshas Knight Commander. Cho's hulking frame radiated raw menace, his greatsword resting casually on one shoulder, as if the carnage around them were nothing more than a stage for their personal war.
"You've grown since the last time we met," Cho's voice rumbled, deep and cold.
Vick didn't answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in the energy flowing through his veins. The air shimmered around him, heat waves distorting the battlefield. "Cin Arts…" he whispered, almost to himself. His right hand lifted, fingers curling as a burning circle of symbols spiraled into existence before him.
A cry — not human, but ancient and wild — erupted from the circle. From the blaze emerged the Astra of Phoenix, a colossal fiery bird with wings stretching wide enough to cast shadows over the front lines. Its eyes glowed like molten gold, its feathers dripping embers onto the blood-soaked ground.
Gasps rose from soldiers on both sides, some even halting mid-swing to stare at the impossible sight.
Cho only grinned. "Magnificent… but let's see if it can survive this."
Planting his feet, Cho raised his sword in both hands, the blade's edges suddenly dripping with an inky crimson aura. The ground beneath him cracked as that aura spread like a curse, tendrils of shadow curling upward. He roared, his voice layered with something monstrous, and then—
"Rakshas Arts: Skull Thrust!"
His figure blurred, the greatsword lancing forward with the force of a battering ram. At the same moment, the Phoenix Astra screeched and launched itself downward, its wings folded back, a comet of living flame aimed straight at Cho.
When they met, the world broke.
The clash unleashed a shockwave that flung nearby soldiers from their feet, weapons flying from their grasp. Dust and fire spiraled into the sky, blotting out the sun for a heartbeat. Screams, the splintering of armor, and the whinnying of terrified horses filled the chaos.
Paras stood on a distant rise, arms crossed, watching with a faint smirk. Around him, generals shouted orders to reform broken lines, but Paras seemed far more interested in the duel than the war.
When the dust cleared, both warriors still stood — but the ground between them was a blackened crater.
Vick's breath was steady, his eyes sharp. Cho, however, had taken a single step back, his boots sinking into the churned mud.
"You're strong," Cho admitted, voice low. "But strength alone—"
Vick didn't let him finish. His hands blurred through a new set of seals, the energy surging so violently that even the soldiers nearby instinctively backed away. The air around him warped again, this time with a different pressure — heavier, more primal.
"Cin Arts: Pixiu Style Astra."
A massive spectral beast materialized beside him — a lion-dragon hybrid with bulging muscles, plated scales, and fangs like curved blades. The Pixiu let out a roar so deep it rattled the teeth of every man in earshot.
Before Cho could react, the Pixiu lunged. The impact was instant — a flash of blinding light, a thunderclap that shook the earth, and then silence.
Cho staggered, his greatsword slipping from his hands. His eyes widened, uncomprehending, as if his body hadn't yet realized it had lost.
Then his knees buckled.
Vick stood over him, the fading glow of the Astra dissolving into embers that drifted into the wind. All around them, the battle still raged, but for the soldiers who had witnessed the duel, there was only one truth: the Rakshas Knight had been felled in a single blow.
The smoke from the ruined entrance of Dand Valley curled high into the darkened skies. The clash of steel and the screams of the dying still echoed, though the tide of battle had already shifted. Paras emerged from the blood-soaked streets, his robes torn, one arm streaked with his own blood. His gait was heavy, but his eyes still burned with the same fierce fire.
Just outside the town, he saw Vid. The boy—weak, battered, eyes red from both dust and tears—stumbled toward him. Without hesitation, Vid clung to Paras, burying his face into the old man's chest.
"Is… is it over?" Vid's voice trembled.
Paras rested a calloused hand on his shoulder, looking toward the battlefield where the ground itself seemed to shudder under the remaining clashes. "The demi-god will take care of it," he said, his voice calm but laced with exhaustion.
Inside the valley, the battle had reached its decisive moment. Vick, standing atop the blood-stained earth, looked like a warrior carved from legend. His blade dripped with the remnants of his duel with Ke'dil'Cho. The rakshas commander lay motionless where he had fallen, still frozen in disbelief from the blow that had ended him.
But Vick was far from finished. Raising his weapon high, he invoked the Cin Arts: Phoenix Astra once more. Fiery wings erupted behind him, stretching wide and illuminating the battlefield in a brilliant blaze. With a single sweeping strike, the phoenix's flames swept across the ranks of the Rakshas Empire's soldiers. Thousands fell where they stood—some cut down instantly, others consumed by the searing blaze.
The screams were drowned beneath the roar of the phoenix's cry.
For three relentless hours, the ground trembled beneath the march of the Boomi Empire's forces. Under the leadership of the demi-god, the enemy lines shattered, their banners falling one by one. The Northern Troops of the Rakshas Empire—once feared across the continent—lay in ruin. Dand Valley was theirs.
Far away, across the Naraga Continent, lush greenery stretched as far as the eye could see. But beneath its beauty pulsed a continent steeped in bloodlust, where peace was merely the time one took to sharpen a blade.
In the capital of Sur, word of the Northern Troops' annihilation arrived before the blood on the battlefield had even dried.
The emperor of Sur sat upon his black-stone throne, the messenger's voice trembling as he spoke the news. Sur's crimson eyes narrowed to thin slits.
"They… lost?"
The words were quiet, but the air grew heavy. Then, without warning, Sur drew his blade and, in a single motion, beheaded one of his own ministers where he stood. The hall fell into dead silence.
In the same breath, he ordered the capture of his own father. Power shifted like a blade's edge, and by that act, Sur claimed his place among the Five Emperors—the most feared rulers of the world.
His voice thundered through the hall, carrying the weight of both promise and threat:
"Before I become the king of the world… I must become the strongest. I will step onto the field myself."
He rose, gripping his weapon, the flames of ambition and fury burning in his gaze. "Haaaaaa!"
The war had only just begun.
The battlefield had gone eerily still.
Only hours ago, the earth had been trembling under the weight of marching feet, the air split by the sharp cries of steel and men. Now, it was the silence that pressed hardest on Vid's ears. Not the kind of peaceful silence you find in forests or temples — this was heavy, oppressive, broken only by the low moans of the wounded and the crackle of small fires eating at the remnants of siege carts.
The smell was worst of all. Charred wood, blood, and the sour tang of sweat all tangled together until Vid thought it might choke him. He stood just outside the main camp perimeter, clutching the leather strap of the satchel Paras had given him before the fighting started.
It was over.
They had won.
And Vid had done nothing.
Paras limped toward him, his usually straight, imposing figure now bent slightly with the weight of a wound he stubbornly refused to let anyone bind yet. His armor was scuffed and dented; a slash along the side leaked a slow, steady line of crimson down to his greaves. But his eyes — his eyes were calm, sharp, almost as if he'd already moved beyond the fight into whatever came next.
"Still here, boy?" Paras asked, voice steady but quieter than usual.
Vid nodded. He didn't trust his voice yet. Around them, soldiers were gathering the wounded, some carrying stretchers, others dragging away the dead with a grim efficiency that spoke of men too used to war.
A flutter of wings drew Vid's gaze upward. A pigeon circled once, twice, before swooping down to land on Vick's gauntleted hand. The veteran knight — tall, broad, with a long scar running down his cheek — untied the small scroll from its leg. His thick fingers worked delicately, almost tenderly, as if the bird might break.
He scribbled a quick message with a stub of charcoal before tying it back to the pigeon's leg.
"To the Emperor," Vick muttered to Paras. "He'll want the news before the court starts hearing rumors."
Paras gave a short nod. "Tell him the northern threat is gone. For now."
The pigeon took flight again, vanishing into the pale, smoke-hazed sky.
Vid couldn't stop himself anymore. "Sir…" His voice came out hoarse. "I… I didn't fight."
Paras glanced at him, then looked away toward the horizon. "I know."
"I'm not afraid anymore ," Vid said quickly, the words spilling before he could decide if they were wise. "It's just… I do not know how to fight !! I want to learn it "
Paras studied him for a long moment. "Then why are you here?"
Vid hesitated, gripping the satchel tighter. "I want to find Vishwa. The god. I think… only he can stop all this." He motioned vaguely at the battlefield, the broken bodies, the smoke twisting into the sky. "I think only he can stop everything."
For a heartbeat, Paras didn't speak. Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth — not of amusement, but of recognition, as if he'd once said something similar long ago.
Inside Paras's mind, an old memory stirred.
He was younger, standing in the ruins of a burning city, clutching his own mentor's hand, saying almost the same words. His mentor had laughed back then — a hard, bitter laugh. But Paras wasn't that man. He'd learned the value of dreams, even fragile ones.
He turned to Vick. "Take him with you."
Vick blinked. "Him? This boy? You're sending him away from you?"
"I'm sending him toward something," Paras replied. "Something bigger than this war."
Vick's brow furrowed. "Paras, you know as well as I do — finding a god isn't a journey, it's a death sentence. And the boy's soft. Pure-hearted maybe, but soft. The world will break him before he gets anywhere near the truth."
Paras shook his head. "That's why he must go. The rest of us…" He glanced around at the soldiers tending the wounded. "We've been shaped into weapons. He hasn't. And if anyone's going to find a god, it'll be someone who still believes they can."
Vick studied Vid in silence. His eyes were hard, assessing — weighing the boy's skinny frame, the faint tremor in his hands, the stubborn spark in his gaze. Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "If he slows me down, I leave him."
Vid met his gaze without flinching. "You won't have to."
Paras stepped closer, placing a hand on Vid's shoulder. "You're walking into something far more dangerous than any battlefield, boy. Don't go looking for glory. Just… don't lose sight of why you started."
Vid swallowed and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. His heart felt too big for his chest, beating with equal parts fear and certainty.
Paras squeezed once, then let go. "Go. Before I change my mind."
Vick gave a sharp whistle, and his horse trotted over. He swung into the saddle with a grunt, then extended a hand down to Vid. "Well? Climb up."
Vid looked once more at Paras. The commander stood tall despite his wound, watching with the expression of a man who knew he might never see the boy again. Vid wanted to say something — thank you, I'll make you proud, I won't fail — but all the words caught in his throat.
Instead, he climbed up behind Vick. The knight flicked the reins, and the horse began to move, hooves crunching over the scorched earth.
Paras stood there until they were just a small blur against the horizon, the smoke curling upward behind them like the last ghost of the battle.
That was the day Vid left the war behind
And the day he began chasing a god.
The first light of dawn broke over the battered landscape, painting the horizon in hues of gold and crimson. The air still carried the heavy scent of blood and dust from yesterday's clash, but in this quiet hour, the battlefield seemed almost at peace.
Paras stood near the edge of the camp, his arm tightly bound, his face pale from both exhaustion and the deep wound across his side. He had fought enough battles to know when his body was no longer able to stand at the front. Vick waited a few steps behind him, arms folded, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon as if already planning the next war.
Vid walked forward, stopping a few paces away. His knees touched the earth, and his head bowed low.
"Thank you, Paras," Vid said, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. "For believing in me… for giving me this chance."
Paras let out a quiet breath. "I'm not giving you a chance, Vid. I'm giving you a path. One I never had." His gaze lingered on Vid, as if memorizing the boy's face before they parted ways. "Vick will shape you into something stronger than you can imagine. Listen to him. Learn from him. And when the time comes… stand for what you believe in, even if it kills you."
The silence that followed was heavy. For a moment, the two simply looked at each other—no commander and subordinate now, just two souls who understood the weight of the road ahead.
The sun's edge crested fully over the hills. Vid rose, gripping the strap of his pack. His eyes burned with quiet resolve. I'll find Vishwa… and I'll become a man who can protect someone.
Vick stepped forward, breaking the moment. "Time to move. The southern front won't wait for us." His voice was calm, but there was an approving nod in Vid's direction—a silent acknowledgment that the boy was worth his effort.
Their destination was the Gangi Valley—1,000 kilometers of rugged land away. A vast, strategic pass that was soon to become a killing ground. Reports spoke of the Hirnya brothers, two of the most fearsome warriors in the Raksha forces, leading the southern assault. And word had spread that Emperor Parth Vij of the Boomi Empire himself was riding to meet them.
Vid's pulse quickened. This would not be just another skirmish. Gangi would be a battle that carved names into history.
They mounted their super-horses—creatures bred for unmatched endurance—and hitched them to ancient, lightning-fast land carriages. Wheels hummed against the packed soil as the convoy surged forward.
The wind tore through Vid's hair, carrying with it the scent of far-off rain and the faint tang of steel from the weapons around him. Every kilometer brought him closer to the valley, closer to danger, and closer to the destiny he had chosen.
Somewhere ahead lay the god Vishwa… and Vid would not stop until he found him