---
The central castle stood at the heart of the plains like a relic from a forgotten war.
It was called a castle, but it was nothing more than thick, manafied stone walls raised in a perfect square around a massive open arena. A still lake surrounded it, dark and silent, with four bridges stretching inward from north, south, east, and west.
No forests. No hills. No cover.
Just open land.
Anyone approaching could be seen from miles away.
Inside those walls lay the arena.
And at the southern end of that arena—
The Throne.
It was not large.
But it was oppressive.
Carved from black stone shaped like twisted bone. A demonic skull crowned its backrest, hollow eyes staring forward eternally. Veins of deep crimson mana pulsed faintly within it, like something alive beneath the surface. Wolves were engraved along its arms — royal beasts frozen mid-howl.
It wasn't meant for comfort.
It was meant for authority.
Whoever sat there would be recognized as king.
And we were standing directly in front of it.
Six of us.
---
The Oni had formed a full encirclement.
Their footsteps echoed against stone as they rotated positions, keeping constant pressure. Massive blades and spiked clubs slammed into our barrier repeatedly.
Each strike sent tremors through our arms.
The barrier shimmered violently, mana rippling like unstable water.
We were destructive-class magicians.
Built to demolish.
Not to endure.
If we dropped the barrier to cast properly, we would be torn apart before finishing our spells.
So we endured.
And waited.
And hoped.
---
Three of ours had died earlier.
They volunteered to lure the goblin team away from the main conflict.
No teleportation relic.
No summoning barrier.
Just speed and confidence.
They underestimated how quickly goblins adapt.
The system notification came less than two minutes later.
[Elven Team Member Eliminated.]
Three times.
No final words.
No last transmissions.
Just silence.
Two more fell defending Hunter's castle when Oni pressured from the eastern bridge.
They held their ground long enough for us to reposition.
But holding ground means dying last.
Five gone.
And we had not even touched the throne.
---
A heavy strike hit the barrier.
Crack.
A visible fracture spread across its surface.
"Reinforce!"
Mana surged from our cores again.
Our reserves were falling fast.
Sweat dripped down my neck.
If this barrier collapses—
We die here.
In front of the throne.
Without even seeing the General.
---
We had called him earlier.
No response.
No confirmation.
Nothing.
Was he fighting somewhere else?
Was he injured?
Was he—
Another strike slammed against the barrier, snapping me back.
The Oni still had not used their relic.
That was what terrified us most.
They were confident.
Too confident.
Why?
---
Then—
Across the western bridge—
Movement.
A white silhouette against the gray horizon.
At first we thought it was illusion.
Then the shape became clearer.
A horse.
White.
Unhurried.
And on it—
The General.
Relief hit like air returning to drowning lungs.
Someone behind me almost collapsed from it.
"He came…"
But he did not look like a savior.
He rode forward without urgency.
Without visible anger.
Without hesitation.
As if this battlefield was already decided.
---
The Oni reacted instantly.
Half remained attacking us.
Eight broke formation and turned toward him.
The encirclement loosened—but only slightly.
The pressure on our barrier didn't stop.
He dismounted before reaching the center of the arena.
Didn't draw his blade.
Didn't look at us.
Didn't look at the throne.
His voice was calm.
"Domain Expansion."
"The Valley of Death and Blood."
Reality folded.
The arena vanished beneath our feet.
The sky turned deep crimson.
The ground darkened into cracked earth soaked in phantom blood.
A suffocating pressure descended across the battlefield.
The air thickened.
Even breathing felt heavier.
The Oni stopped moving for a brief second.
Just one.
Then—
They laughed.
Not nervous.
Not strained.
Confident.
One of them stepped forward.
From beneath his armor, he withdrew a relic.
A sphere.
Smooth.
Blue.
Inside it, cosmic energy rotated like miniature galaxies colliding in endless orbit.
It pulsed once.
The crimson sky flickered.
It pulsed again.
The air distorted around the sphere.
Mana currents twisted violently.
The Oni's laughter grew louder.
"You think your domain makes you king?"
The orb flared.
Blue energy surged outward in a spiraling wave and collided with the domain boundary.
The valley trembled violently.
The ground beneath our feet split open.
The crimson sky above rippled like liquid.
A sound echoed across the battlefield—
Sharp.
High.
Unnatural.
Like glass under unbearable pressure.
A thin fracture appeared across the red sky.
Then another.
And another.
They spread like cracks across a mirror.
The Valley of Death was breaking.
The Oni roared with triumph.
And for the first time since his arrival—
The outcome no longer felt certain.