The battlefield had long ceased to resemble a plaza or even the front of a guild; it had morphed into a shattered war zone, carved from violence, desperation, and an indomitable will.
What once were orderly stone pathways and merchant stalls lay in ruins, transformed into jagged trenches with cracks spiderwebbing across the ground from repeated heavy impacts.
Nearby structures had crumbled inward, their facades ripped apart by shockwaves, rooftops half-shattered as bodies crashed through them mid-fight.
Dust hung thick in the air like a suffocating fog, mingling with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of burned stone.
Everywhere one looked, figures clashed, Adventurers and black-clad knights engaged in chaotic exchanges where discipline met improvisation and survival instinct collided with calculated force.
