The drums of war thundered through the forests of Viron, their deep rhythm echoing like the heartbeat of a dying land. Smoke curled upward in the distance, black against the pale dawn. Villages once filled with laughter now lay silent, their ashes carried away by the wind.
Upon the cold ramparts of his stronghold, Earl Saer stood unmoving. His emerald cloak whipped in the wind, eyes narrowed toward the horizon. The sharp tang of smoke and iron filled the air.
"They're here…" he muttered under his breath, the words heavy as stone.
Beside him, Advisor Henry gripped his staff tightly, knuckles white. "My lord," he said, voice unsteady, "the scouts confirm it. The Infris vanguard has broken through the western ridge. Their commander… it's Lyrn himself."
Saer's jaw tightened. He had expected as much. "Then it begins." He turned, his voice steady and commanding. "Signal the archers. Reinforce the gate formation. We hold this line until His Majesty arrives. No retreat. No surrender."
The advisor hesitated. "And if they breach the walls?"
Saer didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "Then we make sure they bleed for every step they take."
---
Moments later, the horns of Infris roared across the valley—a sound like a beast awakening. From the dark tree line, a sea of soldiers emerged, their armor burning red in the firelight. At their head strode a man wreathed in living flame.
General Lyrn of Infris.
The air shimmered around him as if reality itself feared his presence. Fire coiled from his gauntlets, and the ground hissed beneath his boots. His voice, deep and resonant, carried across the battlefield.
"Earl Saer of Voltaire," Lyrn called. "You guard what was never yours. Surrender the Terra King's Egg, and I'll grant your men a swift death. Resist—and you'll burn before dawn."
Saer drew his sword in silence. Wind gathered around the blade, sharp and restless. His voice was calm, but his aura surged like a storm breaking.
"If you want it…" his eyes narrowed, "…then come and take it."
---
The world erupted.
The first volleys of arrows arced high, only to disintegrate against walls of summoned fire. Infris soldiers advanced in a blazing tide, while Voltaire's men stood shoulder to shoulder, their shields glowing faintly with protective runes.
Steel clashed. Fire roared. The air grew thick with heat and the stench of burning flesh.
Above the chaos, two figures collided—Saer and Lyrn—like gods testing their strength.
Flame met wind.
Their first exchange sent shockwaves across the field, hurling men from their feet. The ground split open beneath them, trees reduced to splinters.
Saer darted forward, the wind wrapping around him in howling streaks. His sword cleaved through air and flame alike, carving deep gashes across Lyrn's armor.
Lyrn staggered but smiled—a grim, cruel smile. "Good," he said, voice crackling like embers. "But you're still beneath me. Soul Forging cannot overcome Soul Expansion."
Saer spat blood and steadied his stance. "Then I'll prove otherwise!"
With a roar, he unleashed his art—Tempast Fang. Blades of wind spiraled from his sword in a storm so fierce it tore through the earth, slicing trees and soldiers alike.
The battlefield froze in awe.
But Lyrn only laughed—a deep, terrible sound. His flames compressed, growing denser, brighter, until they formed a miniature sun in his hand. "Blazing sun Collapse!"
He thrust it forward.
The world turned white.
The explosion swallowed everything—the wind, the screams, the light. For a heartbeat, there was only fire.
When the flames cleared, Saer knelt amidst the ruins. His armor was shattered, his sword cracked, blood pooling at his knees. He looked up through the smoke, chest heaving.
Lyrn strode toward him, unscathed, fire flickering lazily around his frame. "This," he said, his tone almost pitying, "is the difference between resolve and power."
Saer tried to lift his sword, but his strength failed him.
Lyrn raised his flaming fist. "Bravery doesn't change destiny."
The final blow fell like judgment.
When silence returned, only embers danced in the wind.
From the ramparts, Voltaire's banners crumbled as Infris soldiers surged forward, their victory cries filling the night.
The fortress had fallen.
And with Earl Saer's defeat, the war for the Terra King's Egg had truly begun.