POV: Kaito (1st person)
The air was cold, but the sky burned red.
Before dawn's light could break through, the streets of Korvath were already choked with smoke and the stench of blood.
I walked alone through the sleeping city, boots crunching over cobblestones dusted with ash. My grip tightened on my black blade, the faint red-yellow stripe along its edge glowing like a vein of fire. I knew what was coming. I had known for days.
I could've warned them.
I could've shouted at the guards. Rattled the guild.
But why bother? No one ever listens.
No one listened back then, either.
Bustleburg.
Ten years ago.
I was a child when the ogres came. I screamed for help until my throat bled. Told everyone what I saw in the hills. No one cared. Even my parents… no—especially my parents—looked at me like a burden. And when the attack came, they didn't hesitate. They grabbed their things and ran. Left me behind like bait to distract the monsters.
That night, I learned exactly what I was worth to the world.
So no. I didn't warn Korvath. I simply walked its streets and waited for the storm to come. If they wouldn't listen, I'd just handle it myself.
The church bell rang—uneven, panicked.
A distant howl broke through the night.
Then I saw them.
A tide of kobolds poured out from the northern treeline like a black wave. First the warriors, fast and rabid. Then the elites, bigger, better armed. Raiders followed, mounted on sinewy beasts. Archers, shamans, and then… the ground itself trembled.
The chieftains emerged. Five of them, hulking figures in jagged armor, carrying weapons that looked more like siege tools than arms. And behind them—each step a miniature quake—the Kobold King stepped into view. Four stories tall, shield like a fortress wall, sword like a tower beam.
The square fell silent except for my breathing. I exhaled slowly, setting my feet.
"This is it," I whispered. "This is where I make my stand."
They rushed me.
I met the first wave with steel. My blade flashed, carving through kobold warriors like scything wheat. I weaved between elites, striking vital points with precise, brutal swings. Arrows zipped through the air; I sidestepped, ducked, slashed. The raiders crashed down, but I broke their mounts' legs, cutting them off at the root.
Bodies piled up. I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
But then the chieftains reached me.
Their first coordinated strike hit like a landslide. My arm numbed from blocking the axe. Another slammed a spiked mace into my ribs—I felt the crack. A third kicked me so hard my boots slid meters across the stone. My vision blurred; blood filled my mouth.
They circled me, massive shadows closing in.
For a moment, I staggered. My chest heaved.
This… is too much.
Bustleburg flashed in my mind again—the screams, the fire, the helplessness. I remembered the look in my parents' eyes when they pushed me toward the monsters. Like throwing away trash.
Not again.
Not this time.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself upright.
Pain surged, but something inside me snapped—not broken, but released.
A heartbeat like thunder. A roar in my veins.
Undying Rage ignited.
My wounds stopped bleeding. My breath steadied. Every nerve screamed, but I no longer cared. As long as my will held, I would not fall. Not to them. Not to anyone.
I let out a roar that echoed across the burning square, a challenge to gods and beasts alike.
The chieftains charged again. This time, I didn't dodge. I plunged into them head-on.
Steel clashed. My muscles tore. I ignored it. I slid beneath the largest chieftain's swing—a brute with a jagged axe—and drove my blade upward, grazing his ribs. He howled, staggered, and I saw my chance.
I gathered every shred of strength left in my body. Mana, fury, memory—all into one strike.
"Saigo no Kirifuda!"
I lunged, taking a mace strike to my shoulder, feeling bones snap, but I didn't stop. My sword pierced through the chieftain's chest. A violent surge exploded outward as the blade drove deeper, cracking armor and bone. The monster roared, blood gushing, before collapsing like a felled tree.
I stood over its corpse, body broken, lungs aflame.
One down.
But my knees buckled. My left arm hung useless. My vision dimmed.
I slammed my blade into the stone to keep myself upright.
The remaining four chieftains advanced. The Kobold King's eyes gleamed from the darkness. Any normal man would've died minutes ago. But I wasn't dying. Not yet.
"As long as I can still move," I muttered, teeth red with blood, "they won't take this city."
I faced them alone, unbroken.
And in that burning square, beneath a sky that refused to brighten, I swore—not to the world, not to anyone else—but to myself.
Never again would I run.
Never again would I beg.
This time, I'd fight until my will burned out.
And that wasn't happening tonight.