CHAPTER 58

Time rewound, and with Abraham's disappearance, it was as if everyone in the battlefield had paused. Vlad and Mordred stared at Hazard in disbelief, while the golden dragon, caught off guard for a moment, was seized by its wings and pulled into the portal. At that moment, Merlin screamed as if he had lost his dearest friend. But the end had not yet come, for after golden blood spilled from the portal, an infernal army emerged—an army of demons, many of whom held the rank of Warlord. However, the portals seemed to have weakened, as thirty thousand Lords had now stepped forth. Despite the presence of nearly a hundred demonic Warlords—battle-mad beings—the chaotic army beneath them looked up and, like a starving pack, launched their attack.

["Hahaha! A legendary golden dragon! Well done, child of destruction! As your reward, the infernal army shall be at your command!"]

With that, Hazard, who had already felt a mental link to the Lord-ranked demons, now sensed a new connection to the Warlords. He let out a sinister laugh as the portal closed, causing psychological damage to many of the mercenaries in the dark army. Yet, this was not the end, for with the corpse of the dark dwarven king thrown before Hazard by Ashar and Janibas fleeing, only two princes and a newly arrived mage remained.

Seeing the two wounded princes and the mage, whose mana was nearly depleted, Hazard spread his arms, allowing a flood of negative energy bullets to form behind him, all directed at Vlad, while two of his clones targeted Mordred. As for the mage, he did not know who he was—until a mental message from the general appeared in his mind. Choosing not to engage with him, he realized he couldn't even if he wanted to, as the sorrowful old man quickly fled the battlefield.

Meanwhile, within the million-strong dark army, which had fallen from eighty million to fifty million, the Warlords shouted in an attempt to reorganize their forces. But with thirty monstrous Warlords falling, a massive black gelatinous creature with jagged teeth forced the already demoralized dark army into retreat, much like their comrades who had been devoured while screaming endlessly. However, upon their return, they found only a high-level demon army before them—ripping apart and feasting on the souls of every being they slaughtered. Amid this nightmare, the commanders, caught in their own horrors, noticed a fierce battle erupting between werewolves and vampires in the heart of both armies, extinguishing any remaining hope of victory.

Yet, a battle was taking place a few kilometers to the north—one that witnesses swore they had never seen before. It was a duel of unparalleled skill, where the sheer mastery of swordplay and footwork was displayed, using only the swordsmanship available to those limited to the Lord's realm.

["You have incredible skill!"]

Lamorak, deflecting the general's blade to the left with a gliding motion of his own sword, swiftly spun his two-handed longsword in a vertical arc, aiming for his opponent's wrist. But the general, reading his movement, spun to his left, releasing his sword and lunging with a punch toward Lamorak. Perhaps he did not expect Lamorak to catch the falling sword mid-motion and, with a swift pivot of his footwork, hurl the sword hilt-first towards his chest.

["Fighting with fists? My lady would consider such an act—"]

The general, catching the sword hilt and preventing it from landing, still felt humiliated. He bent forward, grasping the blade, and prepared for a straightforward thrust. However, all master swordsmen knew that an obvious move from anyone skilled in the art of the blade was never truly straightforward; it was often a bait or a feint, changing direction at the last moment to strike at an opening in the opponent's defense.

Lamorak braced as if he had fallen into a trap, yet he was actually preparing to leap backward at the last moment, seeking an opening in the general's defense for a decisive counterattack. However, the general spun forward, throwing his sword with full force toward Lamorak. Ready to defend against a low strike and preparing to jump back, Lamorak was instead forced to block the sword's upward trajectory, which momentarily blinded him with the sun's glare. In that instant, he saw the general in the air, reclaiming his sword mid-flight—a sign that the general had anticipated his blade's upward trajectory and had gambled everything on this maneuver.

Feigning a vertical strike, the general adjusted his movements in sync with his landing, making Lamorak believe he was committing to the downward attack. But at the last moment, the sword's trajectory changed again, targeting a new weak point. Lamorak was stunned—there was no time to adjust his defense. He made no move, entrusting his fate to his opponent, despite having the power to stop the attack with magic.

Yet, as he closed his eyes for a few seconds, he felt no pain. Instead, the sound of a sword being sheathed reached his ears. Opening his eyes, he saw the undead general standing before him, extending his hand.

["Few warriors remain who follow the rules so completely. Fighting you has rekindled vague, forgotten memories within my soul. Thank you for restraining your power."]

Like a knight, the general placed his right hand over his chest and bowed. However, Lamorak activated his magic, creating a luminous cube that enveloped only the two of them. He stepped forward, knelt, and plunged his sword into the ground.

["As one who has been defeated in a sacred duel, I request a memento of this battle—a token to remember this day until the time comes when I can reclaim my honor."]

The general, his head aching as fragmented memories surged into his mind, was uncertain of what he could offer. At last, he removed his forearm guard, revealing a silvered skeletal arm beneath. Lamorak, upon seeing it, showed neither anger nor hatred—only a sorrowful gaze. He took the forearm guard and, in return, handed his own to the general, then rose from his knee.

["I deeply appreciate this gift, a crucial piece of your armor. In the future, we shall meet again. And on that day, each of us shall wear the forearm guard that rightfully belongs to us."]

The undead general, feeling an unfamiliar sensation within himself, placed his armored glove over his chest.

["It would be my honor to duel you again!"]

With that, the luminous cube vanished, revealing their surroundings. Those nearby, previously tense, sighed in relief upon seeing the two warriors unharmed. Yet, Lamorak could not find Merlin. Without a word, he turned back toward his army and gave the order to retreat. One hundred thousand heroes, their faces filled with frustration and shouting curses, abandoned the battlefield, leaving the heroes alone with the undead army.

The general, gazing at his new forearm guard and the departing figure, then turned to Hezhna and, in a low voice, commanded:

["Prepare for battle."]

Unbeknownst to him, the tale of his duel with Lamorak was far from the simple, victorious ending that others might have believed.