The sky bled crimson!
Flickers of flame kissed the horizon as columns of smoke rose in the distance.
The once gentle and soothing wind now howled with the scent of fire and steel.
Battle banners fluttered against the dry wind, each etched with symbols of power.
Symbols of absolute authority in the Dmitriv Realm.
An ocean of warriors, all under four banners, spread across the land like a sea.
One group, on the far left side, consisted of humanoid creatures wreathed in red flames, resembling reincarnations of flaming demons.
Their hollow red eyes burned with greed and conviction as their skeletal horses clattered their hooves on the hard, stony ground.
They were one of the five Supreme Sects of the Dmitriv Realm—the Flaming Demon Sect.
Beside the flaming humanoids stood another group, clad in blood-red robes, with blood-red hair and eyes.
They had pointed ears and fangs protruding from their lips, occasionally drawing blood, added to their eerie appearance.
Their presence exuded an otherworldly majesty, yet the faint reek of blood turned the stomachs of those nearby.
They were the second of the Five Supreme Sects—the Blood Fall Sect.
Next to them was a third group, neither fully human nor animal.
They resembled living stone statues.
Their bodies were smooth obsidian, their hulking frames pressing into the ground with an unnatural weight.
They were seemingly crafted perfectly for battle, with their four large rocky arms and towering three-meter height.
They were the third of the Five Supreme Sects—the Hulking Golem Sect.
The last presence, however, was not an army.
It was a single man, sitting on the bare ground with a gigantic sword laid before him.
Around him, snow fell softly, creating a serene, otherworldly beauty amidst the chaos.
Yet the man himself could not be easily gazed upon.
His handsome face was marred by a diagonal scar, giving him a stoic and cold aura.
His eyes remained closed as he sat in silence, unmoving.
The mighty armies stood still, their collective gazes directed toward a singular location—a gate made of humble wooden bamboo, beyond which lay a small area dotted with pagodas.
One pagoda, twice the size of the others, stood as the focal point.
---
"They've gathered, Patriarch. Three sects and a scarred man we couldn't identify," a thick masculine voice echoed through the walls of the grand pagoda.
"Judging from their stance, it seems they won't leave until they get what they want."
Inside the pagoda, two figures could be seen.
One was a soldier, clad in white armor, kneeling before an old man sitting on a simple mat.
The old man's long white beard spread over his lap, and his eyes were closed in peaceful contemplation.
He was the Patriarch of the God's Fate Sect—the fourth of the supreme sects.
"Has the exit gate been opened for my children?" the old man's calm voice rang out.
The soldier's eyes flashed as he replied,
"Yes, Patriarch. The exit gate is open for any student who wishes to leave the sect."
"But none of the students left, my lord."
"They said they all wish to fight to the end."
"Ah... Poor little ones," the old man sighed, his voice filled with melancholy.
"But there is one, my lord."
"One who has repeatedly left through the gate, only to return hours later. He does it over and over again."
The soldier's voice took on a hint of confusion.
"Hmmm." The old man's eyes slowly opened, sending a pulse of strange light through the room.
Reflexively, the soldier raised his head, but as he stared into the Patriarch's eyes, he froze.
Those black orbs were like an endless abyss, threatening to devour all life within their depths.
Ir was as though a myriad of galaxies swirled inside them.
The soldier's spine chilled, and he lowered his head quickly, trembling uncontrollably, even though he tried his best not to.
'The Patriarch is no ordinary old man... He's as terrifying as the rumour says,' the soldier thought.
"You said there's an anomaly among the students, one who keeps leaving but comes back?"
"Yes, Patriarch," the soldier nodded.
"He's done it 25 times in the last three days. He's still in the sect. He's clearly indecisive my Lord and appears deeply confused."
"It won't be wrong to say he is lost on which path is worthy of being taken."
The old man smiled softly on hearing the report.
"Summon him. I want to see him."
"He's not unfamiliar to you, Patriarch," the soldier replied.
"Could it be?" The Patriarch's eyebrows furrowed.
"Yes, Patriarch. It's Lucian Nightingale, your youngest disciple!"
---
"I have to leave! I have to leave!"
"I can't afford to die here!"
"I haven't seen everything yet. I haven't tasted all the good food and wine yet."
"I can't die here! My future is too bright for this to be my end..."
The frantic muttering came from a small figure sitting at the edge of the wooden gate, a green forest stretching out before him.
This was the secret exit gate of the God's Fall Sect.
He was a scrawny looking young man, who couldn't be beyond the age of 16, with dirty blue hair and large, dull blue eyes.
His thin arms and legs made him appear lanky, and traces of baby fat still lingers on his above average face.
Yet, despite his small size, his eyes held a maturity beyond his years.
This was none other than Lucian Nightingale, and right now, he was lost!