Chapter 7: All-Out Blaze

Raizen Valefor stood atop a low rise in the Kazehana Tribe's camp, his piercing gaze slicing through the gloom to the edge of the dead forest, where forty Shadowfang warriors emerged under the faint moonlight. The creak of wooden wheels from three crude cannons rumbled alongside their heavy footsteps and the clatter of steel spears, weaving a menacing war song. A cold wind swept through, kicking up ash from the camp's dwindling fires, blurring the terrified eyes of the Kazehana villagers huddled behind him. His hand clenched the broken sword—the last remnant of last night's clash with the hulking beast—while his mind flickered back to Neo Saigon 2050: the stifling boardroom in Thiên Long Tower, Kael Iscariot's betrayal as he triggered the Asvaria machine, and Vesper Atrius's metallic voice echoing in his skull: "The weakest will break fate's wheel. You are the spark of ruin, Raizen Valefor—and its end."

Selene Kazehana stepped up beside him, her steel sword catching the dim light piercing Noctavaria Abyss's gray sky. Her mismatched eyes—icy blue on the left, fiery red on the right—gleamed with sharp alertness, the thin scar across her throat stark as she tilted her head to size up the enemy ranks. Her scratched leather armor hugged her frame, the tiny swallow emblem on her left shoulder a quiet nod to her tribe. "Forty fighters, three cannons," she said, her voice low and edged like her blade. "More than last time—and they look ready after ten slipped away last night. What's your move, Raizen?"

Raizen's lips twitched into a faint smirk, his focus locked on the Shadowfang closing in, now seventy paces off. "Crush them," he replied, voice cold as stone. "And turn the survivors into ours—not just to live, but to show no one beats me and walks away." He glanced at Selene. "Lure them to the ash pit—the crossbows and firebombs will handle the rest. I want them scared before they kneel."

Selene nodded, no questions asked, leading five Kazehana warriors—including Jace, the eager kid—forward with crossbows, thirty paces from the camp's edge. Raizen turned, his eyes landing on the Thiên Long crew—Ragnar Kiryuu, Seiryu Alvis, and Leon Vesper—standing near the twisted Asvaria wreckage they'd hauled through time. Ragnar's short, tousled hair framed a face lit with a techie's zeal, his hands clutching a leather pouch with three crude firebombs—charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter mixed from the pit's dry deposits. Seiryu stood with arms crossed, her tattered white blouse streaked with ash, her razor-sharp gaze sizing up the villagers. Leon shrugged, his cryptic grin flickering in the shadows, narrow eyes scanning the battlefield like a detached observer.

"Ragnar," Raizen ordered, voice deep and firm, "ready the bombs—target their cannons before they fire twice. Seiryu, prep the antiseptics—we'll have wounded after this. Leon, watch the villagers—I don't want another traitor popping up mid-fight."

Ragnar nodded, sparking a small flame from a nearby fire, his tone low but buzzing with excitement. "Three bombs locked and loaded—but they're shaky. Miss the throw, and I'm ash too. You sure about this?"

"Dead sure," Raizen replied, his glance flicking to Kael Iscariot, who'd just stepped up from behind, holding a long wooden rod laced with vines, his calm eyes studying the Shadowfang line. "Kael, you upgraded the crossbows?"

Kael nodded, voice steady with a hint of pride. "Used Asvaria scraps for molds—five bolts per shot now, not three. But I need harder wood and more time—today's just the old five." He paused, eyes drifting over the trembling villagers, then back to Raizen, voice dropping. "You hitting them now? Give me two days, and these crossbows'll shred."

"No two days," Raizen cut in, tone unyielding. "The Shadowfang don't wait—neither do I. Get ready." He missed the brief dip in Kael's gaze, a faint sting echoing from Neo Saigon 2050—where Raizen had once dismissed his ideas without knowing the cost.

Seiryu approached, gripping a cloth sack of herbal antiseptics, her voice icy. "I've got enough for ten—but if you get too many killed, don't expect me to patch them all. The medic tent needs wood to expand—what's your plan for this rathole camp?"

"You'll get your wood," Raizen said, his focus shifting to Leon. "Leon, what'd those two traitors whisper? Spill it—now."

Leon shrugged, grin unshaken, voice smooth with a sarcastic twist. "Near the east tent—muttering about steel spears and hides the Shadowfang dangled. I've got eyes on them, but I'm no nanny—if they bolt, don't point at me. I hate these dumb power games; they just muck things up. Want the Shadowfang? Use trade—dangle goods, and they'll grovel faster than bleeding out."

Raizen's jaw tightened, a flash of irritation in his eyes, but he nodded. "If they run, I'll deal with them myself—start your trade plan. But don't give me a reason to doubt you again." He strode toward the villagers, where Kaelric Duskwind—the silver-bearded elder—shuffled forward on his staff, his hoarse voice rising above the wind. "Raizen, you swore to protect us—but the Shadowfang are back, stronger than ever. Did you bring this curse down on us?"

Raizen met his gaze, voice steady but unyielding. "The curse isn't mine—it's what you've let fester too long. Trust me, I'll make them kneel—or die. Gear up." He signaled Jace, the kid who'd begged to learn crossbows, now clutching one tight, eyes fierce despite the fear. "Stick with Selene—fire when I say."

The fight erupted as the Shadowfang hit fifty paces. A cannon boomed, a massive stone arcing through the air to smash a tent near the camp, two villagers screaming as they scattered. Selene charged with her squad, her sword slashing a Shadowfang's leg, blood spilling onto the ash, soaked up fast into eerie red streaks. Raizen held the rise, barking at Jace and three others. "Shoot!" Five bolts flew from two crossbows, punching through four Shadowfang's leather armor, dropping them with pained howls.

"Firebombs!" Raizen snapped, his sharp stare on Ragnar. Ragnar hurled the first bomb, flames roaring mid-air, exploding to engulf the first cannon's wheel in a deafening blast. Fire raced across the ash, five Shadowfang bolting in chaos, some shrieking as their leather caught fire, weapons clattering away. But the second cannon fired, its stone slamming a dead tree near the camp, splinters flying, nearly hitting the cowering villagers.

"Into the pit!" Raizen yelled, leaping off the rise to join Selene. He unleashed Neo Saigon's "hit-and-run"—strike fast, pull back—syncing with Selene to drag the Shadowfang toward the net trap from the last fight. She swung wild, severing a Hắc Lang's arm, blood splashing the ash, giving Jace and the crew their shot to yank the cords. "Pull!" Raizen commanded, the net springing from its ash camouflage, ten Shadowfang tumbling into the pit, thrashing as the dust clung to their wounds, siphoning blood like a living thing.

But betrayal struck mid-chaos. Two villagers—the same ones who'd sabotaged yesterday—burst from the crowd, shouting at the Shadowfang: "He's got bombs—but we can win if you pay more!" One waved a bark scrap—a signal—racing toward the enemy. Selene's teeth gritted, her red eye flaring as she swung, her blade slicing the first traitor's throat, his head rolling, blood spraying before the ash drank it dry. The second stumbled, collapsing at Raizen's feet, begging, "They promised steel spears and five kills—spare me!"

Raizen stared down, his gaze merciless. "You sold your people's lives for spears?" He raised the broken sword, slashing deep into the man's shoulder, the dull blade tearing through flesh, blood pooling before the ash claimed it. The man crumpled, groaning. "Take him back," Raizen ordered Jace. "I'll deal with him publicly after this."

The battle ended as Ragnar lobbed the second bomb, flames exploding to shatter the last Shadowfang cannon with a sky-shaking boom. Selene led the charge, her sword and the crossbows carving through the chaos, cutting down fifteen more foes. Twelve survivors dropped to their knees amid the smoldering corpses, their terrified eyes locked on Raizen as he approached, broken sword dripping blood, his towering figure a war god under the moon.

The fight stilled, Raizen gathered the villagers around the Shadowfang dead and the wrecked cannons—the third abandoned as the captives knelt in rows. He stood on the rise, his voice booming over the wind. "Today, I promised to shield you—and here's proof." He pointed at the quivering Shadowfang prisoners, their eyes trembling as they stared up at him like he was a living nightmare. "But I didn't do it alone—Selene, Ragnar, Jace, and you all fought. From now on, my law's clear: loyalty gets rewards—betrayal gets this." He dragged the wounded traitor forward, blood still seeping from his shoulder, his face pale with pain and terror.

Kaelric Duskwind stepped up, leaning on his staff, suspicion now mingled with respect. "You won—for real," he rasped. "But the Shadowfang will come back. They've got more, and I hear their leader spares no one. How do you keep us safe forever?"

Leon Vesper cut in, his sly grin flickering, voice smooth with a taunting edge. "By roping them in, old man. Look at this—hides, steel spears, good loot. Fold them into my market, offer rewards for surrender—a kill swaps for a week's food. No need to wipe them out—just make them fear us and want in. I hate these pointless slugfests—they're a mess. Use trade; they'll bow faster."

Raizen shot Leon a wary glance but nodded. "Smart—run with it. But if they turn, blood's on you, and I won't hear 'I told you so.'" He knew Leon loathed political games—back in Neo Saigon 2050, he'd lost everything to corporate infighting, now obsessed with proving trade could outmuscle any blade.

Kael Iscariot emerged from behind, holding a vine-laced wooden rod—a prototype for an upgraded crossbow sketched last night. He eyed the Shadowfang corpses, voice calm but thoughtful. "I can tweak the crossbows—Asvaria scraps as molds, five bolts per shot instead of three. Needs harder wood and hands—if you give me two days, the next fight's a breeze."

Raizen met Kael's gaze, a flash of their Neo Saigon nights—sleepless lab runs, unshakable trust—crossing his mind, before it all fell apart without him knowing why. "No two days," he said, firm but not harsh. "The Shadowfang don't wait—I need weapons now. After this, you'll get wood and help—upgrade them." He missed the subtle flicker in Kael's eyes, a quiet bruise from Neo Saigon when Raizen shot down his plans without a second thought.

Seiryu Alvis stepped up, clutching a sack of herb-made antiseptics, her voice cold. "I saved three last night—but if you want them to trust you, I need a bigger medic tent. This wreckage wood enough? And herbs—I'm running low; don't let me scrape empty again."

"You'll have it," Raizen replied, turning to the Shadowfang captives. He strode forward, broken sword leveled at their scarred leader, whose fearful eyes still held a shred of defiance. "Two choices," Raizen said, his deep voice ringing in the stillness, broken only by crackling embers. "Die here—or join me. Pick life, you work, and get paid with your own hides and steel. Choose."

The scarred man quivered, voice rough. "Our leader won't forgive… he's deep in the woods—with something bigger. He wears a bone crown—says it's power from ancient Solvaria Dominion."

Raizen's brow creased, his grip on the "Kael"-etched silver necklace tightening—a bitter keepsake of betrayal. "Bone crown?" he muttered, his icy stare shifting to Selene. "What do you know about this Shadowfang boss?"

Selene clutched her sword, her red eye darkening, voice sinking to a hiss. "He's not just their chief—he worships something older than the spiral beasts. Our tribe's legends speak of a bone-crowned figure, a survivor from Solvaria Dominion's fall—a bringer of this land's curse. He doesn't just want us dead—he wants us bowing to his god."

Raizen tensed, fingers digging into the necklace, resolve and doubt warring in his eyes. He recalled the armor shard—"Solvaria Dominion: Traitors cursed forever"—found in the abandoned camp, and the crimson spiral on last night's beast, a twin to the Asvaria machine's mark under Vesper Atrius's hand. "If he's Solvaria's leftover," he said, voice low and resonant amid the hushed crowd, "I'll make him kneel—or burn with his curse."

A deep, primal roar rolled from the forest's depths—not human, not the spiral beasts, but something vaster, older, quaking the ash beneath them. Villagers panicked, cries piercing the air, all eyes on Raizen. He turned, his frigid stare piercing the dark woods, broken sword still in hand. "Gear up," he told Selene, voice hard as steel. "The Shadowfang were just the warm-up—this bone-crown bastard's the real test."

Selene nodded, her red eye flaring like a torch, sword at the ready. Ragnar sparked a fresh wick, Kael set down his prototype with a quiet flicker of frustration no one caught, and Leon grinned, muttering, "Goods'll roll in soon." The Kazehana camp stood frozen as the distant roar grew, bracing for a new threat—and the path to Ebonhold's rise just gained a fearsome foe.