The summons came at dawn, sealed in gold and authority.
Azerion read the scroll once.
Then again.
An invading kingdom had crossed the eastern frontier. His unit was to strike immediately—without reinforcements, without delay.
Serenya stood beside him as the camp stirred awake.
"They're sending you away," she said softly.
"Yes."
"Right after the tension eased."
"Yes."
Her fingers tightened around his arm. "Stay within the inner ring. Do not leave the camp. If anyone gives you an order—question it."
He covered her hands with his own. "I will return. Alive."
Calen, already armored, nodded nearby. "We're ready, Commander."
Azerion mounted his horse. He looked back once—at Serenya standing beneath the rising sun—and then rode out.
The battlefield felt wrong the moment they entered the mountain pass.
The cliffs rose sharply on both sides, stone walls closing in like a tightening throat. The Core stirred uneasily beneath Azerion's skin.
Then the horns sounded.
Arrows fell in black waves.
Enemies surged from hidden paths, sealing the pass. Azerion's unit was trapped—flanked and suffocated.
"Formation!" Azerion roared.
He moved like a blade unleashed.
Steel flashed. Blood sprayed. The Core sharpened every instinct, every strike. Soldiers fell before they could scream. Calen stayed at his side, intercepting blows and guarding his Commander with unwavering loyalty.
Then the enemy commander stepped forward.
Tall. Disciplined. Dangerous.
This man did not rush. He waited.
Their blades met at the center of the pass.
Steel screamed as sparks burst into the air. Every feint was anticipated. Every strike was countered. Azerion's reflexes were enhanced by the Core—but this opponent had been forged by countless wars.
A sudden slash tore through Azerion's side. Armor split. Pain burned white-hot.
"Calen!" Azerion gasped.
Calen surged forward, cutting down attackers and buying him a breath.
Azerion pushed through the pain, fury driving his blade. At last, a perfect feint—his strike tore across the commander's torso. Wounded but alive, the enemy staggered back.
The ambush broke.
The survivors fled into the cliffs.
Azerion stood bloodied, victorious—and uneasy.
Smoke rose ahead.
"No…" Azerion whispered.
The camp gates were shattered. Flames devoured tents. Bodies littered the ground.
And then he saw her.
Serenya.
On her knees. Restrained. Blood staining her sleeve.
The nobles stood around her—calm, untouched by the chaos.
"SERENYA!" Azerion roared.
Her eyes found his.
Her lips parted—
—and the blade fell.
She collapsed.
Something inside Azerion shattered beyond repair.
He moved without thought.
The first guard lunged.
Azerion split him from collar to hip.
A spear thrust—he caught it barehanded, snapped it, and drove the jagged shaft into the man's throat.
Five soldiers rushed him.
They died screaming.
Skulls shattered. Bodies broke. Blood soaked the earth. Calen fought beside him, barely keeping pace with the storm Azerion had become.
Within moments, the camp was a graveyard.
The nobles stepped forward, arrogance unshaken.
"You saw it," one said calmly. "We wanted you to."
"Payment for your service," another added.
The Core detonated.
Not outward.
Inward.
The world slowed. Sound dulled. Reality bent.
Emotional threshold surpassed.
Authority condition confirmed.
First Supreme Skill awakened.
The air grew heavy—crushing.
Fear became law.
Guards collapsed to their knees. Auras shattered. Those who hesitated were punished instantly.
A noble tried to advance.
His legs froze.
Azerion crossed the distance and smashed the man's skull into stone until nothing remained.
Another noble invoked a blazing sigil.
Azerion walked through the flames.
He cleaved the man in half mid-incantation.
The remaining nobles finally understood.
They were not facing a soldier.
They were facing a calamity.
The nobles parted.
One stepped forward.
He was tall, clad in pristine armor untouched by blood or flame. His presence bent the air—not with brute force, but with authority. The kind that expected the world to kneel.
He glanced at Serenya's body, then back at Azerion.
"Still standing," he said calmly. "Impressive."
Azerion's grip tightened on his sword. "You killed her."
The noble smiled faintly. "Of course I did."
He placed a hand over his chest in mock formality.
"Allow me to introduce myself, since history will remember this moment."
His eyes met Azerion's—unafraid.
"I am Lord Vaelric Thorne. High Noble of the Eastern Court. Architect of this operation. And the man who decided your wife no longer had a future."
Calen sucked in a breath behind Azerion.
"You ordered the ambush," Azerion said, voice trembling with restrained annihilation.
Vaelric nodded. "Your rise was inconvenient. Soldiers should not inspire loyalty beyond the throne."
His gaze flicked to Serenya. "And women like her become… leverage."
"You believe yourself untouchable," Azerion said.
Vaelric chuckled softly. "I am untouchable."
He stepped forward, boots crunching against ash and bone.
"I ensured you would survive long enough to watch her die. This is power, Commander. Not strength. Not loyalty."
His smile sharpened. "Control."
Azerion raised his blade.
Vaelric drew his own. "Come. Show me how grief challenges fate."
Steel screamed as they clashed.
Vaelric anticipated every move. A spinning slash tore into Azerion's shoulder. Another pierced his side.
"You fight with rage," Vaelric said calmly. "Rage consumes."
"I fight with what you stole from me!" Azerion roared.
A blade pierced deep.
Azerion fell to one knee, blood pouring freely.
"You are strong," Vaelric said, raising his sword. "But strength alone is never enough."
The killing blow descended—
Warmth surged.
Serenya's necklace pulsed in Azerion's grasp.
Survive… protect Calen… do not let them win…
Light exploded.
Time fractured.
Reality vanished.
Azerion collapsed in a misty forest, clutching Serenya's body.
Calen landed beside him—alive, battered, breathing.
The necklace glimmered faintly.
You have survived.
She remains.
Vaelric Thorne still lived.
Some nobles had escaped.
Azerion rose slowly, broken and burning.
"Then we begin… now."
The forest was silent.
But within him, a storm was awakening.