"I am willing," grunted Warlord Helzarn, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor as he prepared to make his vow of unwavering loyalty. Yet, just as he was about to step forward, Primnear's arm shot out, halting him with a firm grip on his chest.
"Before we proceed, there's one question that needs answering," Primnear intoned, his voice resonating like a distant thunder.
"Speak," Helzarn replied, his eyes fixed on Primnear.
"Your cultivation," Primnear continued, his gaze piercing through Raiking. "I sense nothing—absolutely nothing. Either you're concealing it with a divine artifact, or you've transcended into a realm spoken of only in legends."
"Does it matter?" Arshka sneered, his voice laced with disdain.
"It does," Primnear countered, a steely edge in his voice. "If he's truly reached the Divine Realm, why must we shed our blood for him? He could single-handedly end this war."
Arshka's fists clenched, an ominous aura crackling around his knuckles. "Are you suggesting the Demon King has hidden motives?"
"I'm saying our histories are drenched in too much blood," Primnear growled. "I need to ensure I'm leading my brothers into battle, not into oblivion."
"It is fine."
As Raiking spoke, Arshka eased his hand, retracting his lethal intent. Raiking's dark, void-like eyes fixed on Primnear. "You're spot on. I have the power to storm into Dawnfall's capital, and not a soul could oppose me."
The firelight flickered ominously, and the silence grew heavy, as if the air itself tightened around them. The undeniable fact—that Raiking wielded his immense power unaided by any artifact—felt like a frigid grip on their throats, leaving them gasping.
Despite their fierce pride, the barbarian lords felt the weight of Raiking's presence. Primnear, struggling to breathe, locked eyes with Raiking. "If that's true... then why haven't you acted?"
"Primnear," Raiking queried, "have you ever been pursued?"
"Never."
"What if a comrade was left crippled, stranded behind enemy lines?"
"Our laws are unwavering," Primnear replied, his voice firm. "Those too weak for battle stay behind to guard the home. The unfit do not advance."
"So, you would leave a friend to the wolves?"
"Without a second thought."
"Then you can't possibly understand the path I've walked."
"I am ready to hear you out."
"If the mind comprehends but the heart refuses to feel, then words are mere echoes," Raiking said smoothly. He stood, his dark robes flowing like shadows as he moved toward the hall's grand doors. "Just understand this. A swift death is a mercy the human King hasn't earned. He must first learn what it feels like to be prey. He must watch his fleeting hopes decay into suffocating fear as the walls close in around him. He must live in such deep paranoia that even a passing glance from a merchant feels like a blade at his throat."
The barbarian lords absorbed the chilling truth of his words, finally grasping the depth of his betrayal. To abandon one's own kind required a hatred forged in the darkest pits of anguish.
"And before it all concludes," Raiking whispered, swinging open the massive iron doors, "the King must witness the erasure of the one he holds most dear, and he must be utterly powerless to prevent it."
---
[Location - Dawnfall's Northern Border Military Camp]
Dia'Tia sat by the flickering candlelight, engrossed in the final pages of the Compassionate General's ledger. Suddenly, the stillness of the freezing military barracks was shattered by panicked cries.
"What is that in the sky?!"
"Is someone ascending to the Immortal Realm?!"
"That's no ordinary Heavenly Tribulation..."
Elinea sprang to her feet and dashed to the entrance, pulling the tent flaps aside to see the source of the chaos. As she looked skyward, she became motionless, her expression one of shock—a sight that immediately set Dia'Tia on high alert.
Driven by curiosity, the Commander rose to her feet. "What has you so—"
She never completed the thought. Her breath caught as she gazed upward. Enormous, pulsating veins of dark purple energy snaked across the clouds, spreading outward from the core of the Northern Region to stain the horizon.
In an instant, she understood why the vanguard mistook it for an ascension. The turbulent, rumbling clouds mirrored the apocalyptic grandeur of a Heavenly Tribulation.
However, her instincts screamed this was something else entirely. This wasn't the heavens judging a mortal; it was a dark, parasitic force actively corrupting the sky—an unnatural phenomenon that fundamentally defied the laws of their reality.
"Raiking..." she murmured, her voice carried away by the wind.
Her deepest fears were confirmed almost instantly. A sovereign voice rolled across the horizon, not coming from nearby, nor merely a mental projection; it was as if the sky itself had become the messenger of his proclamation.
"Children of the North," Raiking's voice reverberated through the air. "You have fought a futile war against humanity for centuries. It is time to bring it to an end. Your warlords have already submitted. Now, you must choose your path."
As his declaration swept over the frozen encampment, the corrupted clouds shattered like a fragile mirror. With a deafening, apocalyptic crash, the sky broke apart.
Jagged shards of purple clouds began to rain down upon the world.
Yet, this was just the beginning.
Suspended in the air, thousands of shards vibrated with an unnatural frequency. The solid fragments liquefied, transforming into perfect, floating spheres of dark blood. As they formed, Raiking's voice struck the earth with the weight of a twisted deity.
"This is my blood, sealing the covenant between myself and the barbarian race. It is poured out to erase the old world and usher in the new. Consume it, and you shall wield the power to make the heavens themselves tremble."
Dia'Tia stood frozen. A single drop of purple, liquid malice hovered just inches from her lips. There was something hypnotic about it, a dark, magnetic pull that whispered to her soul, promising that if she reached out and consumed it, she would become an unstoppable force.
She clenched her jaw, her hands forming fists until her knuckles turned white. It took every ounce of her mental strength to break free from the enchantment and resist its allure.
Her soldiers, however, lacked such willpower. Just outside the tent, a horrific, agonized scream tore through the night.
"Arghhhh! It burns! What is happening to me?!"