The gray-haired enemy's blade came screaming down, ready to finish Titus.
Titus's grip tightened, his voice low but firm.
"I didn't want to use this…"
In an instant, his sword cleaved upward with crushing force. The clash rang like thunder, a shockwave blasting dust and embers into the air as Titus's hidden strength was unleashed.
The gray-haired enemy raised his blade high, eyes glinting with the certainty of victory as he swung down to split Titus's skull.
Titus's voice cut through the chaos, calm and cold:
"Blade of Death Calm."
In that instant—he was gone.
The gray-haired enemy's strike hit nothing but air. His smirk faltered. For a heartbeat, it seemed as if Titus had vanished from the battlefield itself. Then… a thin red line appeared across the man's chest.
Blood erupted. His body staggered, eyes wide in disbelief, as the wound tore open deeper and deeper, blood spilling down his armor. Gasps echoed from every direction.
Behind him, Titus stood motionless, sword lowered, breath steady. His eyes carried no triumph, only weariness.
"I missed," he muttered, as though the strike had been meant for something even greater.
The gray-haired enemy clutched at the gaping wound in his chest, blood spilling between his fingers as his knees buckled.
His eyes were wide with shock.
"W-what… what did you do…?" he rasped, blood dripping from his lips.
Titus stood behind him, sword still lowered.
"What do you think I did?" he said quietly.
"Tell me!" the enemy roared, staggering as more blood poured from his mouth.
"Tell me what you did!"
Titus finally lifted his gaze, meeting the man's trembling eyes.
"I used my own techniques to defeat you."
The gray-haired captain coughed violently, blood flecking his chin.
"Y-your own… so you were this strong… you had your own techniques all along… why… why didn't you use it at the start of our fight?!"
Titus's eyes narrowed, a faint glint of sadness behind them.
"You'll never know."
He moved again — fast and silent.
His blade flashed through the air.
The gray-haired enemy, bleeding but still standing, twisted his body just in time.
The attack missed — only cutting through air.
With a snarl, the enemy swung his sword back.
Titus stepped back, but the blade's tip still grazed his shoulder.
A spark burst where steel met steel.
The wind around them burned and crackled —
as if the battlefield itself was alive.
Titus straightened, voice steady.
"You know you've lost. Why not give up?"
The gray-haired enemy's bloody grin spread, teeth red.
"No… even if I die today…" he hissed, tightening his grip on his sword with trembling hands, "I'm taking you with me!"
The two men squared off again, battered and bleeding, the battlefield's fire reflecting in their eyes.
Both men roared and charged.
Their blades flashed through the firelit streets, sparks bursting where steel met steel.
The air was heavy — death hung between them.
At the very last moment, Titus moved.
A slight shift — just enough.
The enemy's sword sliced past his chest, close enough to burn the fabric of his armor.
Before the gray-haired captain could recover, Titus struck.
His sword shot forward, clean and sharp, piercing deep into the man's side.
The gray-haired captain froze.
His eyes widened — shock, disbelief.
The sword slipped from his shaking hands and hit the ground with a dull clang.
Blood poured from the wound, sliding down Titus's blade in a steady crimson stream.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then the gray-haired man's legs gave out, the firelight flickering in his fading eyes.
"N-no… no… not like this…" he whispered, voice cracking, blood spilling from his lips. His words cut short, swallowed by silence as his body stiffened.
For a moment, he remained standing, lifeless eyes staring ahead.
Titus exhaled slowly, pulling his blade free. With that motion, the enemy's body crumpled forward, collapsing heavily into the dirt.
The battlefield fell into a hush around them.
Titus stood over the fallen enemy, his sword still dripping. The fires of Tukmis flickered around him, shadows of soldiers and rubble stretching across the street.
For a heartbeat, it seemed as though he'd won cleanly. Then his knees buckled.
Blood ran from his own wounds, soaking into the cracked stones beneath him. His sword slipped from his grip, clattering beside him as he fell to one knee.
His vision blurred — the roaring flames became a haze, shouts distant and hollow. He forced out a ragged breath, eyes still fixed on the bodies around him.
"I've… pushed my body too far…" he murmured, voice barely audible.
He sank lower, the strength draining from his arms, his head dipping toward the ground.
"I… hope everyone will be alright…"
His eyes fluttered once, then closed, his body finally giving in to exhaustion as the battlefield noise faded into nothing.
Three hours later…
The city of Tukmis still smoked, but the fires were gone.
Broken roofs and walls stood in silence.
The cries of battle had faded — now only the sounds of rebuilding filled the air.
Soldiers worked beside civilians, lifting wood and clearing stone.
In the middle of the ruined city stood a small medical camp.
Dozens of injured soldiers rested on cots, their bodies wrapped in blood-stained bandages.
Healers moved from one to another, changing dressings and offering water.
Inside one of the tents, the Captain sat on a wooden bed, his upper body covered in bandages from the duel with Osphal.
His face was pale, but his eyes were calm.
Beside him stood Uzair, his arm bound tightly in fresh bandages, and Hinata, his black hair falling loosely over his shoulders, arms folded with that familiar confident smirk.
Hinata's eyes flicked over the Captain, then to Uzair, before he finally spoke.
"It looks like my thoughts were right…" he said calmly, his tone carrying both amusement and certainty.
Captain stepped closer to the cot, his brow furrowed as he turned to Hinata.
"What thoughts?" he asked.
Hinata's smirk faded into something more thoughtful. He glanced outside the tent flap, where soldiers were still dragging rubble from the streets.
"It felt off from the very start," he said. "Those enemy soldiers… they didn't move like a true army. They weren't unified. Their footwork, their formation, even the way they clashed with us… it was scattered, disjointed."
Uzair narrowed his eyes, listening carefully as Hinata went on.
"They looked more like a band of strays. Rebels. People who hate their own king and just grabbed swords to revolt. And when their commanders fell, they broke instantly. Didn't fight for one another, didn't hold their lines — they just ran, leaving even their own behind."
Captain's eyes darkened. He gave a small nod.
"You're right… I noticed it too."
For a moment, silence hung in the tent, the only sound the faint crackle of fires dying outside.
The Captain slowly opened his eyes, his voice low but steady despite the pain.
"I also noticed something," he said. "Osphal, the one claiming to be Yoki's successor… he was too weak. Compared to Yoki, he was nothing. If I'd been in my best condition, I could have beaten him outright."
Hinata leaned closer, lips curling into a grin.
"Stop making excuses, old man."
Uzair blinked, then shot Hinata a look.
"You know he's only three years older than you, right?"
Hinata let out a soft, playful laugh — the kind that sounded more like a mischievous child than a hardened warrior. "That doesn't change the fact that he's older than me… right, old man?"
The Captain exhaled faintly. "Yes, yes." His words were flat, his face unmoving, but Uzair caught something hidden in his tone.
He knew.
Even if the Captain didn't smile, Uzair understood that Hinata was the only person who could pierce through his coldness — the only one who shone like a light in his life. After all these years, the Captain was happy to see him again… even if he didn't say it aloud.
As the three talked, the flap of the tent shifted.
A young soldier stood at the entrance, saluting.
"Permission to enter, Captain?"
The Captain glanced up from his seat. "Yes, come in."
The soldier stepped inside, his armor still dusty and his hands trembling slightly.
"Captain… Titus has woken up," he said. "He asked me to deliver this letter to you."
Before the Captain could reach for it, Hinata casually took the letter from the soldier's hand.
"You can go now," Hinata said with a small grin.
The soldier bowed quickly and left the tent, the flap closing behind him as silence settled again.
Hinata handed the letter over, his grin gone soft as the Captain took it. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper slowly, reading each line in silence. The flicker of the lamp made the ink tremble across the page.
Titus's handwriting was tight and deliberate:
Captain —
I only trust you the most, so I am telling you this.
I am sure there is a traitor among us. It may be more than one. So be careful whom you trust.
I believe this attack was carried out by the same organization that struck the capital. Those attackers were nothing but tools — a way for them to observe us and measure our strength.
I tried my best not to reveal myself, but I had no choice. Now they might know my techniques — the way I fight — and perhaps the fighting styles of other captains as well.
We must assume our moves are being watched and learned. They are sharp-minded, and I fear they are already planning something bigger.
Regards,
Titus
The Captain's fingers curled around the edge of the paper. For a moment, he said nothing — only the soft rustle of the tent and distant sounds of rebuilding filled the silence. Uzair leaned in, eyes narrowing. Hinata watched quietly, his usual grin replaced by curiosity.
The Captain finally spoke, his tone firm.
"The thing I'm going to tell you both stays between us. Not a word to anyone."
He explained the contents of the letter carefully, every word sinking heavy in the dim air.
When he finished, Hinata gave a small smile.
"You can trust us, old man."
Uzair nodded, his voice steady.
"I'll keep this secret till my death. The fact that you told us means you trust us — and I won't let that trust break."
The Captain stood up slowly, adjusting the bandages on his arm.
"Then we move. We need to be ready for their next move."
The scene cut to a cavern deep beneath the mountains, its walls slick with moisture, lit only by torches that burned low and unsteady.
Yoki stood tall, his massive arms crossed, the double-axe resting against the stone floor. Beside him loomed the mysterious man in white — his face hidden beneath the folds of his hooded attire, his presence chilling the very air of the cave.
Then the mysterious man in white said.
"I did not expect to see Hinata there," the white figure said, his voice calm but edged with surprise. "We lost a main piece in this. Osphal… he could have been useful in the future. As for the others—" he waved a dismissive hand,
"—they were useless to me."
Yoki's lip curled in disdain. "Why waste thought on that weakling Osphal who couldn't last even few seconds against me?"
The mysterious man gave a low chuckle.
"Right… right. Still, this battle served its purpose. I have already won. Now I know the strength of every captain. If the Captain had died…"
his tone dipped into disappointment,
"things would have been far easier."
He drifted toward the far corner of the cave, the torchlight barely touching the folds of his white robes. His shoulders shook faintly, and a small, unsettling smile curved his lips.
"Now," he whispered, his voice echoing off the stone, "my master plan will begin…"
The faint sound of laughter followed, quiet but sharp, lingering in the darkness like a knife.