Cling!
Clang!
The world rattled under the clash—not just of steel, but of legacies. The sky itself seemed to wince, scattering clouds as the titanic blows collided. A single shockwave rippled from their impact, throwing soldiers like rag dolls. Dust flared. Trees bent. Flags whipped and screamed.
And amid it—Denish Lon Vergus stood.
The field bled. Not red—black. The kind of blood that bubbled when magic clashed with flesh, when illusions failed to shield youth and inexperience. Naïve swords met death. The air reeked of ozone, scorched hair, and wet iron. Screams melted into the dirt. And at the center, like two mythic beasts summoned from rival myths, stood Denish and the man the world called a barbarian.
But calling him "man" stretched the truth.
