The wind howled over the frozen peaks, carrying with it the scent of blood and iron. The snow of the North was no longer pure white — it was stained with the memory of war.
Two weeks had passed since the Battle of Frostvale. The Empire's army had been crushed, their banners torn and trampled beneath Northern boots.
Yet Arden knew peace would not last.
War never ends with victory — it only pauses to take a breath.
Inside the war hall, Selene spread a new parchment across the map table.
"The Empire's next move," she said. "Our scouts intercepted communication from the capital — they're sending someone else this time."
Elyndra leaned forward. "Another army?"
Selene shook her head. "Worse. A single man."
The name written across the parchment made Mira's ears flatten.
'Leonhart Valerian — Sword Saint of the South.'
Aranelle's expression grew grim. "I've heard of him. They say he once defeated an entire orc battalion alone. A master of mana swordsmanship — the Empire's deadliest general."
Mira frowned. "Then we fight him together!"
But Arden remained silent. He stared at the name for a long moment, his golden eyes unreadable.
"…Leonhart," he murmured. "I've heard that name before — in another life."
That night, Arden sat alone within his training chamber, surrounded by silence and flickering candlelight.
He closed his eyes, sinking deep into meditation. Qi surged through his veins, roaring like a dragon beneath his skin.
Then — memories began to stir.
The clang of blades. The roar of ancient sects. The cries of countless disciples as mountains crumbled beneath his strikes.
He saw himself again — an old man seated atop the peak of the Heavenly Martial Sect, his hair silver, his eyes sharp as lightning.
He remembered his final battle — the duel that shattered the heavens and ended his mortal life.
And the technique that only he had mastered:The Heavenly Tyrant Art.
Its first form — Heaven Crushing Palm.Its second — Dragon Subduing Step.Its third — Heaven's Tyrant Manifestation.
Arden's eyes opened. Golden Qi flared around him, lighting up the chamber like sunrise.
"After so long," he whispered, "the path opens once more."
By dawn, the blizzard had cleared.
A single figure stood at the southern gate — tall, clad in silver armor, his long cape fluttering in the cold wind. His blade gleamed white, reflecting the pale sky.
Leonhart Valerian — the Sword Saint.
He spoke calmly, his voice carrying across the field. "Arden Vale. Duke of the North. By decree of His Majesty, you are charged with treason against the Empire."
Arden stepped forward, his own black coat swaying. "Then come claim my head, if you can."
The soldiers around them fell silent. Even the wind stopped.
The two men faced each other — the Empire's greatest blade and the North's martial tyrant.
Leonhart drew his sword, and the world seemed to bend. The blade hummed with mana so pure it distorted the air.
He moved once — and appeared in front of Arden instantly.
CLANG!
Steel met Qi. Sparks burst like fireflies.
Arden grinned. "Fast."
Leonhart's eyes narrowed. "Stronger than the reports said."
He slashed again, and again — each strike faster than lightning, sharper than wind. But Arden deflected every one with bare hands, his golden aura growing brighter.
Then, Leonhart vanished — his blade reappearing from above in a devastating downward strike.
Arden raised his palm. "Heaven Crushing Palm."
A golden shockwave exploded outward, splitting the snowfield in two. The impact sent Leonhart skidding back several meters, boots digging into the frozen ground.
Steam rose from the earth where Qi had collided.
Leonhart's lips curved slightly. "A strange technique… not magic, not swordsmanship."
"It's something beyond both," Arden replied. "It's the art of dominion — the way of Heaven's Tyrant."
Their battle raged across the frozen plain. Each clash of blade and palm sent ripples of power tearing through the snow.
Mountains trembled. Ice cracked. Soldiers on both sides could only watch from afar, shielding their eyes from the blinding flashes.
Leonhart summoned a cyclone of mana around his sword — a roaring tempest of blue light. "Let us end this, Duke!"
He lunged forward, thrusting his sword straight toward Arden's heart.
Arden exhaled, calm amidst the storm.
His body glowed brighter — golden Qi surrounding him like a blazing sun.
"Heavenly Tyrant Art, Second Form—" he stepped forward, vanishing from sight, "—Dragon Subduing Step!"
In a blink, he appeared behind Leonhart. His strike landed squarely on the general's chest — the shockwave shattered his mana barrier and sent him crashing into the snow, leaving a crater dozens of meters wide.
When the dust cleared, Leonhart knelt, blood staining his armor.
Arden stood before him, unscathed.
But instead of finishing the fight, he sheathed his knife. "You fought well, Sword Saint. Go back to your Emperor. Tell him the North is no longer his to command."
Leonhart coughed, then laughed weakly. "You… could have killed me."
Arden turned away. "I don't kill soldiers who fight with honor. But next time you raise your sword for a corrupt throne… I won't hesitate."
Leonhart bowed his head. "Then perhaps the Empire truly has forgotten what honor means."
And with that, the Sword Saint left — defeated, but alive.
When Arden returned to Frostvale, the people greeted him with cheers. Mira threw her arms around him, tail swaying wildly.
"You did it again!" she said.
Elyndra smirked. "You always do."
Aranelle smiled softly from the balcony. "The Empire sent their sword — and the North broke it."
Selene, standing in the shadows, whispered quietly, "And now… the real war begins."
Arden looked toward the horizon, where thunder rumbled faintly. His golden eyes gleamed with determination.
So be it. Let the heavens tremble once more.