3rd Person POV – Kaito Mugenrei
Kaito sheathes his black greatsword, gaze fixed north.
"Never in my life has anyone come when I called."
The air between them carried frost and finality. His words weren't meant to sting—they were simply truth, heavy as the sword at his back.
He looked back toward her, eyes dark but calm.
"If help comes, let them clean the ashes. I'll handle the fire."
Anzuyi hesitated, her hand hovering near the flare trigger. The small red crystal flickered faintly in her palm, a fragile promise of safety she couldn't quite bring herself to break.
Kaito turned away.
"If you value your life, head back. No one will call you a coward."
The wind swallowed his voice as he walked ahead. She stayed still for a heartbeat longer, then followed—daggers glinting like twin shadows at her sides.
---
The silence before battle was always the loudest.
Even the snow seemed to hold its breath as the ground began to quake—low, rhythmic tremors that came closer, heavier, hungrier. From the blackened forest beyond the ridge, shapes began to move. Dozens at first. Then hundreds.
Ogres.
Their forms towered against the morning mist—gray flesh, iron tusks, crude weapons of bone and steel. The Ogre Tyrant's death had not quelled them; it had enraged them. The horde moved as one storm, bellowing in fury that shook the earth.
Kaito's breath came out as a white plume. He reached back and drew the greatsword from its sheath with a long metallic sigh. The blade's edge caught the pale light and turned it black.
His eyes narrowed. "Then come."
The first wave crashed down like an avalanche.
Kaito moved. His stance was firm, every motion deliberate—a soldier forged by solitude. The black blade carved through the first ogre's chest, spinning with the weight of ten men. Flesh split. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed into the frozen air.
He pivoted, low and controlled, bringing the sword across again in a sweeping arc that tore through two more. The impact thundered across the plain.
Every swing was a statement: I fight alone because I always have.
Anzuyi joined the fray from the edges, her form flickering between shadows. Twin daggers danced through tendons, arteries, and the soft spots between armor plates. She moved like silence itself—elegant, precise, but fragile amid the chaos.
Kaito's world was noise and heat, every heartbeat a drum of defiance. Her world was breath and precision, every kill a whisper.
But there were too many.
The ogres adapted. The Ironguts—towering elites with armored hides—moved to flank them. Clubs of stone and rusted iron hammered into the ground, sending shockwaves that fractured the frozen soil.
"Fall back!" Kaito shouted, voice hoarse against the roar. "You're not built for this kind of fight!"
Anzuyi didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on the nearest Ogre Bull, movements too fast, too reckless. She lunged forward, slicing deep into its neck—but its arm came around faster than she expected. The backhand sent her flying across the snow, crashing against a half-buried pillar.
"Damn it—"
Kaito surged forward, cleaving through three ogres in a single brutal swing. His muscles screamed. The blade drank blood. The black steel pulsed faintly, almost alive, resonating with the weight of his fury.
He reached her just as another Irongut descended, weapon raised. Kaito stepped in front of the blow and met it head-on. The shockwave shattered the ground beneath his feet, but he held—snarling, eyes wild with defiance.
He twisted the blade upward, carving through the ogre's wrist and spine in one monstrous strike. The creature fell in halves at his feet.
When the silence returned, it was only partial—broken by the sound of shallow breathing.
Anzuyi lay in the snow, clutching her side. Blood seeped through her fingers, staining the frost crimson. One of her daggers was still buried in an ogre's chest nearby, glinting like a forgotten shard of moonlight.
Kaito knelt beside her, breath heavy, steam curling from his shoulders.
Her voice was thin, almost playful despite the pain. "Told you… we should've called for help."
He didn't answer. His hand trembled as he pressed against her wound, the heat of her blood seeping through his glove. Around them, the sound of the horde swelled again—hundreds of feet stamping against the earth, the next wave gathering.
Kaito looked up. The valley was moving. The horizon itself was made of monsters.
He stood, planting his greatsword into the ground. The blade hummed with heat, black veins glowing along its edge.
His inner voice was steady, almost serene. If this is where I end… then let it be where no one else falls again.
He stepped forward, every movement deliberate, shoulders squared.
Behind him, Anzuyi's hand reached weakly through the bloodstained snow, fingertips brushing his boot—too late to stop him.
The next instant, the world roared.
Kaito's greatsword swung upward, cleaving through the charge of ogres like a black sunrise. The air exploded with sound—metal, bone, and fury.
And when the echo faded, only snow fell again—soft, indifferent, and white, covering the blood like a shroud.