The war between hetlyl and milaya

Elric was enraged—why was Rayal the one being blamed? He clenched his fists, frustration boiling inside him. But beyond his anger, he was concerned for Rayal.

Then, in the dead of night, a signal lit up the sky. It was a call for communication, sent by Milaya's King Leo to Hetlyl's King Daigona. They met face-to-face, each guarded by warriors standing behind them, weapons at the ready.

Leo stepped forward, his voice sharp. "You have claimed the dragons as your own, but we share this land. Hand over 50% of all the dragons you have."

Daigona narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, but these are ours. If you want dragons, tame them yourselves."

The air grew tense. Leo's jaw tightened, and then—he shouted with fury. "Then we have no choice. WAR IS DECLARED!"

The Milayan army stormed Hetlyl's borders. The entire Hunter Association of Hetlyl assembled, weapons drawn, ready to defend their home. Leo glared at Daigona. "I wished for no unnecessary bloodshed, but you forced my hand."

Daigona's expression darkened. "Then we will give you war."

He commanded his leader squad to join the battle. As soon as Rayal heard the order, he climbed atop his dragon, his expression cold, his resolve firm. The dragon roared, ascending into the battlefield.

With a deafening screech, it unleashed a surge of fire upon the enemy ranks—but the Milayan soldiers stood firm. Their anti-breath armor absorbed the flames, leaving them unharmed. Rayal narrowed his eyes.

Realizing fire was useless, he leapt from his dragon, drawing his twin blades.

He moved like a phantom, cutting through the battlefield with terrifying speed. In an instant, he was on the other side of the enemy ranks. He sheathed his swords.

A beat of silence.

Then—sixty Milayan soldiers collapsed at once, their bodies cleaved in half. Legs separated from torsos, blades drenched in crimson. Fear swept through the Milayan army—but they did not retreat.

Their strongest warriors entered the battlefield.

Ista, the Immovable Swordsman. A man whose stance had never been broken in battle.

Sophie, the Best Dragon Rider. She controlled her dragon as if they shared one soul.

Hora, the All-Rounder. The deadliest warrior in Milaya, skilled in every form of combat.

But Hetlyl had its own champions.

Akira, the Fierce Swordsman.

Rayal, the Leader.

Elric, the Mastermind.

Midta, the Strategic Genius.

Blades clashed. Sparks flew. The sky roared with thunder.

The battle became a storm of steel and fire.

Rayal's dragon, Dragonista, circled above. He scanned the battlefield, his instincts sharp. Then—his gaze locked onto King Leo.

A shadow moved behind him.

Dragonista lunged.

In one swift motion, he pierced Leo's back with his gigantic claws. The King gasped, his armor cracking, his body freezing in pain. He fell to his knees as blood soaked the earth.

Dragonista tore the armor off his corpse and tossed it to Rayal. Then, with a powerful roar, he rained blue fire upon the Milayan army. The anti-breath armor melted, unable to withstand the might of an evolved dragon.

The Milayan warriors, now defenseless, charged toward the dragons in desperation. They slaughtered many, but Hetlyl stood its ground.

The battle raged for three months. The once-proud battle cries of Milaya turned to screams of agony. Their unbreakable armor lay shattered, their soldiers exhausted, their spirits crushed.

And then—Hetlyl delivered the final blow.

Dragonista released one last, disastrous wave of fire, engulfing the remaining Milayan forces. The battlefield became a sea of flames. The war was over.

Hetlyl had won. The entire underground continent now belonged to them.

As the embers died, Rayal stood among the ruins, his blades heavy in his hands. Victory had been claimed—but at what cost?

In the distance, a soft voice whispered in his mind.

"Rayal… never give up."

His eyes widened. Layla.

He turned sharply—but no one was there. Was it an illusion? A memory? Or something more?

Rayal shook off the thought. There was no time for hesitation.

Hetlyl had won the war.