(Hehehe, I don't think anyone expected a crossover like this. And no one has ever seen a crossover like this before. I'll be the first to do it. Hooray. I think you'll like it. Enjoy reading!)
In one distant, unknown universe, a massive stone fortress orbited a planet inhabited by humankind — a relic of the ancient Maykr civilization. This stronghold belonged to only one being.
A being that had once been human… but after a series of fateful events, had become a demigod — and, eventually, a god. To his enemies, he was a monster — the embodiment of wrath, a merciless butcher who knew no pity. All who stood in the way of his vengeance were torn apart by his hands. His name was Doom Slayer.
Why was he on orbit, watching what seemed to be an ordinary planet? The answer was simple: he hated demons. But among them, there was one whom the Slayer now considered a friend. That demon had shown him that even demons were capable of love, of building families… of being something more than pure evil.
But there were other reasons why the first of demons and the Slayer had become allies.
The true reason for Doom Slayer's presence in this universe was far more important — he had become the Enforcer, the punishing hand of the Creator Himself. His mission was simple: to destroy the demons that led worlds toward ruin.
However, this world was not as simple as it seemed. The demons that inhabited it were not born here — they had invaded from another dimension.
The world humans called the Real existed at the boundary between realms, at the intersection of dimensions. Once in a great cycle, known as the Eclipse, the Real and Astral worlds would overlap, allowing beings from the Astral to enter the mortal realm. Among them were both demons and angels — though, in truth, they were one and the same, known by different names. To some, they were saviors; to others, bloodthirsty beasts.
And in one fateful moment, everything changed. A mortal man did what no one should ever do. In desperation, he activated a forbidden artifact… and made a deal. A deal with an ancient, sinister being — in exchange for his life.
The price was everything he held dear: his soul, the lives of his family, his friends, everyone he loved. Everything that once gave his life meaning was turned to ash.
But along with that deal, something far more terrible entered the Real world.
The Astral and Real realms merged, creating a new one — Fantasia, a world where fantastical races — elves, fairies, spirits — coexisted with humans. But with them also came evil — armies of demons led by five beings known as the Hand of God. Yet this "God" was no merciful deity. His name was whispered in terror — the Idea of Evil.
He was not a god who created humanity — he was a god created by humanity. Born from the collective subconscious, from the darkness that slumbers in every heart. The man who had made that fatal bargain became one of the Idea's apostles. His human shell was gone; only his essence remained — the embodiment of pure malice.
And with that transformation, a new monster was born — the incarnation of unending vengeance. A simple soul that once sought peace and love had been broken by betrayal, by the deaths of those he cherished, by the loss of his beloved. From a sea of blood rose a being whose rage knew no bounds. They called him many names — but most knew him as the Black Swordsman.
But what would happen if two men who had endured the same inferno of suffering were to meet face to face? Two souls twisted into monsters by fate: one, a hunter of demons; the other, a man who had lost everything. The answer was simple — two monsters would not stop until every demon was torn apart.
And one of them was Doom Slayer. The other — the Black Swordsman.
He stood in his fortress, floating above the world of Fantasia. His armor, reforged after the battle with Davoth, gleamed with a cold green light. The old suit had been restored and enhanced — now covered in razor spikes capable of shredding demonic flesh, and from his shoulders flowed a long black fur cloak.
The Slayer was completing his final preparations before descending to the planet. On his workbench lay a modified chain shield — each blade engraved with runes he had carved himself. Beside it rested a heavy mace, scarred from countless battles yet still radiating lethal strength.
"Sir, are you certain you won't take any firearms with you?" asked VEGA, whose holographic projection flickered behind the Slayer. "Only the chain shield and the mace?"
The AI known as VEGA was an artificial intelligence the Slayer had acquired after sealing the Hell portal that opened on Mars within the OAK Corporation research complex. The Slayer didn't answer VEGA's question right away. He simply continued assembling his chain shield, ignoring the hologram hovering behind him.
"Hmmm…" he grunted, barely nodding his head.
"Then I won't insist, sir," replied VEGA. "However, I must warn you — night will soon fall on the planet, and demonic activity will increase. Your new ally is already waiting for you."
"Hmmm…" the Slayer responded again, his voice low and gravelly as he finished tightening the last component on his chain shield.
"Beginning portal activation sequence," said VEGA, his projection slowly fading into the air.
The Slayer didn't turn his head. He secured the chain shield onto the magnetic lock built into his gauntlet, then took the heavy mace from the table and spun it a few times in his hand, feeling its familiar weight.
Satisfied, he attached the weapon to the magnetic holder on his back. From beneath his long black fur cloak, only the massive handle protruded.
His helmet remained on the table. The Slayer picked it up and put it on — the green light within the dark visor came to life once more. Even through the tinted glass, the fury and hatred burning in his eyes were impossible to hide.
He left the armory and walked toward the fortress's main bridge. Standing before the enormous viewing window, he waited for VEGA to open the portal. The metal beneath his boots echoed with each heavy step, and beyond the glass wall, in the depths of space, the planet Fantasia rotated — a world infested by demons.
This wasn't his first time here. The last time he had descended, it was also night — he had found himself in a dense forest, where demons had lunged at him the moment they caught the scent of human flesh. After a brutal fight, he met a man… one very much like himself. A being driven by vengeance and hatred toward demons.
At first, they didn't trust one another. But every battle, every fight against the creatures of the underworld, forged their mutual respect. Thus began their strange friendship. Now, they roamed the world of Fantasia together, exterminating demons and hunting the five beings known as the Hand of God. Occasionally, they stopped to rest — for unlike the Slayer, the Black Swordsman was still human and needed respite.
The Slayer's gaze remained fixed on the portal when VEGA spoke again.
"Portal is ready for deployment, sir."
"Hmmm…" came the Slayer's deep response.
He adjusted his shield, checked his weapon locks, and took a step forward.
"Good hunting, Slayer," VEGA's voice echoed one last time before the portal flared with blinding light.
The Slayer tilted his head slightly, gave a curt nod, and stepped through. In the next moment, the vortex of energy closed behind him.
The Slayer emerged in the middle of a dark, dense forest. Towering trees blocked out the sky, casting long, jagged shadows across the ground. The heavy air reeked of damp earth and smoke. Looking around, he noticed a faint glimmer ahead — a source of light.
His heavy footsteps thudded through the silence as he moved toward the fire. Emerging from behind a tree, he saw a man sitting by the flames — clad in black armor, an eyepatch covering one eye, and a metal prosthetic arm glinting in the firelight. Beside him, leaning against a tree, rested a massive sword wrapped in cloth, its black steel barely visible through the fabric.
It was the Black Swordsman. His name — Guts.
Hearing footsteps, Guts immediately drew a knife, but upon recognizing the figure in the heavy armor, he lowered his weapon.
"Done?" he rasped, never taking his eye off the Slayer.
"Hmmm…" the Slayer confirmed with a short nod.
"Good. We'll rest here and move at dawn. I caught a rabbit… Want some?" said Guts, nodding toward the carcass beside the fire.
The Slayer merely shook his head, refusing the food, and sat heavily on the log across from him.
The campfire's glow reflected off his helmet, dancing in eerie green flashes — and for a brief moment, it seemed as though Hell itself was watching them from the darkness of the forest.
Guts simply nodded and didn't insist any further. He had long understood that the Slayer—though he looked human—wasn't one. That didn't bother him. In fact, it was the opposite. Guts felt that they were alike. Very alike. Even if neither ever spoke about their past, their eyes told the same story—the gaze of someone who had lost everything and found only hatred and rage in return.
During the months Guts and the Slayer had traveled together, they spoke little, yet understood each other perfectly without words. They had become comrades with a single goal—to kill demons. Guts had long noticed that the Slayer wasn't the talkative type, and he himself was no chatterbox either.
The Slayer detached his shield from the magnetic mechanism on his arm and set it down beside him. Then he removed his helmet and rested it on his knees. Guts busied himself with the cooking while the Slayer silently watched the flickering tongues of fire dance in the campfire.
Suddenly, he heard a strange noise nearby, but sensing no demonic presence, he ignored it. A moment later, a tiny creature appeared from the darkness—a fairy no bigger than a hand, with blue hair and delicate wings on its back.
This fairy had been following Guts ever since he had once saved its life.
"There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" came a squeaky voice right by his ear. "When you help someone, you can't just abandon them afterward! You have to take responsibility! My name's Puck, by the way!" the fairy declared proudly.
The Slayer merely averted his gaze from the annoying creature and stared back into the flames. Guts didn't pay it any attention either—he had saved it by chance, nothing more. His mind was occupied with food and gathering strength for the road ahead.
Seeing that she was being ignored, Puck tried to make conversation with Guts. She peppered him with questions—about his sword, his travels, and why he was always so gloomy. When no answer came, Puck decided to tell her own story: how she'd been captured, caged, dunked into mugs of ale, and used as a living dart target.
"Hey! Are you even listening?" she finally snapped. "I came to warn you! Those bandits might have friends nearby! You should be more careful!"
"Don't talk to me," Guts said coldly, stirring the stew. "You're annoying. If you don't shut up, I'll add you to the soup."
"Fine!" the fairy huffed, crossing her arms. "I was just trying to help! Hmph… suit yourself!" Puck muttered, puffed up with indignation, and flew off.
Neither Guts nor the Slayer paid her warning any mind. Besides demons, they often encountered bandits on their journey—men no better than monsters. Those filth, steeped in depravity and cruelty, attacked anyone for a handful of coins. To Guts and the Slayer, they were the same as demons, only wearing human faces. Any sense of pity for such creatures had long since died in them.
After eating a simple stew of rabbit meat and potatoes, Guts sat down on the ground, slowly eating as he regained his strength. The Slayer lifted his gaze to the sky. The stars here were the same as in any world he had visited. But ever since he had gained the second half of Davoth's power, his perception had changed.
He could feel the darkness slowly enveloping this world, as if the end of days was approaching. Soon, the gates would open. Blood would turn to seas, bodies would blanket the earth, and a being born of all the darkness within human hearts would rule over it all.
The Slayer frowned, staring at the horizon where shadows were already thickening. But it didn't matter to him. He had a goal—and he would fulfill it. He would track down all the apostles. Even that being who embodied pure darkness.
Meanwhile, Guts finished his stew and began packing his things into a cloth bag. Tossing a handful of sand into the fire, he extinguished the flames.
The Slayer rose, and their eyes met. Without a word, they nodded to each other—it was time to move.
The Slayer put on his helmet, moved his left hand slightly—and the shield instantly snapped back into place on the mechanism. Guts approached the tree against which his massive black sword leaned, lifted it with one hand, and slung it across his back.
They moved forward, toward where new battles awaited.
The two men walked deeper into the dark forest, ignoring the darkness that enveloped them from every side. Slayer and Guts continued on their path, their hunt—the search for the five beings who called themselves apostles. Their road led through the thick, impenetrable forest, where even moonlight could not reach.
When they finally emerged onto a broken road, occasionally traveled by carriages, the sky quickly darkened with heavy clouds, obscuring the moonlight. Lightning split the sky, followed by the deep roll of thunder, and soon a downpour came crashing from above.
But the heavy rain did not stop them. Walking along the muddy road under the streams of water, Guts and Slayer remained silent. Not even the thunder and the noise of the rain could drown out the sound of approaching wheels. Slowly, a carriage moved behind them.
Without turning, they continued their path as the carriage drew level with them. An elderly man drove it, dressed like a merchant, while under the cargo canopy peeked a young girl—a teenage girl with long blond hair.
The elderly man glanced at the two travelers, armored and armed to the teeth. Thinking they might need help, he lightly pulled the reins, stopping the horses.
But Guts and Slayer simply passed by, showing no interest whatsoever.
"It must be hard to walk in such rain at night, and in armor no less," the old man said, leaning forward.
"We're fine. No need to trouble yourselves," Guts replied, not raising his head.
"There's no reason to refuse," the merchant persisted. "My daughter wants to help too. You and your friend could use a moment to dry off."
"We don't need that," Guts said grimly. "For your own good. You see, evil spirits are on our heels. If you decide to help, you'll only bring misfortune upon yourselves."
"You're unlucky," the old man said with a faint smile. "But there's no need to worry. God is on my side, and He protects me from evil. Luck has never failed me. So climb in, don't waste any time."
Suddenly, Puck appeared behind the girl, making faces at Guts. He merely glanced at the Slayer, waiting for a decision.
The Slayer gave a slight nod, indicating that the help could be accepted. Guts responded the same. Seeing their consent, the elderly man smiled contentedly.
Slayer and Guts approached the back of the carriage, preparing to climb inside. But Slayer suddenly turned his head toward the forest. His gaze lingered in the darkness—there, among the trees, someone was watching them.
Guts, already stepping onto the footboard, noticed it and squinted in that direction as well. He could feel that the creatures of darkness were near.
Slayer gave a slight shake of his head, indicating that there was no immediate threat. Guts silently nodded and extended his hand, helping his companion up. Slayer grabbed it and climbed inside.
The carriage started moving. The elderly man clicked the reins, and the horses set off, leaving behind the dark forest and the drumming rain.
The young girl pulled a dry towel from the bag and handed it to Guts.
"Here, please. You should wipe your head."
Guts gave a brief nod and accepted the towel. The girl wanted to hand another to Slayer, but he raised his hand, refusing.
He removed his helmet and placed it beside him, remaining silent. Seeing his face, the girl froze—Guts and Slayer looked remarkably alike. Both had short black hair, faces scarred from battle, and equally stern expressions.
"Here," the girl handed Guts a large leather bag of wine. "We made this ourselves. It will help you warm up."
"No, thank you," Guts replied, taking the bag but not opening it.
"But…" the girl began, looking at him confused.
"Night is too dangerous," he said calmly, returning the bag. "We have to be ready for whatever may happen."
"Maybe at least you want to warm up?" she asked softly, her kindness apparent.
"Hmmm…" Slayer rasped, shaking his head in refusal.
The young girl simply gave up, not understanding why Guts and Slayer were so stubborn. Guts did it because his mind had to remain cold and clear—if the spawn of darkness attacked, the slightest lapse could cost him his life. Slayer, however, simply had no need: he felt neither cold, nor fatigue, nor even hunger.
But someone still decided to take advantage of the wine. The fairy Pack buzzed around indignantly, scolding them both for wasting human kindness. In the end, he grabbed the wineskin himself—though it was twice his size and weight—and with a satisfied expression began to drink. Collet, unable to suppress a small smile, sat down nearby and looked at Guts and Slayer. Both remained silent, staring at the same spot.
"These scars…" the girl asked quietly, shifting her gaze from one to the other. "Are these the marks of the battles you've been through?"
"This one," Guts said, pointing to the metal prosthetic replacing his arm, "remains from when I was bitten by an evil spirit."
"Oh, come on," the elderly man interjected, chuckling lightly to ease the tension. "Don't scare my daughter. Better tell me your name."
"Guts," he replied briefly, without raising his head.
"And your silent friend?" the man asked, nodding toward Slayer.
"William," Slayer rasped, not taking his eyes off the road.
"My name is Adolf, and this is my daughter, Collet," the man introduced himself. "By the way, that thing on your back… though, never mind. Actually, I saw you recently in the tavern. Of course, I don't condone violence, but it was noble of you to save that elven child. You two don't seem like bad people, even if your faces are stern. Are you mercenaries?"
"You could say that," Guts replied calmly.
"Hmm… I can't say I approve of that line of work," Adolf began, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Killing people for money… even for noble causes—is wrong."
"That's why I don't like monks," Guts smirked, glancing at the back of the merchant. "You always see only one side and ignore the other. You think every soul can be saved with God's word. But for those I've met, your words are meaningless. They don't care about your God. All they want is blood and gold."
"Don't speak like that," Adolf said quietly. "My nephew once said almost the same thing. He left home, determined to make a name for himself with the sword… And five years later, he died on the battlefield, just another nameless soldier. No one will remember his name. If he had taken another path, maybe he would have had a family… a wife, children…" Adolf's voice faltered.
"And what's wrong with that?" Guts rasped. "He died doing what he chose. Not everyone gets that chance. I'd say he was lucky… though when you're dead, it doesn't matter anymore. After death, there's nothing. Only emptiness… Sorry. I didn't mean…"
He lowered his head.
Adolf and Collet exchanged glances. In Guts' words, the man heard not just fatigue, but a hidden truth: for him, death sounded like liberation. Not everyone could accept it, but for some, it was the only way out of a world where the light had long since turned away, and darkness stretched its claws ever tighter.
Guts closed his eyes, drifting into a light sleep. Collet, noticing this, pulled a blanket from the carriage and gently draped it over his shoulders. He didn't refuse—only gave a slight nod, accepting her care.
Slayer remained silent the entire time, staring into the distance—toward the dark forest that stretched ahead. He sensed the approach of something sinister. The demonic presence was growing stronger.
And at that moment, as thunder roared above the carriage, something slipped through the stretched canvas. A flying creature, the size of a human head, spherical, with a single large eye and numerous tentacles, quietly crawled inside. Another appeared behind Guts.
Slayer reacted instantly—he grabbed the creature with both hands and crushed it, tearing it in half. Purple blood poured onto the floor and splattered across his armor.
Guts' eyes immediately widened. With one swift motion, he intercepted the second monster and, drawing a dagger, drove it straight into the demon's eye.
The carriage screeched to a halt. Collet screamed and woke up, looking around in fear.
"What's happening?!" she cried in panic, clutching her father.
Adolf immediately peered into the carriage and froze. Before him lay a strange creature—one had a knife protruding from its body, while the other had been reduced to a smear of flesh in Slayer's hands. The girl shrieked, and Adolf hugged her tightly, trying to calm her.
Slayer, expressionless, tossed the demon's remains overboard, while Guts frowned at the dead body. He hadn't expected the spawn of darkness to catch up to them so quickly. The thought that this happened because of his dream pricked uncomfortably inside him.
"What were those creatures?" Adolf asked, still holding Collet.
"Incubi," Guts replied, wiping his blade on the corpse. "Evil spirits that cast nightmares and feed on human fears."
"Evil spirits?.. So what you said before… it's all true?" Adolf breathed out in shock.
"Hm. You believe in God, but not in demons?" Guts smirked, giving him a grim look.
Pack, perched on Collet's head, frowned.
"Why is this creature here?" he muttered.
"I told you it wasn't wise to help us," Guts said, touching the mark on his neck. "These spirits always follow me."
Slayer slowly put on his helmet, his voice sounding like a low metallic grind:
"They're close…"
"Who's close? What's happening?" Adolf asked anxiously, noticing both mercenaries tense up.
Guts said nothing—he only gripped his massive sword. Slayer was the first to leap from the carriage, scanning the depths of the dark forest. Guts followed. The mark on his neck pulsed and began to bleed—a sure sign that the creatures of darkness were near.
"Stay inside and don't come out," Guts shouted without looking back. "These beings are born from the bodies of the dead. And if they're here, it means there was once a battlefield nearby. And where the incubi are, there may be things far worse than you can imagine."
The forest was swallowed by fog—dense, cold, like the breath of death. The horses, sensing danger, began to whinny and thrash in fury. Adolf tried to control the reins, and Collet jumped down to calm the animals.
"Collet, get back!" Adolf shouted, but it was too late. The ground beneath her feet cracked, and a spear shot up from the fissure, aimed straight at her chest.
A heavy boot crashed down on the skull of a skeleton emerging from the ground, pulverizing it into dust. The girl screamed, barely realizing that death had been just a step away. Slayer stood before her—silently, he grabbed her by the scruff and threw her toward her father.
"Stay in the carriage," he rasped, turning his back to them.
Hundreds of bony hands began clawing their way out of the ground. Soon, before them stood an entire army of skeletons in rusted armor, gripping spears, maces, and swords in their bony fingers. Red fire blazed in their eye sockets—hungry, demonic.
Guts swung the massive Dragon Slayer sword off his shoulder. Slayer activated his chain shield, and a low hum emitted from the built-in saw. From behind, he drew a massive black mace.
The skeletons howled and charged.
The first one to approach Slayer was pulverized with a single blow. The mace arced wide, knocking down a dozen at once. Guts raised his prosthetic arm—the built-in crossbow unleashed a hail of bolts, piercing the skulls of the undead and scattering bone fragments across the ground. When the bolts ran out, he surged forward and swung his sword, cutting through the ranks of enemies like they were rotten trees.
But for every one they killed, more rose—twenty appearing where ten had fallen.
Then the air cracked with a crushing sound, as if ancient trees were breaking. Both fighters turned and saw the nightmare: a massive tree emerging from the fog, its branches studded with hundreds of yellow eyes and lined with mouths whispering in an unknown tongue.
The roots surged toward them. Slayer reacted instantly, grabbing one and tearing it out with flesh still clinging, but dozens of roots wrapped around Guts, pulling him in all directions.
Slayer hurled his chain shield—it whistled through the air, slicing through the bindings. Free, Guts grabbed his sword and with a roar severed the remaining roots. The shield, almost alive, returned to Slayer's hand.
Before them, the fog swirled and writhed, as a new wave of terror advanced.
The demonic tree roared, and its branches lunged forward like hundreds of spears, slicing through the air. Guts lifted the Dragon Slayer to block, while Slayer raised his shield to absorb part of the assault. The blades of the branches rang as they clashed with metal.
Guts threw a quick glance at Slayer and barely nodded.
Slayer understood without words. With a sudden motion, he destroyed the nearest branches, swung, and flung his chain shield toward Guts. At that same instant, Guts swung the Dragon Slayer, cutting through the demonic tree and deflecting the flying shield. The impact sent the chain shield hurtling through the trunk, nearly bisecting the monstrous tree.
Slayer activated the magnetic mechanism, pulling his weapon back, but Guts struck it again with his sword, driving it straight into the heart of the creature. With each ricochet, the shield tore new holes in the tree's body, slicing branches, smashing roots, and burrowing into the black rot.
Finally, a cracking sound echoed—the demonic tree shuddered and collapsed into dust. Dark liquid oozed from its wounds, and within seconds the giant began to rot rapidly.
The fog that had enveloped the forest started to lift, as if carried away by the wind. The clouds in the sky parted, letting through the first rays of dawn. Another night of nightmares had ended.
All the while, Adolf and Collet had been hiding inside the carriage. The girl trembled, holding Pack close, who futilely tried to peek outside. When silence finally settled, Adolf mustered what courage remained and carefully lifted the edge of the canvas.
What he saw made his heart skip a beat: around them lay piles of shattered bones, fragments of rusted weapons, and traces of a fierce slaughter. A little further on stood Guts and Slayer—both covered in mud, blood, and ash, yet unyielding.
Collet stepped closer and realized it was truly over.
"Thank you… for helping us," Adolf exhaled as the men approached.
"No thanks are needed," Guts said grimly, hanging the sword on his back. "I told you not to get involved with us. Now just go your way. It's far more dangerous near us than anywhere else in the world."
Adolf merely sighed. He understood the burden these two carried. Collet wanted to say something, but her father gently took her hand and shook his head. Before departing, he gave a short nod, silently expressing his gratitude.
The carriage moved. Collet, turning back, watched as the silhouettes of Guts and Slayer gradually disappeared into the fog.
Pack, as usual, stayed with them. The two warriors exchanged a brief glance, nodded, and pressed onward. Their path was singular—the path of blood, darkness, and the eternal hunt.
But the calm did not last long. After passing through another section of the forest, they found themselves surrounded. Soldiers in silver armor emerged from between the trees, spears and swords pointed at Guts and Slayer. At the front stood a young woman with a cold, aristocratic face and gray eyes. Her pale hair gleamed in the morning sunlight.
She was clad in knightly armor—the commander of the Holy Order of the Iron Chain, Farnese de Vandimion. The daughter of a great aristocrat, she had never seen real combat, but her pride and faith gave her confidence.
"We have finally found you," she said, pointing her sword. "The Black Swordsman… and Slayer."
The soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, but fear hung thick in the air. The mere presence of these two made their blood run cold. Even Farnese, despite her outward composure, felt her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
"We come by the will of the Lord," she declared loudly, trying to shout down her own fear. "Lay down your arms, and you will be brought to trial. Refuse—and you will both stand before God in chains!"
Guts lifted his gaze, showing neither fear nor respect.
"I don't recall us doing anything that deserves judgment."
"How dare you!" Farnese exploded. "Wherever you go, corpses remain! And you have the audacity to claim it's not by your hands?!"
"Step aside," Guts said calmly. "Or you'll regret it."
"That's enough!" Farnese shouted, raising her sword. "It is God's will to stop you! Soldiers, seize these killers!"
Slayer tilted his neck slightly, and the air filled with the crunch of his joints. The knights, despite their orders, could not hide their fear. Yet one of them mustered courage and lunged forward.
He didn't even get close. Slayer's kick landed with a dull crash against the man's chest. The armor crumpled inward, the ribcage cracked, and the knight's body flew into the air, passing Farnese, and slammed into a tree.
Farnese only managed to recoil. When she looked at the knight, blood streamed from beneath his helmet, and his chest armor was caved in like paper. True fear gripped her. One strike. Just one—and a man was dead.
To be continued…
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