The snowfield that had once been silent now burned red with fire and blood.
The earth shook beneath the march of soldiers and beasts alike. The sky itself seemed to groan under the weight of clashing wills—steel against claw, man against monster.
The Ravarn tribe descended like a storm. Their roars split the frozen air, echoing across the white plains. The heat of their breath melted the frost where it fell, and their tails carved trenches into the snow.
And at the front of it all, Duke Draken was a blur of motion—his greatsword cleaving through demons as if the laws of flesh and bone no longer applied to them.
"Is he even human…?" I muttered, watching as another Ravarn fell in two clean pieces under his blade.
Alice's gaze followed her father's movements with a mixture of awe and fierce pride. "He's the strongest man in the North. And my father."
Her words carried no arrogance—just the cold certainty of fact.
