Kind was gone.
Where he had stood, there was nothing now but drifting dust and scattered leaves—remnants of something that had once felt… human.
Rage stepped forward.Child's laughter had faded into uneasy breaths.Wise remained still, watching.
Ruckus wiped the blood from his lips and laughed—a deep, echoing sound that cut through the silence.
"The strongest monarch in the world…" he said, shaking his head. "And yet you couldn't even corner a mere soldier like me."
He spread his arms slightly, mocking.
"You should resign, Pannival Malwai."
Pannival did not react.
Instead, he stepped forward—calm, composed, untouched by the chaos around him.
"Who told you," he began quietly, "that I am the strongest monarch in the world?"
Ruckus's smile faltered—just slightly.
"The Malwai Empire stands where it does not because of its Pannival," Pannival continued, his voice steady, almost reflective, "but because of its people."
The wind shifted.
"The Malwai Military is not powerful because it follows orders—it is powerful because it understands purpose. Our scholars, our warriors, our thinkers… this land has always produced minds that walk ahead of time itself."
His eyes met Ruckus's.
"Spirituality and science—both have found their peak here. That is Malwai's strength. Not me."
Ruckus scoffed, though his gaze sharpened.
"You speak like a historian, not a king," he said. "Have you forgotten the First Holy War?"
The air grew heavier.
"That was the age when republics rose," Ruckus continued, circling slowly. "Monarchies crumbled. More than half the crowned heads of the world fell. Even your precious Malwai Empire was forced to its knees by the Great Powers."
A pause.
"History doesn't lie."
Pannival exhaled softly.
"No," he said. "But people often misunderstand it."
For the first time, there was weight in his voice—not anger, but memory.
"Yes, the republics rose. But they were born from blood. From collapse. From desperation. The First Holy War did not create peace—it created need."
His gaze drifted for a moment, as if seeing something far beyond the forest.
"A need for a system where the people mattered."
He looked back at Ruckus.
"But tell me… did they?"
Ruckus didn't answer.
"What is a democracy," Pannival continued, "that does not value its citizens? What is freedom, when it leads only to chaos, corruption, and silent suffering?"
The forest seemed to listen.
"From the ashes of monarchy rose not just republics—but dictators, tyrants, opportunists. People did not live… they survived."
His tone hardened.
"And then came the Second Holy War."
Even Ruckus stopped moving.
"The so-called peace-loving nations took up arms. Ideals were abandoned. Blood replaced dialogue. The world stood at the edge of collapse."
A beat.
"And that… was when the Kings' Table intervened."
Ruckus's eyes narrowed.
"They didn't just end the war," Pannival said. "They forced the world to remember balance. And Malwai… stood at the center of that effort."
"The republics didn't kneel out of respect," Ruckus cut in sharply. "They signed a peace agreement because they had to. And that agreement is the only reason monarchies like yours still exist."
His voice darkened.
"Today, the Union of Nations stands stronger than ever. Armed. United. Prepared to eliminate any threat to global peace."
He stepped forward.
"And what could be a bigger threat… than the oldest monarchy still standing?"
For a moment, silence returned.
Then Pannival spoke.
Softly.
"That is where you are wrong, Ruckus."
His eyes, calm until now, sharpened.
"The greatest threat to peace… is not monarchy."
A pause.
"It is control disguised as protection."
The air trembled.
"And I have decided," Pannival said, "to end that threat."
Ruckus didn't respond.
He moved.
His eyes locked onto Rage.
"Let's thin the numbers," he muttered.
He dashed forward, blood surging behind him like a storm.
Rage stepped in to meet him.
Child hesitated—his hands trembling, laughter gone.
Wise remained still.
Watching.
Always watching.
Pannival placed his right hand over his heart.
His voice rose—not as a command, but as something deeper.
"GLORY TO THE LAND."
Across the battlefield—soldiers, watchers, even the wind itself seemed to respond—
"GLORY TO THE LAND!"
And then—
The battle resumed.
Ruckus had almost fully recovered.
The tremor in his body faded, replaced by a cold, controlled stillness. His eyes, once flickering with strain, now burned with a dark intensity. Without wasting another moment, he turned toward Rage.
With a swift motion of his arm, blood surged out from his veins, thick and violent, forming long, writhing tentacles. They coiled around Rage in an instant, layering over one another until a dense, pulsating barrier was formed. The pressure increased with every passing second, tightening around Rage's limbs and torso, locking him in place. The ground beneath him cracked under the force.
It was clear to everyone watching—Rage stood no chance.
Across the battlefield, the soldiers and observers instinctively turned toward Pannival. Even Angkasa Jayantaka shifted his gaze, expecting intervention. But what they saw unsettled them.
Pannival stood still, his eyes closed, his right hand resting calmly over his heart.
A murmur spread through the ranks.
"Why is he not doing anything?"
"Has he given up?"
"Why is the Pannival just standing there?"
Anxiety rippled through the battlefield. Doubt began to creep in.
But Pannival had not surrendered. He was trusting.
He trusted the training he had forged into his sepoys over decades. He trusted Rage—not as a mere extension of his power, but as a warrior with his own will. To intervene now would be an insult to that trust. More importantly, Pannival had already understood something the others had not—Ruckus was no longer just an opponent. He was a collapsing force, a weapon nearing its final detonation.
Inside the blood cage, Ruckus made his move.
Without hesitation, he drove multiple blood-tentacles into Rage's body. One pierced through his shoulder, another tore into his ribs, and a third drove straight into his abdomen. Flesh split, and blood spilled freely. The force of the attack should have broken any man.
But Rage did not scream.
Instead, he glared at Ruckus with unwavering hatred—and then spat blood directly onto his face.
Ruckus paused, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer defiance.
That was all the time Rage needed.
With deliberate force, Rage drove his own hand into his abdomen, pushing deep past flesh and muscle. For a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze.
Then—
Rage exploded.
A violent surge of heat and energy erupted outward, not as a simple blast but as a concentrated release of everything within him. The blood-tentacles surrounding him instantly began to boil. They twisted and shriveled under the unbearable heat before disintegrating into charred fragments.
The explosion sent debris and ash flying in all directions. The surrounding trees shook violently, their leaves burning at the edges. The air itself felt scorched.
When the smoke cleared, Rage was gone.
Silence fell.
Many lowered their heads, believing they had just witnessed another loss.
But Pannival bowed.
He understood.
This was not defeat—it was strategy.
The heat from Rage's explosion had completely destroyed Ruckus's blood constructs. The tentacles, his greatest weapon, were gone. His control over blood had been disrupted at its core. Even his limbs trembled now, weakened and unstable.
For the first time in the battle, Ruckus was at a clear disadvantage.
He let out a low chuckle, which soon grew into laughter.
"So… it is time now," he said, wiping the remnants of burned blood from his skin.
He looked upward, his expression shifting into something almost reflective.
"In my entire life, I have crossed every line that was ever drawn for me. I have killed, destroyed, and obeyed without question, all for the sake of pleasing those above me. I do not regret any of it… but I am not proud of it either. I simply did what I had to do."
His gaze hardened again.
"And now… I welcome this end."
He turned toward Pannival and raised his voice.
"Pannival! Come! One last time. Strike me down. Let me face what I deserve. I have lived as a warrior, and I will not die any differently."
Pannival responded with a faint smirk.
Before he could move, Child charged forward.
Gone was the playful laughter. His face was tense, his movements sharp. He gripped a rusted hoe, its blade jagged and stained, and rushed toward Ruckus with full intent.
Ruckus opened his arms as if inviting the attack.
But the moment Child struck, Ruckus moved.
His body twisted with precision, narrowly avoiding the blade. He stepped inside the attack and drove his shoulder into Child, forcing him back. Despite losing his powers, his physical prowess remained terrifying.
Child attacked again and again, swinging wildly yet unpredictably, but Ruckus evaded each strike with calculated efficiency. He ducked, sidestepped, and deflected using only his raw strength and experience. Not a single clean hit landed.
At that moment, Wise stepped into the fight.
Unlike the others, Wise did not rush in. He moved carefully, observing Ruckus's movements, trying to corner him through positioning and timing. He attempted to create openings, to restrict Ruckus's options without directly engaging.
But Ruckus saw through it all.
Every feint. Every calculated step.
A grin spread across his face—dark, unsettling.
Even stripped of his greatest weapon, even pushed to the edge of death, Ruckus Stefani had not become weaker.
He had become something far more dangerous—a cornered beast with nothing left to lose.
Wise was the most ruthless among the sepoys.
He did not act on emotion, nor did he hesitate. He dealt only in facts, and the only fact that mattered at this moment was that Ruckus Stefani had to die.
Ruckus stood barely upright. His abdomen was torn open, his organs exposed, blood flowing endlessly down his legs and soaking into the roots of the forest floor. Every breath he took was heavier than the last, as if his body was collapsing from within. His Naritti was nearly exhausted, his techniques shattered, and yet—he refused to fall.
There was nothing left to rely on.
No blood constructs.
No refined power.
Only his hands—shaking, drenched in blood, but still capable of killing.
Every second was a step closer to death.
And yet, something inside him had changed.
His instincts had taken over completely. There was no longer any thought of survival—only the urge to destroy everything before he died.
Child cried out and rushed forward.
His face was wet with tears, but his grip on the hoe remained firm. Without hesitation, he drove the blade forward into Ruckus's exposed abdomen, forcing it deeper and widening the already horrific wound. Ruckus coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth as his body convulsed.
For a moment, he tried to hold his organs in place with his hand, but the bleeding was uncontrollable. It slowed him down. Made him vulnerable.
So he stopped.
He let himself remain open.
Then he moved.
Despite his condition, Ruckus dodged Child's next strike, then another, and another. His movements were sharp, precise, almost unnatural. Even at the edge of death, his combat instincts remained terrifyingly intact.
In one swift motion, he grabbed Child by the head and slammed it down onto his own shoulder. The impact was brutal, the sound of bone striking bone echoing through the forest. Child's body went limp for a brief second.
That was enough.
Ruckus snatched the hoe from his grip.
Child regained consciousness—
But too late.
Ruckus drove the blade straight into Child's abdomen, exactly where Child had stabbed him moments earlier.
The metal tore through flesh and muscle without resistance.
"This… is judgement!" Ruckus roared.
The battlefield fell silent.
Even the soldiers watching from a distance felt a chill run down their spines. The brutality of the act was overwhelming.
Child trembled. Unlike Ruckus, his body could not endure the pain. His legs gave out, and he collapsed, unable to move, unable to fight.
Pannival stood still, watching.
But inside him, something shifted.
His breathing grew heavier, and a faint tremor ran through his hand. With each sepoy that fell, it felt as if a part of his own strength was being torn away. Still, he did not interfere.
Ruckus pulled the hoe out of Child's body and shoved it through his jama, pinning him like an object. With what little strength remained, he hurled Child's body toward a massive banyan tree. The blade pierced deep into the trunk, leaving Child hanging there in front of everyone.
It was a display of cruelty.
A statement.
Child's cries were weak now, barely audible. Within moments, his body began to disintegrate, turning into ash that scattered into the air.
The third sepoy was gone.
Ruckus staggered back, barely able to stand. His vision blurred, his body failing him with every passing second. He had won that exchange—but it meant nothing. Death was inevitable now.
Wise stepped forward.
For the first time, he joined his hands and closed his eyes briefly, offering a silent prayer for his fallen brothers. When he opened them again, there was no anger in his gaze.
Only clarity.
Only purpose.
And a faint trace of pity.
In the next instant, he vanished.
The air shifted as Wise used flash step, appearing directly in front of Ruckus before he could react. Without hesitation, Wise drove his hand straight into Ruckus's exposed abdomen. His arm pierced through flesh, forcing its way inside, tearing through what remained of his organs.
He twisted his hand.
Ruckus screamed, blood pouring uncontrollably as Wise's arm passed through his body entirely, leaving a gaping hole.
Wise pulled his hand out.
But he was not done.
He grabbed Ruckus by the skull and slammed his face down onto the sharp, broken leaves and splintered wood beneath them. The impact split the skin on his face, blood spraying outward. Wise lifted his head and smashed it down again.
And again.
Each strike more brutal than the last.
Ruckus's face was soon unrecognizable, covered in cuts, bruises, and blood.
Wise did not stop until Ruckus finally cried out in pain.
Ruckus tried to fight back.
But his body refused to respond.
The poison had already spread.
Wise had prepared it during the fight, observing every movement, waiting for the perfect moment. When his hand entered Ruckus's body, he had injected the toxin directly into his bloodstream.
Now, it had taken effect.
Ruckus's muscles locked. His nerves failed him.
He was alive—but completely helpless.
Wise stood over him, silent and unmoving.
Then he looked toward Pannival.
Pannival's eyes were open now.
For the first time, they showed pain.
Not physical—but something deeper. With every sepoy lost, it felt as though fragments of his own soul were being stripped away. His energy had weakened, his presence no longer as overwhelming as before.
Still, he gave no command.
Only a slight nod.
Wise understood.
He turned back to Ruckus.
Grabbing his head with both hands, he tightened his grip and tried to tear it away from the body. The effort strained even him, but Ruckus's body, though broken, refused to give in so easily.
Ruckus let out a final, broken cry.
At that moment, Wise made his decision.
He did not continue pulling.
He ended it.
A controlled explosion erupted from within Wise's body. The energy was precise, focused entirely at point-blank range. It tore through Ruckus from the inside, obliterating every remaining organ, every nerve, every fragment of his existence.
The blast consumed Wise as well.
There was no hesitation in his sacrifice.
When the light faded, nothing remained of either of them.
Only scorched earth.
And silence.
Pannival slowly closed his eyes.
His body trembled.
For the first time in years, he felt weak.
All three sepoys were gone.
And with them, a part of him had died too.
[To be Continued in Chapter 51]