Chapter 82: Raging Bull

The moon hung high above the treetops, casting silver streaks of light through the dense canopy as the group darted through the darkened woods at breakneck speed. Leaves and branches whipped past them, the wind howling in their ears as their boots pounded against the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something… off. Something lingering just beyond the senses. 

Gunthr, panting as he struggled to keep pace, called out between breaths, "Alright—huff—so before we get there, you should know—gasp—this place is… weird." 

Sethrak, running just ahead of him, didn't even glance back. "How so?" 

Gunthr exchanged nervous glances with his guildmates, who weren't faring much better in keeping up. One of them nearly tripped over a root, but recovered with a pathetic wheeze. 

"Well," Gunthr started, his voice dripping with unease, "we've been telling people it's crawling with abominations of war. You know, horrors left behind by Ezrael's influence, twisted beasts from the battlefields. That's what everyone thinks." 

"That's what you told everyone," Sethrak corrected. 

Gunthr threw up his hands as he ran. "Yes! Exactly! Because King Alaric told me to say that! He approached me personally, said to keep up the story. And I figured, hey, a king asks you to do something, you do it, right?" 

One of his guildmates piped in, still gasping for air. "B-but here's the thing—we've never been inside the cursed region. Not once. And, uh… people who do go in?" 

"They don't come out," the other guildmate finished grimly. 

Gunthr nodded quickly. "Exactly! And Alaric knows that I've never stepped foot in there. Yet he still wanted me to push the story about it being all 'war abominations' and 'remnants of Ezrael's wrath.' Turning such adorable animals into monstrosities!!!"

His guildmates shared nervous glances. 

"So we started thinking," Gunthr continued, "why that story? Why that explanation? It's not like we haven't all seen some horrific battlefield monstrosities before, but this? This place just doesn't let people come back. And the king wants everyone to think it's because of the war." 

Sethrak's teeth clenched, his jaw tightening as his draconic pupils thinned into razor-like slits. 

Zyphira, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, bit her nails, her free hand softly scratching at her arm. 

Sethrak finally spoke, his voice low and edged with something dangerous. "If my father is telling people it's the abominations of war, then it's something else entirely." 

Gunthr blinked. "Wait—your father? As in King Alaric?" 

Sethrak shot him a sharp look, and Gunthr audibly gulped. 

"Something I need is in there," Sethrak continued, ignoring the guild leader's growing panic. 

Gunthr and his guildmates exchanged uneasy glances. 

Gunthr hesitated before asking, "Okay, but… what do you need in the cursed region? I mean, don't get me wrong, you're strong—terrifyingly strong—but that place just REEKS of dark stuff! And curses! I mean, I don't know if you've ever smelled a curse before, but if you could, that place would stink like shit!" 

Sethrak winced, his patience thinning. "Mind your business." 

Gunthr let out a nervous chuckle. "R-right, of course! None of my business! But, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I am leading you there, so, uh… just wondering… how much am I getting paid for this? And plus you're rich as the kings son! We're still trying to make it! You already did!"

Sethrak didn't even slow his pace. "The price is keeping your lives." 

Gunthr and his guildmate—his child—both froze mid-stride, their bodies locking up in pure, unfiltered panic. 

"WHAT?!" Gunthr screeched. 

"WE ACCEPT GOLD! GOLD IS A GREAT FORM OF PAYMENT!" his guildmates added, waving their hands frantically. 

Draeven, despite his usual nerves, sighed and turned back to them. "H-he's only kidding." 

Gunthr and his child let out a synchronized sigh of relief, sagging as they kept running. 

"I hope so," Gunthr muttered, clutching his chest. 

Then, suddenly, the forest opened up, the dark trees giving way to something… wrong. 

The group skidded to a stop at the edge of the cursed region. 

Before them sprawled a massive forest of rotting trees, their trunks and branches coated in a sickly red rot that pulsed faintly under the moonlight. The air was thick, heavy, like it was pressing down on them. 

But it wasn't just the forest that held their attention. 

Hundreds of King Alaric's soldiers were stationed along the region's borders, clad in ornate golden and brown armor that gleamed even under the dim light. The insignia of Alaric's royal force was etched into their chest plates, and their weapons hummed with golden energy. 

They were working tirelessly, restoring massive magical golden barricades that had been broken, their hands glowing as they channeled raw magic into the runes engraved in the barriers. 

Beyond the barricades, monstrous chimera-like beasts—twisted, grotesque things that looked like they had been cooked in the red rot—clawed and shrieked, desperate to escape. Their bodies were unnatural, shifting, screaming, their forms barely holding together as they slammed against the barriers. 

The soldiers gritted their teeth, their golden weapons striking out with radiant energy, slicing through the beasts that managed to slip through. 

One soldier barked orders. "Hold the line! Reinforce the barricades!" 

Another grunted as he pushed his hands forward, golden chains lashing out and wrapping around one of the creatures. "It's breaking through! I need more reinforcement here!" 

A third soldier, standing on a raised platform, observed the battlefield grimly. "We can't keep patching the barricades forever. At this rate, we should inform the king…" 

The beasts roared, their red-rot-covered bodies thrashing violently against the golden defenses. 

Sethrak's eyes narrowed, his claws flexing. 

Zyphira swallowed hard, her fingers still nervously scratching at her arm. 

Gunthr, meanwhile, was staring at the chaos with his mouth agape. "Oooookay. So. Uh. This is slightly worse than I thought. I forgot to tell you that they aren't really LETTING anyone in, and were no exception. We just know that those beaters are not like normal abominations we've seen in other continents!"

His guildmates nodded furiously. 

Draeven took a cautious step back. "S-so… what now?" 

Sethrak exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the cursed region ahead. 

The night was thick with tension, the cursed region pulsing with an eerie, unnatural energy. The grotesque chimera-like abominations slammed against the golden barricades, their twisted forms writhing in desperation. The soldiers fought valiantly, their golden weapons flashing in the dark, but the cracks in the defenses were widening. 

Then, the inevitable happened. 

With a sickening CRACK, a section of the barrier shattered like brittle glass. From the rupture, something wrong emerged. 

The beast that stepped through was unlike the others—a towering monstrosity of shifting, semi-corporeal flesh, a grotesque fusion of a horse's powerful frame, a deer's hauntingly empty sockets and branching, rotting antlers, the muscular limbs of a lion, and the disproportionate, twitching ears of a rabbit. Its body was soaked in red rot, the putrid substance sloughing off its skin in thick, bubbling patches, revealing something dark and writhing beneath. 

Its form flickered between the physical and the spectral, its shape never staying the same for long. Its gaping maw was lined with jagged, uneven teeth, dripping with a substance that hissed upon contact with the ground. 

One of the soldiers barely had time to scream before the creature lunged. 

With a wet, bone-snapping CRUNCH, the beast sank its teeth into the man's torso, biting through him like he was nothing more than paper. Blood sprayed in a grotesque arc, painting the ground in thick crimson. The soldier's upper half dangled for a moment, his eyes frozen in shock, before the monstrosity ripped him apart, his entrails spilling out like tangled ropes. 

Another soldier swung his golden blade, but the creature twisted unnaturally, its elongated limbs bending in ways that should have been impossible. It lashed out with a hoofed leg, caving in the man's skull with a sickening pop before trampling over his twitching corpse. 

The screams of dying men filled the night, the wet slaps of flesh and the crunch of bones mingling with the chimeric beast's guttural, echoing growl. 

Sethrak exhaled sharply, his pupils narrowing to razor slits. 

"Draeven." 

Draeven nodded. 

Then, in a rapid shift of quick motion, he was gone. 

A streak of m smoke shot forward, twisting unnaturally through the battlefield. The wraps covering Draeven's body lashed out like whips, snapping against the air as he materialized in front of the beast. 

The creature barely had time to react before Draeven struck. 

His first hit—a palm strike to its shifting ribcage—sent shockwaves through its spectral-physical body, disrupting its form. 

'An astral physical body…this creature is from the astral world..but why here..? How could a spiritual being become rotten? To this core and degree?'

The second—a whip-like lash of his wraps, coiling around its antlers and yanking—snapped one of them clean off, sending black-red ichor splattering into the air. 

The beast roared, swiping its massive clawed hoof at him. Draeven twisted, his body bending at an unnatural angle as he swiftly ducked under the attack, his movements as fluid as smoke itself. 

His third attack—a rapid spinning kick—connected with the beast's midsection, its unstable form flickering violently as cracks of red rot spread across its body. 

The fourth and final hit… 

Draeven's fist shot forward, piercing through the creature's chest. 

For a moment, there was silence. 

Then— 

BOOM. 

The beast detonated, its body erupting in a violent explosion of black smoke and red rot. The force of the blast sent debris flying, the shockwave rippling through the battlefield. 

The soldiers who had witnessed the display stood frozen, their golden weapons trembling in their hands. 

"Who is that?" one of them whispered. 

Before anyone could answer, Draeven darted ahead, his body flickering like a shadow. He reappeared amidst the chaos, his fist slamming into a wave of chimera-beasts, sending them flying back in a cascade of shattered limbs and wailing cries. 

The soldiers, snapping out of their stupor, seized the opportunity. 

"Rebuild the barrier!" one of the officers shouted. "This one's strong!"

The golden barricade began to reform, the soldiers pouring their magic into the broken sections, sealing the cursed region once more. 

As the battle settled, Sethrak turned his attention to Zyphira. 

She was still biting her nails, her other hand scratching her arm softly, her eyes fixed on something ahead. 

Sethrak frowned. "What's wrong?" 

Zyphira's fingers trembled slightly as she whispered, "…Father." 

Sethrak followed her gaze. 

And then he saw him. 

King Alaric. 

The man stood near the barricades, his steel-fitted mask held loosely in one hand. His brownish-white hair was disheveled, strands falling across his face. But it was his eyes that caught Sethrak's attention. 

Deep brown, but not normal. 

Thin slits in his pupils, like a predator's. 

And within his irises… runes. 

Golden runes, shifting and twisting, etched into his very being. Arcane symbols of power, knowledge, and something ancient. They pulsed faintly, as if alive. 

His attire—regal browns and golds, once opulent and untouchable—was now dirty, worn, and full of holes. A king's robes reduced to mere fabric, stained with sweat and dust. 

Sethrak and Alaric locked eyes. 

A long, silent stare. 

Then, Alaric spoke. 

"Son." His voice was hoarse, tired. His gaze flicked to Zyphira. "Daughter—" 

KATHOOM. 

Sethrak's fist collided with Alaric's face, the impact sending the king flying backward. Alaric's body skidded across the ground, tearing through dirt and debris before coming to a stop. 

Gasps rippled through the soldiers. 

A few of them immediately rushed forward, weapons drawn. 

"You dare attack the king?!" one of them roared. "Kill them!"

Before they could strike, a shadow loomed over them. 

Draeven. 

His wraps uncoiled slightly, and his voice—low, steady, and dangerous—cut through the air like a blade. 

"You're not touching them."

The soldiers hesitated. 

There was something unnerving in the way Draeven spoke. A quiet, subtle menace that sent a shiver down their spines. 

Slowly, the soldiers lowered their weapons, though their hands still trembled over their hilts. 

Meanwhile, Zyphira remained still. 

Her fingers continued to scratch at her arm, but it wasn't fear that held her frozen. 

It was something else. 

'Father..'

The air was thick with tension, the scent of blood and rot mingling in the night. The golden-armored soldiers surrounding them gripped their weapons tightly, their muscles tensed, their eyes filled with fury and uncertainty. Sethrak stood over Alaric's fallen form, his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. 

Then, the first soldier made his move. 

"You dare strike the king?!" a soldier snarled, raising his golden spear, its intricate engravings glowing with divine energy. 

Several soldiers lunged, some hesitating as they glanced at their comrades still struggling to hold back the horrors beyond the barricade. 

Draeven exhaled sharply. 

The moment the first spear thrust toward him, Draeven shifted. His body moved between the golden strikes like flowing water, his motions precise, efficient, and effortless. His wraps shot out, snaking around the soldiers in a flurry of rapid movements, coiling around their weapons, their limbs, their necks. 

One by one, their bodies jerked as Draeven yanked back, pulling them toward himself, their armor clanking as they were forcibly reeled in. The wraps tightened, binding them together, each strand connected to Draeven's arm like he was pulling an intricate web into place. 

The soldiers struggled, their radiant weapons flickering as they tried to free themselves. 

Then, the ground trembled beneath approaching steps. 

A massive soldier, clad in reinforced golden plate, charged forward at unnatural speed, his colossal golden weapon—a halberd infused with glowing sigils—swinging with immense force. 

Draeven's eyes flicked toward him. 

The soldier brought the halberd down with a deafening crash. 

Draeven reacted instantly. 

His foot shot up, stopping the colossal weapon mid-swing, the force of impact dispersing in a shockwave. The massive soldier barely had time to register what had happened before Draeven pressed his palm against his stomach, planted his other foot on the back of the man's head, and twisted hard. 

The sheer speed of the movement sent the soldier's head *slamming* into the dirt with a brutal crack, the force of the impact leaving a deep crater in the ground. 

Draeven didn't even glance at the broken body. He simply released the struggling soldiers from his wraps, letting them collapse in a tangled heap. 

"Oh no..I didn't kill him did I?" Draeven said with actual regret, but then saw that he wasn't dead and he released a sigh.

The battlefield was a chaotic swarm of magic, monstrous roars, and golden steel clashing against abominable flesh. Draeven moved like a ghost among the chaos, ducking and weaving between strikes from Alaric's soldiers. His wraps lashed out like serpents, deflecting blows or wrapping around weapons to disarm his attackers. His movements were precise and cold, each step and strike a calculated masterpiece of combat.

Gunthr stood off to the side, nervously watching as Draeven danced through the fray, his guildmates clinging to him like frightened children. Every time Draeven effortlessly dodged another attack, Gunthr took a step back, muttering to himself.

"Why… why do I keep getting involved with people like this?" he whispered, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"That guy's got moves," one of Gunthr's guildmates said, his voice trembling. "Think he could teach us?"

"He'd kill us before the first lesson!" the other hissed.

As they bickered, a sudden and imposing voice cut through the chaos, silencing the battlefield.

"Enough!"

The heavy, rhythmic sound of boots against the earth echoed as Commander Grandbelle stepped forward, his presence demanding immediate attention. The soldiers parted for him, their golden weapons lowering slightly as they made way for their commander.

Grandbelle was a sight to behold—tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating an aura of authority. His long, jet-black hair was pulled back into a thick, neat braid that fell just past his shoulders, with a few loose strands framing his angular face. His hazel eyes glimmered with a molten gold hue, sharp and unflinching, like the gaze of a predator sizing up its prey. A faint scar ran diagonally across his left cheek, a reminder of battles long past, but it only added to his intimidating presence.

His armor was immaculate, a shining masterpiece of golden plating adorned with intricate engravings of suns and roaring lions. Every piece of his armor seemed alive with magic, faint golden light emanating from the etchings, pulsing in time with his movements. Draped across his shoulders was a heavy brown and gold cape, its edges frayed from years of use but still regal in appearance.

But it was the weapon in his hand that truly commanded attention. At first glance, it appeared to be a golden firearm, its sleek design covered in runes that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. As Grandbelle approached, he twisted his grip, and the weapon began to shift, its components unfolding and rearranging with a series of metallic clicks. In seconds, the gun transformed into a massive five-sided blade. The golden edges of the weapon dripped with liquid gold, which fell to the ground in heavy drops, sizzling and burning into the dirt like molten metal.

Grandbelle's eyes locked onto Gunthr, then shifted to Draeven, narrowing sharply.

"You there," he barked, pointing the massive blade at Draeven. "The one wrapped in tissue!"

Draeven, mid-dodge, paused just long enough to glance at the commander with the faintest hint of annoyance. His voice tanged with unease and awkwardness, as he replied, "It's not tissue. It's seals."

Gunthr, who had been trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible, froze as Grandbelle's piercing gaze turned to him. His face paled as the commander took a step toward him, his golden blade gleaming ominously.

"Gunthr! You're with them?" Grandbelle's voice thundered, his tone leaving no room for excuses.

Gunthr immediately threw up his hands, his guildmates doing the same. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a second! Let's not jump to conclusions here! And why come after me?! Get the one actually kicking your men's ass! I'm just standing here!"

"Yeah, we're not with them!" one of his guildmates chimed in, his voice shaking.

"We were kidnapped!" the other added, his hands trembling as he pointed accusingly at Draeven. Lying.

"Oh wow," Draeven said, his voice still flat but with a hint of sarcasm.

Grandbelle's eyes narrowed further. He wasn't buying it. "I just needed an excuse to take you down, you always annoyed me, even the day I first met you, begging the king for gold. This city is built on your worth, and if you're not willing to show it, you don't deserve to live!"

Before anyone could react, the commander charged forward, his golden boots cracking the earth beneath them. Gunthr stumbled backward, holding his hands up in panic.

"That's a little extreme! And it seems like you're only saying that so you don't have to fight Draeven! But l wait! WAIT!" he stuttered, his knees buckling under the weight of the commander's presence.

Then, to everyone's shock, Gunthr dropped to all fours. His body tensed, his chest expanding as he took in a deep, shuddering breath. His guildmates scrambled back, their eyes wide with confusion.

'I guess it can't be helped.'

Gunthr's voice erupted in a deep, guttural yell that echoed across the battlefield.

"BUUUUULLLLLLLL!!!"

The air around him rippled as a surge of raw magic exploded outward. The ground beneath him cracked and sizzled as a thick aura of black energy enveloped his body. Slowly, the outline of a massive black bull began to take shape around him. Its horns were jagged and twisted, its eyes glowing with an eerie crimson light. The bull's form pulsed with power, its hooves stomping against the ground with enough force to send tremors through the earth.

Gunthr's skin darkened, volcanic ash spreading across his body like a second layer of flesh. Cracks formed along his arms and face, glowing with fiery magma that oozed out like molten veins. Steam hissed from his body as the intense heat warped the air around him.

Draeven paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the transformation. "Well… that's new."

Grandbelle, however, remained unfazed. His molten gaze locked onto Gunthr, and his voice was as steady as ever.

"It doesn't matter what dragon god is giving you power. I'll cut it down all the same."

Gunthr's guildmates, far from scared, immediately began hyping him up.

"Our boss is incredible!" one of them shouted, clapping enthusiastically.

"Absolutely unstoppable! The greatest of all time!" the other added, practically bowing.

Gunthr stood up slowly, steam rising from his volcanic skin. He clenched his fists, magma dripping from the cracks in his knuckles as he stared down Grandbelle. "I don't want to fight royalty," he said, his voice deep and resonating like a thunderclap. "But I refuse to die here. I have a business to run! Gold is waiting for me. No—gold is calling for me. It's reaching out, begging for me to return! Usually I would run from fighting others, but if I have something I finally have, like my business, I'm gonna defend my honor! I finally have something to fight for!"

He turned to his guildmates, raising an eyebrow. "How was that? Was that good?"

His guildmates immediately erupted in applause, nodding furiously.

"Inspirational!" one of them said.

"A speech for the ages!" the other declared, practically in tears.

"Gold itself is shedding tears of joy!"

Gunthr beamed, clearly proud of himself. He turned to Draeven, expecting at least a small nod of approval.

Draeven stared at him for a moment, completely deadpan. Then, in the flattest voice imaginable, he said, "Traitor."

"Aww man I didn't MEAN to say you kidnapped us."

The battlefield erupted as Commander Grandbelle lunged forward, his golden blade dripping with molten liquid, its edges hissing through the air like a burning brand of judgment. Gunthr, his body still radiating with volcanic ash and magma, braced himself, his fiery aura flaring in defiance. The charging commander was a blur of ferocity, his weapon already shifting mid-flight, collapsing into its firearm form with a series of metallic clicks. The barrel ignited with golden energy, and in one seamless motion, Grandbelle fired a blinding shot that screamed through the air like a comet.

Gunthr twisted to the side, his horns glowing with a searing crimson light as the ground beneath him cracked from the surge of his magic. The golden projectile exploded behind him, showering the battlefield with molten sparks, but Gunthr didn't falter. Instead, he lowered his head, his horns carving through the air as he charged forward with the force of an avalanche. 

Grandbelle spun, his cape whipping around him as his firearm expanded back into the massive five-sided blade. The commander slashed downward, meeting Gunthr's charge head-on. The impact was cataclysmic, a shockwave ripping through the ground as molten gold clashed against volcanic fury. Gunthr skidded back, his hooves grinding against the earth, but he planted his feet firmly, his magma-encrusted fists slamming into the ground to steady himself.

Grandbelle didn't let up. With a roar, he vaulted into the air, spinning with impossible precision, his blade carving an intricate crescent of golden light through the sky. Gunthr leapt back just in time, the golden arc cleaving the ground where he had stood, leaving a glowing scar of molten earth. 

"Is that all you've got, Commander?" Gunthr shouted, his voice rumbling like an earthquake. His horns surged with fiery energy, and with a violent toss of his head, he unleashed a barrage of molten projectiles that streaked toward Grandbelle like shooting stars. 

Grandbelle didn't flinch. With a fluid motion, he twisted his weapon back into firearm form, the barrel spinning as he fired shot after shot, each golden projectile colliding with Gunthr's molten attacks mid-air. The sky lit up with explosions, the battlefield drowning in a storm of fire and gold. 

"Gunthr, you're amazing!" one of his guildmates screamed from the sidelines. 

"You're unstoppable, boss!" the other cheered, practically jumping up and down. 

Gunthr grinned, his molten aura intensifying. "You hear that? I've got fans, Commander!" 

"Damn your fans to Hell along with you!"

"That's harsh."

Grandbelle growled, his form blurring as he surged forward again, his blade reforming in the blink of an eye. He spun with blinding speed, his strikes ferocious and unrelenting. Each swing of his weapon left trails of golden light that carved through the air with devastating precision. Gunthr ducked, twisted, and vaulted over the strikes, his movements surprisingly agile for his massive frame. 

At one point, Grandbelle's blade came within inches of Gunthr's throat, but Gunthr leaned back into a seamless somersault, his horns glowing as he whipped his head forward mid-flip. A wave of molten energy erupted from his horns, forcing Grandbelle to brace himself as the fiery blast slammed into him, pushing him back several feet. 

"You think raw power will save you, bull?" Grandbelle spat, his voice sharp and commanding. 

"No," Gunthr said with a smirk, lowering his head. "But it sure helps." 

With a bellowing roar, Gunthr charged again, his horns blazing with fiery runes. The ground beneath him shattered as he barreled forward, his form wreathed in a swirling vortex of molten ash and flame. Grandbelle planted his feet, his blade raised, but Gunthr's charge was relentless. 

At the last second, Grandbelle sidestepped, twisting his blade downward in an attempt to cleave Gunthr's side. But Gunthr anticipated the move, his body twisting mid-charge as his horns slashed upward. The molten energy coating his horns clashed with Grandbelle's blade, creating an explosive burst of heat and golden light that sent both combatants flying back. 

Gunthr skidded to a halt, his feet digging trenches into the ground. Grandbelle landed with a roll, immediately springing back to his feet with the grace of a predator. His weapon shifted again, the blade retracting into a compact, cannon-like form. Without hesitation, he fired a series of rapid golden blasts, each one aimed with deadly precision. 

Gunthr leapt into the air, twisting his body as the golden projectiles streaked past him, exploding in a cascade of molten sparks. Mid-air, Gunthr's horns ignited with fiery runes, and with a violent toss of his head, he unleashed a spiraling wave of molten energy downward. 

Grandbelle vaulted to the side, the molten wave carving into the ground where he had stood. But Gunthr was already on him, landing with a seismic crash that sent fissures of magma racing toward the commander. Grandbelle barely managed to leap away, but as he landed, Gunthr was there, his molten fists swinging in a flurry of devastating strikes. 

Each punch was like a hammer blow, the air rippling with heat as Gunthr's magma-coated fists clashed against Grandbelle's blade. Sparks flew as the two traded blows in a seamless exchange of power and precision, their movements fluid and ferocious. 

Gunthr spun, his horns carving through the air as he aimed a devastating strike at Grandbelle's midsection. The commander parried with a swift upward slash, but Gunthr used the momentum to vault over him, twisting mid-air to deliver a fiery kick to Grandbelle's back. The commander stumbled forward, but he recovered quickly, spinning with his blade in a wide arc. 

Gunthr ducked under the strike, his horns glowing as he retaliated with a ferocious upward slash that sent a wave of molten energy crashing into Grandbelle. The commander braced himself, his golden blade absorbing most of the impact, but the force still sent him sliding back. 

"You're not bad, Commander," Gunthr said, his molten aura flaring brighter. "But I'm not losing today. Gold is waiting for me!" 

With a final bellow, Gunthr charged again, his entire body wreathed in volcanic energy. Grandbelle met him head-on, his golden blade glowing with celestial light. The two clashed in an explosion of fire and gold, the battlefield trembling under the force of their collision. 

For a moment, it seemed like neither would give in. But then, with a sudden burst of strength, Gunthr slammed his horns into Grandbelle's blade, shattering the weapon's magical energy in a blinding flash. 

Grandbelle staggered, his weapon reforming, but it was too late. Gunthr spun, his horns glowing as he delivered a devastating blow to the commander's chest, sending him flying back and crashing into the ground with a thunderous impact. 

The battlefield fell silent, the air thick with heat and molten sparks. Gunthr stood tall, his molten aura flickering as he grinned. 

"Boss, you did it!" one of his guildmates shouted, running forward. 

"The greatest of all time!" the other cheered, practically bowing. 

Gunthr turned to Draeven, who stood frozen, his expression unreadable. 

"Well?" Gunthr asked, still grinning. 

Draeven blinked, then said flatly, "Traitor." 

Gunthr groaned, rubbing his face. "You're impossible." 

The battle was over, and the guildmates swarmed their victorious leader, cheering him like the legend he now believed himself to be. But the soldiers still weren't happy.