All out!
Enemies Left: 8,365
More than five hours had passed since the first blade was drawn.
The snow was no longer white—it was soaked red.
Even for monsters like Isla and Val, fatigue gnawed at their limbs. Superhuman as they were, their breath was heavier now. Movements—still sharp—had begun to slow. Their weapons, once gleaming, were now drenched in blood. Isla's divine dagger dripped crimson. Val's battle axe was crusted with gore.
The Hollows held formation. Unbroken, relentless. Their movements remained fluid, trained for endurance. But even they began to show signs of wear.
The regular soldiers? They were barely standing, leaning on weapons, covered in wounds. They fought on sheer willpower alone.
And yet—
On the ridge above, the Iron Duke and the Winter Sovereign smiled.
It was working.
The plan to grind down Isla and Val with endless waves—an army built to wear titans thin—was succeeding.
Or so they believed.
In the heart of the battlefield, Isla and Val stood side by side once more.
Surrounded.
Outnumbered.
Breathing hard.
"Looks like we need to go all out," Isla muttered, eyes narrowing, a dark gleam flashing within them.
Val didn't answer.
He just nodded.
And then, his body trembled.
His aura surged.
The red aura ignited again, brighter, hotter—blazing like an inferno.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as power flooded his limbs. His eyes, already red, now glowed—pure rage, pure bloodlust.
The berserker had returned.
Val roared.
The battlefield trembled.
He leapt into the fray once more, faster, stronger, wilder. Every swing of his axe shattered shields and sundered flesh. No more targeting individual soldiers. No more isolated clashes.
Group after group fell.
Five, ten, fifteen soldiers fell in a single arc of his axe. The enemy, too, was exhausted. Their formations were loose. Coordination was gone.
They broke like dry wood beneath a storm.
Screams returned.
The enemy lines began to thin.
At the same time, Isla moved.
With purpose.
His aura darkened.
He vanished into shadow once more, then appeared directly behind a squad captain, slicing his throat in a blink. Shadow tendrils erupted again.
Heavenly Dark Art – Second Form: Abyssal Bind.
Dozens trapped.
Val's axe took care of the rest.
Heavenly Dark Art – Third Form: Oblivion Slash.
The crescent of shadow-formed aura tore through over a hundred men, slicing through them as easily as it had in the first hour.
More and more enemy groups crumbled under the renewed onslaught.
On the battlefield, the blood never stopped flowing.
Enemy forces dropped below 7,000.
Then 6,000.
And yet the Empire's champions fought harder than ever.
Clash after clash.
Slash after slash.
Momentum returned to Isla and Val.
The battlefield no longer belonged to the enemy.
It belonged to the storm.
Seven hours had passed.
The tide had finally begun to turn.
Less than five battalions of enemy soldiers remained—fewer than 5,000 men. From a distance, it might have seemed like a sign of hope. But on the ground, it was anything but.
Isla's movements had slowed. Even the Hollows, once seemingly tireless, now moved with visible strain. Val was still fighting, though his swings were sluggish, powered by sheer rage and will.
Of the hundred Imperial soldiers who had stood with them, perhaps four or five still lived.
The enemy, too, was fatigued—but not their commanders. Behind the lines, the Iron Duke and Winter Sovereign watched from behind a reinforced barricade. They sat comfortably, sipping heated wine, as though this were a performance instead of a slaughter.
The Iron Duke sneered.
"I've spent four years of my duchy's budget for this day," he said coldly. "Every mercenary, every bandit, every coin—sacrificed just to grind that bastard Isla into the dirt."
Winter Sovereign, blind but unnaturally aware, remained silent—his breath misting in the cold.
Isla took one last look at the battlefield, at the bodies, the blood, the dying. He saw the soldiers who fought at his side lying in the snow. He saw Val still hacking his way through waves of broken men.
He took a breath.
"Clean up things here. I'll take their commanders."
He bent down, picked up a fallen soldier's sword—and vanished into shadow.
Behind Enemy Lines
The Iron Duke leaned forward.
"…Where is he?"
His eyes darted across the field.
Winter Sovereign's expression shifted. "He's coming."
And then—
CLANG.
A black flash.
Steel swung between the two commanders. A strike that could have cleaved them both in half was blocked at the last second—Winter Sovereign's curved sword met it, and the Iron Duke's spear intercepted from the other side. The sheer force of the impact sent a tremor across the field.
"Let's play," Isla said, eyes gleaming.
"Damn you!" the Iron Duke spat.
In an instant, Isla drew his dagger with his right hand, aura flaring. He lunged at the Winter Sovereign, aiming for the heart.
But the blind monarch reacted swiftly.
Frost Art – Third Form: Frost Shield.
A burst of frigid wind condensed into a diamond-shaped wall of ice. Isla's dagger clashed with it—BOOM—and sent the Sovereign staggering backward.
The Iron Duke saw his moment.
He lunged with his spear, aiming to impale Isla's exposed side—
Too late.
Heavenly Dark Art – First Form: Nihilist Cloak.
The spear passed through Isla's incorporeal form.
Right through him.
Isla turned, eyes meeting the Duke's as if mocking him. But before he could counterattack—ice formed at his feet. Frozen. Trapped by the Winter Sovereign's chilling aura.
The Iron Duke grinned.
"Now!"
Heavenly Iron Art – Full Form: Full Armor.
A suit of heavy iron formed around the Duke's body. Massive. Impregnable. It crackled with power as he dashed forward, shoulder-first. Isla managed to lean aside, but the spear still grazed his side—blood sprayed into the snow.
Wounded.
Weakened.
Trapped.
And yet, not broken.
Isla raised his sword.
Heavenly Dark Art – Fourth Form: Void Piercer.
A black orb shimmered into existence, floating between him and the Duke. From it, a blade stabbed outward—aiming for the Duke's heart.
CLANG.
Blocked again.
The Iron Duke chuckled behind his armored helm. "Do you think that is enough to stop me?"
But when he looked up—
Isla was gone.
Only his empty boots remained, frozen in the ice.
Too late.
Behind the Winter Sovereign, a shadow emerged.
Slice.
An arm flew into the air, blood spraying across the pristine snow.
"Gahhhhhh—!" the Sovereign screamed.
Before Isla could finish him, the Iron Duke barreled forward again, spear aimed for Isla's back—