The battlefield was silent, but it was the silence before a cataclysm. The hero stood over Princess Laila's cold body, his hand gripping the handle of the Gravity Blade. General Draco, realizing the danger, screamed at his men to attack. "He's just one man! Kill him now!"
As hundreds of soldiers charged with their spears leveled, the hero didn't even flinch. He simply took a breath, and the air around him turned into a vacuum. With a single, lazy swipe of his blade, a wave of distorted space surged forward. It wasn't a physical cut; the very gravity in the path of the blade increased by a thousandfold. The soldiers didn't just fall—they were crushed into the earth, their armor flattening like paper. The sound of snapping metal and bone echoed through the forest, but the hero's face remained a mask of cold indifference. He walked through the carnage as if he were taking a stroll in a garden, his every step leaving a crater in the ground. Draco's elite guard tried to surround him, but with a snap of his fingers, the hero summoned dark lightning from his magical pillow, incinerating everything within a fifty-foot radius. He wasn't fighting a war; he was cleaning a room. And Draco was the ultimate speck of dust.