The battlefield had become hell.
Smoke crawled across the ground.
The screams of wounded soldiers mixed with the deafening clash of steel, the thunder of magic, and the desperate cries of commanders trying to keep their formations from collapsing.
Only moments ago, Sanctoria had been winning.
Now...
They were being slaughtered.
High above the battlefield, the sky had turned crimson.
Not because of sunset.
Because of magic.
The clouds themselves seemed to burn.
Then—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
Another enormous pillar of fire descended.
The earth disappeared beneath it.
Thousands of soldiers were caught within the flames.
Shields melted.
Armor turned red.
The grass beneath their feet became ashes.
Men who had marched into battle with their friends were suddenly screaming for those same friends.
"HELP!"
"MY LEG!"
"MEDIC!"
"FALL BACK!"
"GET THE WOUNDED OUT!"
But there was nowhere to fall back to.
The Grand Arcanist stood in the distance.
His ancient wooden staff rested lightly against the ground.
His hood had fallen backward, revealing the full severity of his age. Deep wrinkles covered his face, and strands of pale gray hair moved gently in the hot wind created by his own magic.
He didn't look excited.
He didn't look angry.
He looked bored.
As though the destruction before him were nothing more than an unpleasant chore.
He slowly lifted one hand.
The soldiers closest to him froze.
The magical pressure returned.
A huge magic circle began forming above the battlefield.
Drakar saw it.
His pupils contracted.
"...No."
The circle continued expanding.
It covered hundreds of meters.
Then thousands.
The soldiers below looked upward.
Their faces went pale.
One young soldier dropped his sword.
"I don't want to die..."
Another soldier grabbed his shoulder.
"RUN!"
They ran.
Everyone ran.
But the Grand Arcanist simply whispered—
"Burn."
The magic circle flashed.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Fire descended.
A wall of flame swept across the battlefield.
Drakar raised both arms.
"EVERYONE, DOWN!"
The command came too late.
The explosion swallowed the front ranks.
The force of it struck Drakar like a mountain.
BOOOOM!
His feet left the ground.
His body crashed through the earth and rolled several meters before he stopped himself with one hand.
His cloak was burning.
His armor was cracked.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
For several seconds...
Drakar didn't move.
Then his fingers slowly curled into the soil.
He pushed himself upward.
His crimson eyes looked across the battlefield.
And what he saw...
Destroyed something inside him.
Bodies.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Men and women who had shouted with him that morning.
Soldiers who had looked into his eyes and believed him.
Soldiers who had trusted him enough to follow him into a battle against an army more than twice their size.
Now...
They were lying motionless beneath the smoke.
Drakar's breathing became heavier.
One of his commanders staggered toward him.
"Sir Drakar..."
Drakar turned.
The man's armor was burned.
One side of his face was covered in blood.
He was barely standing.
"How many?"
The commander swallowed.
"...I don't know."
"Give me an estimate."
"...More than half."
Silence.
Drakar's expression didn't change.
But his eyes did.
Something inside them cracked.
Half.
Half of Sanctoria's army...
Gone.
The Grand Arcanist slowly lowered his staff.
He looked toward the remaining Leonhart commanders.
"That should be enough."
One of them laughed nervously.
"Sir Hogo..."
The old mage looked toward him.
"Yes?"
"Should we pursue them?"
The old man glanced across the burning field.
Sanctorian soldiers were retreating everywhere.
Some carried wounded comrades.
Some simply ran.
Others had thrown away their weapons.
The old man smiled faintly.
"No."
He turned toward the distant command camp.
"You and the others..."
His eyes became cold.
"...finish the rest of the ants."
The Leonhart commanders immediately bowed.
"Yes."
The Grand Arcanist turned away.
His footsteps were slow.
Calm.
Unhurried.
As though he had not just destroyed half an army.
He disappeared into his tent.
The moment the tent flap fell behind him...
Silence.
The battlefield seemed to hold its breath.
Then Drakar heard something.
A soldier crying.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Brokenly.
Drakar looked toward him.
The young man was sitting beside the body of another soldier.
His hands trembled.
"Brother..."
He pressed both hands against the corpse.
"Please..."
"Please wake up."
Drakar closed his eyes.
He couldn't look anymore.
He couldn't bear it.
Then—
A horn sounded.
BOOOOOOOOOO!
Leonhart's army began advancing.
Drakar opened his eyes.
Thousands upon thousands of soldiers emerged through the smoke.
Their banners moved beneath the burning sky.
The remaining Sanctorian commanders gathered around him.
Garran looked toward the approaching army.
"Sir..."
Drakar said nothing.
Garran's voice trembled.
"They're coming."
Drakar looked behind him.
The remaining soldiers were exhausted.
Terrified.
Many were wounded.
Their formations were broken.
Their commander was injured.
And the enemy still had overwhelming numbers.
For several seconds...
Drakar simply stared.
Then his hand slowly moved toward his sword.
He pulled it from its sheath.
SHING.
The sound was quiet.
Yet every nearby soldier heard it.
Drakar raised the blade.
His eyes hardened.
"Then..."
He took one step forward.
"...we fight."
Garran's eyes widened.
"Sir?"
Drakar's voice thundered across the battlefield.
"ALL FORCES!"
The remaining soldiers looked toward him.
"THIS IS NOT A RETREAT!"
His voice grew louder.
"THIS IS NOT THE END!"
He pointed his sword toward the approaching Leonhart army.
"WE ATTACK!"
For a moment...
Nobody moved.
Then one soldier raised his sword.
"For Sanctoria!"
Another joined.
"FOR SANCTORIA!"
Then another.
And another.
The remaining army roared.
"FOR SANCTORIA!"
Drakar charged.
The army followed.
THE FINAL BATTLE
The two armies collided.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
The impact shook the earth.
Drakar entered the enemy formation like a crimson storm.
His sword swept horizontally.
SHING!
Three soldiers were thrown backward.
He turned.
A spear came toward his chest.
He caught the shaft with one hand.
Crushed it.
Then drove his fist into the soldier's armor.
BAM!
The man flew backward.
Another attacked.
Drakar ducked.
A sword passed above his head.
He spun.
His elbow struck the attacker's jaw.
CRACK!
The soldier fell.
"PROTECT SIR DRAKAR!"
Sanctorian soldiers rushed around him.
For several minutes...
They fought.
They fought like men who had nothing left to lose.
But Leonhart was simply too large.
Every Sanctorian soldier who fell created another opening.
Every opening allowed another Leonhart soldier through.
The battlefield slowly shifted.
Sanctoria was losing ground.
Again.
And again.
Drakar looked around.
One of his commanders fell.
"Commander Garran!"
Garran tried to rise.
A Leonhart spear had pierced his side.
Blood soaked his armor.
He smiled weakly.
"Don't..."
He coughed.
"...waste time on me."
Drakar grabbed him.
"We're leaving."
Garran shook his head.
"No."
His hand tightened around Drakar's wrist.
"Look around."
Drakar froze.
Garran smiled.
"They need you."
Drakar looked around.
Another commander fell.
Then another.
The Sanctorian banner collapsed.
A soldier tried to raise it.
An enemy blade struck him down.
The banner fell again.
Drakar's breathing became uneven.
"No..."
He whispered.
"No..."
The commander in his arms smiled.
"You gave us a chance."
Drakar stared at him.
"Get up."
"Sir..."
"GET UP!"
Garran's smile disappeared.
Drakar's voice cracked.
"I said..."
His eyes trembled.
"...get up."
Garran slowly closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
His body became limp.
Drakar stopped breathing.
The noise of the battlefield faded.
For one moment...
There was nothing.
No swords.
No screams.
No magic.
Only silence.
Then Drakar felt something warm against his hand.
Blood.
Garran's blood.
Drakar slowly lowered the commander's body.
He placed him carefully upon the ground.
Then he stood.
His head remained lowered.
His hair covered his eyes.
His hands trembled.
Not from fear.
From rage.
Around him...
The final commanders of Sanctoria were falling.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then another.
Until...
Only one remained.
A wounded commander stood several meters behind Drakar.
He looked around.
His expression was filled with horror.
Everyone was dead.
Everyone except him.
And Drakar.
"Sir..."
Drakar didn't answer.
The commander swallowed.
"We've lost."
Drakar's fingers tightened.
"We..."
His voice was barely audible.
"...lost."
The commander lowered his sword.
"I think..."
He struggled to breathe.
"...we should retreat."
Drakar slowly lifted his head.
His crimson eyes were no longer calm.
They were filled with sorrow.
Sorrow so deep that it looked almost empty.
"Retreat?"
The commander froze.
Drakar looked across the battlefield.
He saw faces.
Faces of soldiers.
Faces of friends.
Faces of people who had trusted him.
People who had followed his orders.
People who had believed that if they followed him...
They would survive.
And now...
They were dead.
All of them.
Drakar clenched his fist.
"I told them..."
His voice trembled.
"I told them they would win."
He looked toward the bodies.
"I told them to follow me."
His breathing became heavier.
"I told them..."
His eyes slowly turned redder.
"...that I would protect them."
The commander stared at him.
Drakar's voice became quieter.
"But I couldn't."
"I watched them die."
His shoulders trembled.
"One after another."
He looked toward the sky.
"Every person..."
His teeth clenched.
"...who trusted me..."
His aura suddenly changed.
The commander stepped backward.
"Sir?"
Drakar's head lowered.
"...died because I didn't fought seriously."
"Even through all the people are humans who killed my King."
He looked up into the sky.
"They are innocent."
A crack appeared beneath his feet.
CRACK.
The commander stared.
Another crack.
Then another.
Drakar's aura exploded.
BOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The remaining Leonhart soldiers were thrown backward.
The wounded commander shielded his face.
"What..."
The battlefield suddenly became silent.
Drakar stood in the center.
His body was trembling.
His fists were clenched so tightly that blood dripped between his fingers.
His sorrow...
Was becoming anger.
His anger...
Was becoming hatred.
And beneath all of it...
Something ancient was awakening.
A memory.
Seven hundred years ago.
A throne.
A kingdom.
A king.
A man who had given him everything.
Kritos.
Drakar's eyes widened.
He remembered the final order.
Retreat.
And he left his King to die.
And now...
His king had returned.
Yet Drakar had found him only to become trapped in another war.
His comrades were dying again.
The same pain.
The same helplessness.
The same feeling of watching people he loved disappear before his eyes.
Drakar slowly raised his head.
His voice became almost a whisper.
"...Never again."
The commander stared at him.
"Sir?"
Drakar's body began changing.
His armor cracked.
CRACK.
Then shattered.
The muscles of his body expanded.
His spine bent violently.
Bones moved beneath his skin.
CRACK!
The commander stumbled backward.
"What is happening?!"
Drakar's fingers stretched.
His nails became claws.
His skin darkened.
Crimson scales began appearing across his arms.
One after another.
SHHHK.
His shoulders expanded.
His back erupted outward.
Two enormous wings began forcing their way from his body.
The air shook.
The clouds above the battlefield began moving.
The commander fell onto one knee.
"Sir Drakar..."
Drakar's scream erupted across the battlefield.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
The sound wasn't human.
It was the roar of a dragon.
A terrifying shockwave exploded outward.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The remaining soldiers of both armies froze.
Weapons slipped from their hands.
Horses screamed.
Some soldiers fell onto their backs.
Others simply stared.
Then—
A gigantic crimson claw slammed into the ground.
BOOM!
A second.
BOOM!
The creature rising before them became larger.
And larger.
And larger.
The transformation finally ended.
Silence.
A massive crimson dragon stood upon the battlefield.
Its body was enormous.
Its scales were deep crimson, each one reflecting the burning sky like polished blood-red metal.
Four powerful legs supported its colossal frame, each ending in curved black claws capable of tearing through stone.
Two immense wings stretched outward from its back.
Their membranes were dark crimson, crossed by thick skeletal supports.
When they opened fully...
They covered the battlefield in shadow.
Its neck rose high above the soldiers.
Two enormous black horns curved backward from its skull.
Long, jagged ridges ran down its spine.
A massive tail dragged across the earth behind it, leaving a deep trench through the battlefield.
And then...
Its eyes opened.
Crimson.
Burning.
Ancient.
The remaining soldiers looked up.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
One Leonhart soldier dropped his sword.
"...Dragon."
The massive creature lowered its head.
Its breath emerged as burning smoke.
The wounded Sanctorian commander stared upward.
His face was frozen between terror and awe.
"Sir Drakar..."
The dragon's eyes moved toward him.
For a moment...
The commander saw the man he had followed.
The commander who had stood beside them.
The warrior who had fought alongside them.
But that man was buried beneath something far older.
Far more powerful.
Drakar opened his enormous jaws.
Rows of gigantic fangs appeared.
His voice shook the entire battlefield.
"YOU..."
Every soldier looked toward him.
"...KILLED..."
His claws dug into the earth.
"...MY PEOPLE."
The ground trembled.
His wings spread wider.
"...YOU TOOK..."
His eyes burned.
"...EVERYTHING..."
The dragon inhaled.
The air itself began rushing toward his mouth.
Dust.
Smoke.
Ash.
Even loose weapons were dragged across the earth.
The soldiers screamed.
"RUN!"
"GET AWAY!"
"WHAT IS THAT?!"
The Leonhart army began breaking apart.
For the first time...
They were afraid.
Not of Sanctoria.
Not of an army.
But of one creature.
The crimson dragon lowered his head.
His rage became absolute.
"I WILL..."
His jaws opened.
"...MAKE YOU..."
A deep rumble emerged from his chest.
"...REMEMBER..."
The commander covered his ears.
"...THE NAME..."
The dragon's throat began glowing with crimson light.
"...DRAKAR."
Then—
ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR!
The roar tore across the battlefield.
Birds fled from the distant forests.
Clouds scattered.
The mountains themselves seemed to answer.
And every soldier who heard it understood the same thing.
The battle...
Had changed.
Far away...
The northern winds moved quietly across the enormous walls of Icepeak.
Snow covered everything.
The mountains.
The rooftops.
The towers.
The fields.
The world itself appeared frozen beneath an endless white sky.
Atop the outer wall stood Thorek Icepeak.
The lord of the territory stared toward the distant horizon.
His cloak moved gently in the freezing wind.
For several moments...
He said nothing.
His eyes remained fixed upon the endless field of snow beyond the walls.
Six days.
It had been six days.
Six days since Prince Erek had left Icepeak.
Six days since the young prince had gone in search of the Dark Beings.
Thorek folded his arms.
"It's been six days since the prince left to form an alliance with the Dark Beings."
A faint sigh escaped him.
He still remembered Erek's words.
Zox is more powerful than any of your knights.
At the time...
Thorek had thought the boy was simply being confident.
Now?
He wasn't so certain.
His eyes shifted toward the northern mountains.
"I wonder..."
Before he could finish—
A guard shouted.
"MY LORD!"
Thorek turned.
The guard was standing at the highest watchtower.
His face was pale.
"What is it?"
The guard pointed toward the sky.
"There!"
Thorek looked.
At first...
He saw nothing.
Only clouds.
Only snow.
Only the endless white horizon.
Then—
A shadow appeared.
A massive shadow.
It moved across the snow.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
The shadow grew.
And grew.
And grew.
The guard's breathing stopped.
"That's..."
Another guard climbed onto the wall.
His eyes widened.
"My gods..."
Thorek stepped closer to the edge.
The shadow passed over the territory.
The sunlight disappeared.
The wall fell into darkness.
Then came the sound.
WHOOSH.
A gust of wind slammed into the fortress.
Soldiers grabbed their helmets.
Snow exploded upward.
Horses screamed.
The guards looked toward the sky.
Something enormous was approaching.
Then—
A dragon emerged from the clouds.
Its wings were enormous.
Its scales were dark and powerful.
Its body passed above the mountains with such overwhelming size that the guards could barely comprehend what they were seeing.
But it wasn't alone.
More shadows appeared behind it.
One.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty.
Dozens.
Dragons.
Countless dragons filled the sky.
Their wings moved together.
WHOOSH.
WHOOSH.
WHOOSH.
The sound became thunder.
Thorek's eyes widened.
"Dragons..."
But then he saw the ground.
The snow-covered plains were moving.
Not the snow.
An army.
Thousands upon thousands of figures were advancing toward Icepeak.
Demons.
Dwarves.
Vampires.
Werewolves.
Dark Beings of countless races.
Some walked.
Some rode.
Others traveled beside enormous mana monsters.
The sight was impossible.
The soldiers on the walls froze.
One guard whispered—
"Are those..."
A vampire passed beneath the shadow of a dragon.
A dwarf carried a massive war hammer across his shoulder.
A werewolf rode a gigantic beast whose claws tore trenches through the snow.
Demons marched beneath black banners.
And above them...
Dragons ruled the sky.
The guards began backing away.
"Raise the alarm!"
A commander shouted.
"Sound the bells!"
DOOOOOOOOOONG!
The enormous Icepeak bell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then repeatedly.
DOOOOOOOOOONG!
DOOOOOOOOOONG!
Soldiers poured onto the walls.
Archers took positions.
Spearmen formed ranks.
Knights rushed through the gates.
Everyone looked toward the approaching army.
Fear spread through the fortress like wildfire.
"How many are there?"
"I don't know!"
"There are too many!"
"Are they attacking us?!"
"Where did all these monsters come from?!"
Then—
The army stopped.
The dragons descended.
One by one, they landed upon the snow.
BOOOOOOM.
Snow exploded around them.
BOOOOOOM.
Another landed.
BOOOOOOM.
Another.
The sky slowly cleared.
The Dark Beings stood before the walls.
Silent.
Thousands of crimson eyes stared toward Icepeak.
The guards couldn't move.
Then...
Two figures stepped forward.
The first was a demon.
His skin was black as charcoal.
Crimson eyes burned like embers.
His hair seemed to burn like living flames.
A long tail moved slowly behind him, its tip blazing with eternal fire.
His presence alone made the soldiers' blood run cold.
The guards recognized him.
"That..."
One guard whispered.
"The Blazing Demon..."
Another guard's knees began shaking.
"He's real..."
But the second figure...
Made every soldier completely silent.
A small figure walked beside the terrifying demon.
A young boy.
A prince.
His black hair moved gently in the northern wind.
His crimson eyes calmly looked toward the fortress.
He wore the elegant clothing of Frostalia royalty.
No armor.
No weapon.
No fear.
He simply walked forward.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The guards stared.
One of them blinked repeatedly.
"No..."
His voice trembled.
"It can't be."
Another soldier looked at him.
"Who is that?"
The guard's lips began shaking.
"That's..."
He swallowed.
"...Prince Erek."
Silence.
The words traveled across the wall.
"Prince Erek?"
"The Second Prince?"
"The prince who left six days ago?"
A young knight gripped his sword.
"But..."
He stared at the army behind Erek.
"...why are Dark Beings following him?"
Nobody answered.
Erek continued walking.
The Dark Beings followed.
Not surrounding him.
Not threatening him.
Following him.
Like an army following its king.
The dragons lowered their enormous heads.
The demons remained silent.
The vampires stood respectfully.
The dwarves held their weapons at their sides.
The werewolves waited.
Every single Dark Being was looking toward one person.
Erek.
The young prince stopped.
The wind passed through his black hair.
His crimson eyes looked up toward the walls of Icepeak.
For a moment...
Nobody spoke.
Then Blazing Demon stepped forward.
The flames around his body flickered.
His voice carried across the snowy plains.
"People of Icepeak!"
The soldiers stiffened.
"I bring you no army of conquest."
He placed one hand against his chest.
"I bring you an army that has chosen its master."
The guards looked at Erek.
Erek remained silent.
Calm.
Completely composed.
Yet behind that calm expression...
Something enormous was beginning.
A kingdom that had once been divided by hatred.
A kingdom that had once feared Darkain.
A kingdom whose history was written in blood...
Was now standing beside it.
Thorek stared down from the wall.
His heart pounded.
He looked at the countless Dark Beings.
Then at the dragons filling the sky.
Then at Blazing Demon.
And finally...
At Erek.
The young prince raised his head.
Their eyes met.
For several seconds...
Thorek couldn't speak.
He remembered Erek's words from before.
If there really are Dark Beings within Icepeak Territory...
Then we should recruit them.
At the time...
It had sounded impossible.
Now...
The impossible stood before him.
Thorek's eyes widened.
His voice came out as a whisper.
"So..."
The soldiers around him slowly turned.
Thorek stared at the army below.
"Prince Erek..."
His expression changed from disbelief...
To shock.
Then realization.
"...really recruited the Dark Beings."
He looked across the endless army.
Dragons filled the sky.
Demons stood upon the snow.
Vampires watched silently.
Dwarves gripped their hammers.
Werewolves waited beside their mana monsters.
And at the center of them all...
Stood the Second Prince of Frostalia.
Erek.
Thorek slowly lowered his head.
His voice trembled.
"Darkain..."
He looked toward Erek.
"...and Frostalia..."
The wind swept across the wall.
Snow drifted through the air.
Two nation who had once been enemies.
Two powers whose history had been stained by war.
Two worlds that should never have stood together...
Were now moving toward the same future.
Thorek's eyes widened.
"...which have such a long history of war..."
He stared at the Dark Beings standing beneath the walls.
"...are finally merging."
And beneath the frozen sky...
The banners of Frostalia and the remnants of Darkain...
Stood together for the first time.