The stone fortress crumbled little by little.
The orcs slammed into the walls like piles of brittle wood, their massive hands and shoulders shattering stone with raw strength that knew no technique—only brutality. Every swing of their weapons left massive cracks, every war cry eroded the courage of the defenders.
The hunters and city soldiers were clearly unprepared.
They fought with bravery, but bravery alone was not enough when the number of enemies surpassed the limits of reason. The lines began to falter, shields shattered, spears were flung aside, and one by one human bodies were hurled to the ground.
Then—
BOOOM!
A gigantic axe spun through the air, slamming into the main gate with terrifying force. The steel-reinforced wood shattered instantly, blasted into the fortress along with shards of metal and the bodies of guards who had no time to dodge.
The gate was breached.
The orcs' cheers of victory echoed.
They poured in en masse, fangs bared, red eyes filled with bloodlust. In their minds, the city had already fallen—it was only a matter of time before it was completely pillaged.
But at the moment that massive axe spun back into its owner's hand—
A dark red light flashed.
Not an explosion.
Not ordinary fire.
But an energy slash that skimmed low across the ground, sweeping through the front ranks of orcs like a gigantic scythe. Green bodies were severed, burned from the inside, then reduced to black ash before they could even scream.
The battlefield fell suddenly silent.
The orcs halted, their feral instincts screaming danger.
In the middle of the shattered gate, a figure stood.
A man.
He wore eastern noble attire—simple yet resolute, dark in color with thin red accents. His black hair hung to his neck, swaying gently in the night wind. In his hand, a glowing red sword pulsed like a living creature, radiating an aura that distorted the air around it.
And his eyes—
blazing red, cold, without the slightest hesitation.
Jun had descended onto the battlefield.
Some orcs were shocked, some hesitated, others snarled and raised their weapons. That hesitation became a fatal mistake.
Because Jun moved.
There was no signal.
No battle cry.
In a single breath, his body vanished from where he stood. The next instant, he was already in the midst of the orc ranks.
Slash.
His sword swept through.
An orc was split from shoulder to waist.
Slash.
Two heads were flung into the air.
Slash—crack—boom.
The third strike was accompanied by a wave of dark red energy that annihilated five orcs at once, their bodies exploding from within like straw dolls set ablaze.
His speed was beyond reason.
To the human soldiers watching from afar, Jun looked like a red shadow weaving among the enemy. Every step he took was death. Every swing of his sword was annihilation.
The orcs tried to surround him.
Failed.
They tried to attack together.
Futile.
The red sword danced, precise and brutal, slicing through thick orc flesh as if it were no harder than tofu. Black blood sprayed, but it didn't even have time to touch the ground before evaporating under the heat of the sword's aura.
Within seconds, the ground before the gate was filled with corpses. The stone fortress crumbled little by little.
The orcs slammed into the walls like piles of brittle wood, their massive hands and shoulders shattering stone with raw strength that knew no technique—only brutality. Every swing of their weapons left massive cracks, every war cry eroded the courage of the defenders.
The hunters and city soldiers were clearly unprepared.
They fought with bravery, but bravery alone was not enough when the number of enemies surpassed the limits of reason. The lines began to falter, shields shattered, spears were flung aside, and one by one human bodies were hurled to the ground.
Then—
BOOOM!
A gigantic axe spun through the air, slamming into the main gate with terrifying force. The steel-reinforced wood shattered instantly, blasted into the fortress along with shards of metal and the bodies of guards who had no time to dodge.
The gate was breached.
The orcs' cheers of victory echoed.
They poured in en masse, fangs bared, red eyes filled with bloodlust. In their minds, the city had already fallen—it was only a matter of time before it was completely pillaged.
But at the moment that massive axe spun back into its owner's hand—
A dark red light flashed.
Not an explosion.
Not ordinary fire.
But an energy slash that skimmed low across the ground, sweeping through the front ranks of orcs like a gigantic scythe. Green bodies were severed, burned from the inside, then reduced to black ash before they could even scream.
The battlefield fell suddenly silent.
The orcs halted, their feral instincts screaming danger.
In the middle of the shattered gate, a figure stood.
A man.
He wore eastern noble attire—simple yet resolute, dark in color with thin red accents. His black hair hung to his neck, swaying gently in the night wind. In his hand, a glowing red sword pulsed like a living creature, radiating an aura that distorted the air around it.
And his eyes—
blazing red, cold, without the slightest hesitation.
Jun had descended onto the battlefield.
Some orcs were shocked, some hesitated, others snarled and raised their weapons. That hesitation became a fatal mistake.
Because Jun moved.
There was no signal.
No battle cry.
In a single breath, his body vanished from where he stood. The next instant, he was already in the midst of the orc ranks.
Slash.
His sword swept through.
An orc was split from shoulder to waist.
Slash.
Two heads were flung into the air.
Slash—crack—boom.
The third strike was accompanied by a wave of dark red energy that annihilated five orcs at once, their bodies exploding from within like straw dolls set ablaze.
His speed was beyond reason.
To the human soldiers watching from afar, Jun looked like a red shadow weaving among the enemy. Every step he took was death. Every swing of his sword was annihilation.
The orcs tried to surround him.
Failed.
They tried to attack together.
Futile.
The red sword danced, precise and brutal, slicing through thick orc flesh as if it were no harder than tofu. Black blood sprayed, but it didn't even have time to touch the ground before evaporating under the heat of the sword's aura.
Within seconds, the ground before the gate turned into a field of corpses.
Orc bodies lay piled chaotically, some cleanly bisected, others charred by the lingering dark red aura still hanging in the air. The stench of blood and hot iron enveloped the battlefield, leaving the human soldiers frozen—caught between horror and awe.
But it wasn't over yet.
"UOOOOOH!!"
A thunderous roar shook the orc ranks.
From behind the crowd, several figures advanced. These orcs were far larger than the rest, their muscles bulging, their skin covered in scars. Behind them appeared hunched, thin-bodied orcs wielding wooden staves adorned with bones and talismans—shamans.
They began chanting crude incantations in a language that sounded like animal growls.
The air trembled.
Small stones lifted from the ground.
One of the large orcs raised a gigantic sword and swung it toward Jun with all his might.
CLANG!
Jun stopped the attack with one hand.
The orc's massive sword halted in midair, blocked by the glowing red blade in Jun's grasp. The ground beneath Jun's feet cracked, yet his body did not shift in the slightest.
He lifted his gaze, staring into the orc's face—red eyes blazing with rage, saliva dripping from its fangs.
"I," Jun said coldly, "do not deal with lackeys."
With a single flick of his wrist, he knocked the sword aside. The giant orc's body was flung away, crashing into several of its comrades and sending them tumbling helplessly.
But Jun did not pursue.
Because he felt it.
Behind the orc army, far to the rear—there was something different.
The energy there was not wild like the soldiers'.
Nor was it crude like the shamans'.
That energy was calm.
Heavy.
And dangerous.
Jun slowly turned his gaze.
There—stood a gigantic figure, towering far above the other orcs. Its body was packed with muscles as hard as stone, and in its hand was the huge axe that had shattered the fortress gate earlier.
The aura radiating from it pressed down on the battlefield, causing the surrounding orcs to instinctively part and make way.
Orc Champion.
Karokan.
"So you finally show yourself," Jun muttered softly.
The shamans screamed, their staves slamming into the ground. Crude magic circles formed, and waves of dark energy surged toward Jun from all directions.
Jun let out a breath.
"In that case…"
He raised his sword, then stamped his foot into the ground.
"Mount Hua."
In an instant, the world around him changed.
Petals of illusory plum blossoms bloomed in the air, spinning slowly yet sharply like blades. The battlefield, once filled with blood and dust, was now shrouded in a deadly, false beauty.
The shamans froze.
The illusion was not merely visual—it crushed the senses, twisted direction, shattered focus. Their spells faltered, magic circles cracking apart before they could be released.
Jun stepped forward amid the dancing plum petals.
One step.
Two steps.
Each step brought him closer to the only target that mattered.
Karokan snarled, slowly raising his axe.
Between the drifting plum blossoms and the blood darkening the ground, two powers finally stood face to face.
//--//
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