The crater still smoked where Nod lay half-buried, his ragged breath fogging the air. His body was a ruin of cracked runes and bloodied flesh, yet his glare never wavered. The giant lifted his head, lips curling into a pained grin as Rigel's silhouette stood before him, framed in drifting ash and pale light.
"Who… are you?" Nod rasped, spitting blood onto the dirt. "I've never heard of other humans… this strong. Which country… invested in you?"
Rigel tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Invested?" he echoed, almost amused. "You make power sound like a coin to be traded."
Before Nod could respond, the air around them rippled. The ground split under a sudden, heavy pressure. Two figures descended from above, landing between Rigel and Nod with force that shook the entire clearing. Dust and leaves spiraled outward in a storm.
Jack's breath caught. His knees nearly gave out as he recognized the crimson insignias burned into their armor.
"The vice-captain… Sylas," he whispered hoarsely. "And… Captain Den."
The two men stood tall amid the chaos. Sylas was leaner, with sharp eyes and silver hair tied loosely behind his head, his blade faintly glowing with runic etchings that pulsed like veins of light. Den, on the other hand, was a beast of a man, his armor blackened and spiked, a tattered red cloak trailing behind him like smoke. His eyes glowed faintly gold, cold and calculating.
Behind Rigel, Siora appeared soundlessly. Her gauntlet dripped crimson, and in her hand, she held a severed head by its hair. The expression on the dead face was one of frozen terror.
Behind her, the ground was littered with corpses. Hundred of Red Band soldiers lay strewn across the village square, limbs twisted, armor crushed inward, blood pooling in the roots of the trees. The silence that followed was suffocating.
Jack could only stare, trembling. "Gods above…"
Lys stood a few paces away, untouched, her expression calm yet distant. The wolf pups in her arms whimpered softly as if sensing her quiet power. Her gaze drifted from Siora's cold efficiency to Rigel's unhurried poise, then to the two newcomers.
Captain Den spoke first, his voice deep, gravelly, and carrying the weight of authority.
"…You two," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"
Sylas' tone was sharper, cutting through the quiet. "You slaughtered over two hundred of my men like cattle. From your presence alone, I'd say both of you are at least Rank A… but that's impossible."
Rigel rested his sword against his shoulder, cocking a brow. "Impossible? Is a human reaching this height unbelievable?."
Sylas scowled. "Don't act dumb, boy. Humans don't reach Rank A without heavy backing. The Gnarlak Kingdom would never invest in you, not when we already serve them as their Red Band elite. So…" His eyes flicked toward Siora and Lys. "Which kingdom do you serve? Vareen? Or perhaps the elves?"
Den crossed his arms, golden eyes gleaming. "No other race would invest in humans… except the goblins or the orcs, the Gnarlak kingdom, but even they wouldn't risk empowering too much of their prey."
Siora's expression remained calm, almost serene. Her voice was level when she answered.
"We are not investments," she said simply. "We were born this way. We came from the citadel of Aethelgard."
The air grew still. The name meant nothing to the Red Bands, but it carried an inexplicable gravity when she spoke it.
Sylas snorted, lips twisting. "Born strong? No human is born strong. They're made, shaped by suffering, blood, and coin. If you were truly born that strong…" His smirk darkened. "Then you and your people are not humans."
Rigel chuckled, low and lazy. "And who made you, then, Sylas? Let me guess, you think your power's earned, you think you made yourself? Your shiny little spells, your enchanted toy of a sword…" His tone turned sharp. "You're just a loyal pet to the Gnarlak kingdom, you earned your power by selling our own kind and sucking on orcs dicks."
Sylas' jaw clenched. "You—!"
He blurred forward, a crimson arc streaking through the air as his blade screamed toward Rigel's neck.
Rigel moved only slightly, just enough. His sword met Sylas' in a flash of blue light, the clash sending ripples through the air. The sound was deafening.
Steel grated against steel, sparks flying.
"Did I hit a nerve?" Rigel said softly, smirking.
Sylas roared and pressed forward, his movements a blur of speed. Spells flared around his body, enchantments burning into the ground beneath his feet. Runes spiraled up his arms, pulsing with violent energy.
Each strike came faster than the last, slashes that cracked the earth, thrusts that shattered the air.
Rigel parried every blow effortlessly, his sword gliding like water. His telekinesis rippled with each movement, subtly altering the angles of Sylas' strikes, redirecting force, warping momentum. He was toying with him.
Sylas gritted his teeth, veins bulging. "Your arrogance will be the death of you!"
Rigel smiled faintly. "You're just weak."
Sylas' sword flared red, and a sudden spell erupted beneath Rigel's feet, a circle of flame and wind exploding upward.
Rigel vanished.
Sylas spun, too late. Rigel appeared behind him, blade resting casually against his shoulder.
"You rely too much on your magic, you'll be exhausted soon," Rigel murmured.
Sylas swung wildly, channeling another spell mid-motion. The edge of his blade burned with white-hot light. Rigel raised his hand, and the attack stopped midair, suspended, frozen, quivering against invisible resistance.
Sylas' eyes widened. "What—"
Rigel flicked his wrist. The sword twisted from Sylas' hand and spun through the air, embedding itself deep into a nearby tree.
Rigel's voice dropped, smooth and composed. "You've got speed. I'll give you that. But you're thinking like a brawler, not a warrior."
Sylas clenched his fists, magic surging wildly. "Don't lecture me!"
A blast of compressed mana exploded from his palms, a storm of crimson energy. The wave tore through the dirt and trees, consuming everything in its path.
When the light faded, Rigel hovered above the ground, untouched.
"Cute," he said dryly. "You done?"
Sylas lunged again, casting multiple spells in rapid succession, one for acceleration, another for strength, a third for perception. His body blurred into afterimages. His sword reappeared in his hand through a teleportation rune, flashing bright.
Rigel descended slowly, his expression calm. Their blades met once more in a flurry of light and sound.
Clang—clang—clang—!
Each collision cracked the air, sending shockwaves rolling through the square. The villagers could only watch from behind Lys's barrier as the two figures danced through dust and flame.
Rigel's telekinesis turned the battlefield itself against Sylas, stones lifted, shattered beams became missiles, fragments of armor spun through the air like blades.
Sylas countered with layered shields of mana, slashing apart the incoming debris, sweat dripping down his brow.
"Is that all your spells?" Rigel called over the clash.
Sylas' breath came ragged. "You... think this—!" He cut forward again, his sword erupting in crimson light. "—is a game!?"
Rigel's tone turned colder. "It's a test."
The moment Sylas blinked, Rigel disappeared.
A flash, then a kick to the gut sent Sylas flying backward through a half-collapsed hut. Rigel followed instantly, his telekinesis pulling him forward like a phantom. He struck again, once, twice, a dozen times, each blow landing with surgical precision, each parry by Sylas barely keeping him alive.
"Too slow," Rigel muttered, his voice barely audible.
Sylas roared, pouring everything into one last spell, a desperate surge that wrapped his sword in a vortex of raw energy. He swung down with all his might, a beam of red light screaming toward Rigel.
Rigel raised a single hand.
The beam bent sideways, curving into the dirt and detonating behind him. The explosion shook the trees and tore through several ruined huts, but Rigel didn't move.
Sylas stared in disbelief. "That's… impossible…"
Rigel's tone was calm. "No. Just control."
He pointed his finger.
Sylas' body lifted off the ground, hanging midair, suspended by invisible force. He struggled, gasping, but the grip only tightened.
Rigel's eyes glowed faintly blue. "You're strong," he said. "But you've mistaken violence for power."
Then he let go. Sylas crashed into the dirt, coughing blood, his sword shattering beside him.
Den's golden eyes followed every movement, his expression unreadable. His hand tightened on his weapon's hilt.
Nod still breathed weakly nearby, eyes glazed in shock. The Red Bands, what few remained stood frozen, unable to move or speak.
Rigel sighed, brushing dust from his shoulder. "You're not bad, Sylas," he said evenly. "But you've reached your ceiling."
Sylas forced himself onto one knee, glaring up. "You… you think… you've won?"
Rigel smiled faintly.
He turned away.
Den's gaze flicked past him, to Lys, who stood silently behind her barrier, the soft white glow reflecting in her eyes. She hadn't moved once since the battle began, yet her presence alone made the air hum.
Den's jaw tightened. That woman… she hasn't lifted a finger. And the others obey her.
He gripped his weapon harder. If I can take her, if I can use her as leverage then maybe I can—
His mind raced. Slowly, carefully, he began to shift his stance, his gaze cold and calculating as he prepared to make his move.
Lys's eyes flicked toward him.