For a breathless second, no one moved.
Adrian Bradford, one of the nation's strongest warriors , lay unconscious, broken against the shattered altar the goddess of hope.
The impossible had already happened.
Yelena stood frozen, her jaw locked, her hands trembling. The world around her sounded distant, muffled, unreal.
Blood soaked into the white silk of her gown.
John Bradford snapped first.
"Kill that bastard!" he roared.
Hundreds of soldiers surged forward, swords raised, shields lifted, a storm of steel rushing toward the lone axe-wielder.
The Varkhal did not move.
Not a step.
John smirked faintly.
"Numbers would crush him".
Then—
"Shrinnnnnnnnng." "Slllllaaaaasssshhhhh."
"Sllllaaaassshhhh."
The sounds were almost delicate.
A strange silence followed.
One soldier blinked.
"Huh… when did—"
His head slid from his shoulders.
Around them, limbs separated from bodies as if cut by invisible lines. Blood painted the wedding grounds crimson.
Standing beside the axe-wielder now was another figure.
Tall as the lone axe weilder but lean with masked face.
Twin daggers glinted in his hands, their edges humming faintly. He moved so fast that no one had seen him arrive.
He said nothing.
He simply stood beside the man with the axe like a shadow given flesh.
And then from a distance a group of soldiers getting sliced up by an chain axe weilder,
"Serves you right, you son of bitches" Zeckie Varkhal. Annhilating everyone in an gore manner.
John Bradford staggered back a step.
"What… what is happening? Who are these monsters?!"
Richard Sterling saw all this massacre and he rushed to his daughter's side.
Yelena had collapsed to her knees beside Adrian, shaking him desperately.
"No… no… please… wake up…" her voice cracked, breaking into sobs.
And after a while he coughed blood out, which eased up Yelena somewhat, shaking him up,
"Wake up, Adrian, I won't leave you… I won't…"
Richard grabbed her shoulders.
"Yelena!"
She resisted.
"I won't leave him at any cost!"
Richard's composure shattered.
"I don't care about anyone else!" he shouted, tears filling his eyes. "Not the alliance. Not the land. Not the war. I care about my daughter!"
He shook her, voice breaking.
"So please… listen to your old man."
For a moment, she saw not a lord—
But her father.
With unbearable effort, she stood.
Richard signaled his men. "All squads! Prepare our exit! Guard us until we escape!"
"Yes, my lord!"
They ran toward the horses stationed at the rear grounds, guarded by what remained of Sterling's elite soldiers.
But it was already too late.
The axe-wielder finally moved.
One swing,Just one.
The air itself splited.
A shockwave tore across the battlefield, cutting through soldiers like dry wheat. Bodies fell in halves. Armor shattered. Blood sprayed across banners and stone.
The force alone knocked Richard and Yelena off their feet.
Yelena's gown, once white, was now soaked red halfway through.
The remaining soldiers raised their swords, hands trembling violently.
"Lord… please run with the young lady," one of them said, barely steady. "We will buy time… even if it costs our lives."
Richard knew that they were afraid and terrified.But they still stood between death and their lord.
His chest tightened with fierce pride.
He raised his voice.
"Long live the Sterlings!"
The soldiers roared back despite their shaking limbs.
"Long live the Sterlings!"
Their cry echoed across the blood-soaked wedding grounds.
The lone axe wielder looked at the trembling soldiers and mocked them.
"Long live Sterling… long live this… long live that…"
He started walking toward them with a twisted, menacing laugh. Every soldier instinctively took a step back.
"Motherfuckers," he growled, "I will butcher and decorate the way a Varkhal does."
The moment they heard the name—
"Varkhal?!"
Their voices trembled. Eyes filled with tears.
"Why is a Varkhal here…?
Weren't they annhilated?
We are doomed…"
Before they could even react, the axe moved.
One terrifying swing.
In a blink, bodies were cut apart. Flesh, armor, bone ,all reduced into a gruesome mess.
The remaining soldiers were sliced down mercilessly.
The sight alone planted unbearable fear in Yelena's heart. And death before Richard Sterling's eyes.
Across the ruined altar, John Bradford stood frozen.
"A Varkhal? Weren't they extinct? That barbaric tribe… why is one here?"
Questions flooded his mind. His feet trembled.
"This kingdom is going to fall soon… I must inform our King."
He quickly ordered the remaining soldiers to escort Aasha Bradford, who was shaking in fear. They lifted his cold, unconscious son from the destroyed altar and placed him inside the carriage.
Without wasting another second, they fled the scene.
The twin-dagger wielder watched them escape.
But he did nothing.He let them go.
As planned.
Richard was on the ground, sliding backward as the Varkhal approached him.
"You monster! Leave my father alone!" Yelena screamed.
Definitely," he said, his voice cold and hollow, "I will leave him… but before that."
He turned.
Richard Sterling lay broken against the ground, blood pooling beneath him, breath shallow, body trembling at the edge of collapse.
Still he lifted his head.
Still he spoke.
"Michael… listen to me… leave her alone…"
There was no anger on Michael's face. No cruelty.
Only absence.
"I can see that expression," he said quietly. "Fear… of death."
He took a step forward.
"Repent your sins in hell."
Richard's eyes widened.
"No… Michael…"
A faint smile touched Michael's lips voided of mercy.
"Don't worry," he said. "You won't be alone."
His gaze darkened.
"Soon… many will follow you."
A pause.
"Your friends."
Another step.
"Your people."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Even your Highness."
Richard's breath broke.
"And there," Michael continued softly, "you can serve again… as a loyal subordinate… beneath your king."
He grabbed Richard by the throat and threw his heavy body into the air with one hand.
With the other, he swung the grave reaver.
In a single brutal motion, he sliced Richard Sterling into minced flesh right in front of Yelena.
Blood and pieces of flesh splattered across her face and gown.
Her entire body was soaked in her father's blood.
For a second, she stood frozen.
Then—
"NOOOOOOO!"
She collapsed to her knees, crawling toward what remained of her father, grabbing the torn pieces, crying over them in complete despair.
Behind her, Michael slowly knelt down.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered,
"How is my wedding surprise… darling?"
Her crying stopped.
Her eyes, filled with tears and fire, turned toward him.
She lunged forward and grabbed his throat with both hands.
"I will kill you! I will kill you a thousand times! Hundreds of thousands of times!"
But it did nothing to him.
He did not resist.
He only looked at her with something that resembled love in his eyes.
That made her even more furious.
Suddenly—
An arrow shot from the side.
Michael blocked it instantly with his axe. The sudden movement created a shockwave strong enough to knock Yelena away.
Michael turned toward the attacker and the attacker nothing but the remnant of sterling's soldiers
Enraged.
He picked up a stone which was thrown by Yelena before and hurled it with terrifying force.
It pierced through the remnant soldier's head.
"Sleep well, bastard."
He then turned back.
Yelena was unconscious.
He looked at her, almost admiringly.
"Let's get out of this shit hole… my love."
He called out,
"Seth and Zeckie"
From nowhere, the masked twin-dagger wielder appeared.
"Yeah, Michael."
And also the Chained axe weilder and his name was Zeckie Varkhal appeared.
Michael replied calmly,
"Let's meet our people… and feast on this victory by slaughtering everything on our way."
Michael suddenly threw the Gravereaver high into the sky.
The massive weapon spun into sky disappearing.
Then he bent down and lifted Yelena onto his shoulder like a flower sack, her blood-soaked gown hanging lifelessly.
He turned back once more toward the broken altar.
The statue of the Goddess of Hope stood in ruin, its once serene face shattered beyond recognition, its stone hands broken and scattered across the blood-stained ground like discarded prayers.
Michael paused before it.
For a brief moment, his gaze lingered.
Then he scoffed.
"Goddess of hope, huh?"
A faint, hollow smile touched his lips.
"What a joke."
He turned away without another glance.
Behind him, Seth Varkhal followed in silence like a shadow that had long abandoned the concept of doubt.
They moved toward the stables.
A carriage stood waiting.
Two black horses pawed at the earth, restless, their breath steaming in the cold air as if they sensed the death that clung to their master.
Michael reached Yelena.
Without a word, he lifted her.
Just as he stepped toward the carriage, he stopped.
"Seth, Zeckie."
Both men straightened instantly.
Before stepping inside, Michael spoke again calm, indifferent, absolute.
"Before we leave this county… kill everyone of Sterling."
A single command more than enough for them to obey.
Seth moved first vanishing into the shadows like death itself.
Zeckie grinned.
"Finally," he muttered.
What followed was not battle.
It was slaughter. Not against warriors or enemies but people.
Children who did not understand why their world ended.
Women who screamed until their voices broke.
Men who tried and failed to protect anything at all.
Steel tore through flesh.
Blood painted every walls.
Hope,
whatever little remained was erased without mercy.
The name Sterling was carved out of existence.
Back at the carriage, Michael placed Yelena inside gently, almost carefully, as if she were something fragile rather than something broken.
He sat besides her. And the door was shut.
Moments later, Seth returned.
Then Zeckie,blood splattered, smile fading into satisfaction.
Both mounted up.
No words were exchanged.
Michael turned his head slightly, his eyes settling on Yelena.
"Let's make this entire world…"
he said softly, almost tenderly,
"…As our world, my love."
The reins snapped. The horses roared forward.
Wheels crushed over dirt, over stone,over what remained.
And without looking back,
They left the ruined wedding grounds and people behind.