In a world that seemed to hold its breath for a moment—
the two of them moved.
Jun stepped forward, his footwork light yet firm, his body rotating along the flow of qi that coursed perfectly through his meridians. His sword rose, then danced along an elegant yet lethal trajectory.
The fourth form of the Mount Hua sword technique was released.
"천화낙혈 | Cheon Hwa Nak Hyeol"
At that moment, plum blossoms bloomed in the air.
They were not real flowers, but illusions born from speed, killing intent, and qi compressed to its very peak. Pink petals swirled around Jun, falling like a beautiful and cruel rain of blood, each petal carrying a slash capable of cleaving steel.
On the other side, Karokan roared.
He gathered every last fragment of his remaining energy into a single point along the blade of his axe. His red aura contracted, hardened, until the weapon looked like the core of a star on the verge of exploding. The ground beneath his feet caved in, cracks spreading in all directions as he charged forward with the full might of an Orc Champion.
Two intentions collided.
Jun's rotation accelerated, his body vanishing behind the storm of plum blossoms, while Karokan surged straight ahead like a red meteor tearing through the night. Though it was deep into the night and the sky was shrouded in darkness, a blinding light was born from the clash of demonic qi and orc aura, illuminating the entire ruined battlefield.
A deafening boom shook the air.
Plum blossoms fell.
Axe and sword met.
And in that instant—
everyone who witnessed it knew this clash was not merely a final strike.
It was an answer.
The rain of plum petals faded like a dream erased by dawn, leaving behind a shattered and silent battlefield. Dust drifted through the air, while the smell of blood and heated iron hung heavy in the night.
At its center—
Jun was still standing.
His posture was upright, his breathing steady despite his left shoulder being badly torn. Blood flowed freely, dripping onto the cracked ground, yet the sword in his hand had not fallen. The Demonic Qi that had enveloped him slowly subsided, leaving behind a calm aura that made anyone hesitate to approach.
Several steps in front of him, Karokan knelt.
His axe had been split in two, cracks running from blade to handle. The red aura that once blazed around him had completely gone out. That massive body trembled once, then finally collapsed forward—without a scream, without regret.
The Orc Champion had fallen.
Silence enveloped the battlefield.
The remaining orcs froze. Their eyes widened, fangs trembling, knees weakening. Their champion—the symbol of strength, honor, and victory—had been brought down by a single human. Some dropped their weapons; others stumbled backward, pure terror gripping their instincts.
There were no more war cries.
Only panicked breathing and the chaotic sound of retreating footsteps.
Atop the fortress, the surviving humans stood frozen even longer. Guards, soldiers, and hunters stared at the scene with pale faces—disbelieving, unable to utter a word. Some clutched their weapons with trembling hands; others unknowingly fell to their knees.
Then someone whispered,
"He… won?"
As if that were a signal, voices began to rise.
Stifled cheers, relieved breaths breaking into sobs, hurried prayers spilling from trembling lips. Hope that had nearly gone out now flared back to life, ignited by the bloodied figure standing alone before the shattered gate.
Jun let out a long breath.
He slowly lowered his sword. His injured shoulder throbbed violently, yet his expression remained calm. His gaze swept across the battlefield—orcs fleeing, humans surviving, and Karokan's body now lying motionless.
"It's over…" he murmured softly.
In the distance, the red portal that had been the source of the calamity began to tremble, its cracks widening before it finally collapsed and vanished, like a wound forcibly sealed.
Unnoticed by anyone, that night would be remembered.
...
The fortress city of Astra, which moments ago had been wrapped in terror, now felt as if it had just awakened from a nightmare that was far too real.
The Orc siege that arrived without warning—screams, fire, the thunder of axes ripping through stone—had unfolded so quickly that the inhabitants barely had time to comprehend what was happening. Yet what was even harder to accept was how it ended.
One human.
Just one.
With a sword in his hand, he drove back the Orc army and brought down their leader in a battle that defied reason, yet was so clear and real it could not be denied.
For several seconds, there was not a single sound.
The soldiers, hunters, and civilians who had fought desperately moments before simply stood frozen atop the walls and amid the ruined streets, staring at the scene beyond the fortress. They watched the remaining Orcs retreat in haste, shoving one another aside, abandoning weapons and torches, vanishing back into the darkness of the forest as if chased by the same nightmare.
The silence slowly cracked.
The first sound emerged—a stifled shout, followed by another. Cheers surged, growing louder until they echoed throughout the fortress city. Some laughed hysterically, some cried in relief, others dropped to their knees while embracing the person beside them.
They had survived.
And they knew why.
Outside the fortress, on ground soaked with blood and debris, Jun stood with his back to the gate. He gazed at the shattered stone walls, the collapsed towers, and the trail of destruction left by Karokan's axe. The cheers of victory sounded distant, echoing faintly in his ears like voices from another world.
The corner of his lips lifted slightly.
A faint smile—barely visible.
But at that very moment, his chest convulsed violently.
"Guhuk!"
Jun coughed harshly. His body lurched forward, and a thick, dark-red liquid rose to his throat. He looked at his palm—stains of blood soaked his skin.
Internal injuries.
The direct clash between the Orc Champion's Aura and his own Demonic Qi had left damage that could not be ignored. Those two opposing energies had collided from within, tearing at his body slowly yet relentlessly.
And then there was his left shoulder.
The wound gaped open, his clothing torn, blood flowing without end. Though he had won, Karokan had left his mark—a heavy slash that had nearly shattered the bone.
Jun lifted his gaze.
Before him, Karokan's body still knelt, no longer alive. That massive frame was covered in sword cuts, wound upon wound carving the story of the fierce battle that had just ended. But the most striking sight was his chest.
Sixteen slashes.
Concentrated.
Clean, deep, and fatal.
The unmistakable mark of Mount Hua's fourth form—a fitting end for an Orc Champion who thirsted for honor.
Jun looked at the body in silence.
Not with excessive triumph, nor with regret.
Only a quiet acknowledgment—
//--//
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