The skies above were stained with grey as dark clouds gathered over the cursed battlefield.
The winds carried the stench of corrupted mana and death, swirling violently around the ruined terrain as Kyle stepped forward, his eyes locked on the blackened centerpiece of the land—the crystal pulsing at the center, a shard of the god of justice.
"Stay close. But retreat the moment you can't keep up. I'll handle the rest."
Kyle said to the soldiers beside him, his voice calm but resolute.
"No, young master! We stand with you!"
A soldier cried.
"We followed you this far, and we're not leaving now!"
Another declared, gripping his blade tighter.
Kyle paused briefly, then gave a faint smile.
"Don't die."
With that, he surged forward, his mana flaring out like a storm. His blade left his sheath with a metallic ring, and the ground beneath him cracked as his speed shattered the earth.
