"Is this why you pushed for this duel?" Raiking demanded, his breath visible in the icy air.
"Didn't I tell you to stop underestimating me?" Dia'Tia shot back, her eyes ablaze with a fierce determination. "Are you the only one allowed to fight with hidden motives? Why can't my reason be to find someone strong enough to stand beside me?"
Raiking held her gaze, their earlier conversation about the isolating nature of strength replaying in his mind. She hadn't been speaking hypothetically. Her table had been a fortress of empty bottles, yet she sat in solitude.
She was surrounded by soldiers who revered her as their Vanguard Commander, but their respect was shallow. Did anyone in this kingdom truly know Dia'Tia?
I misjudged Arshara when we first met, Raiking thought. Now, I am repeating that same arrogant mistake.
"You're right," Raiking admitted, his voice cutting through the wind. "Everyone fights for a reason. As for yours... if Arshara were still alive, perhaps she would have seen this as a blessing." His warmth vanished, replaced by a chilling resolve. "But she's gone. Those responsible for her death must pay. That is all that matters."
"I can stand with you in this fight."
"Even if it means opposing your own clan?"
"I..." she hesitated, her loyalty to her people clashing with her own desires.
"Don't worry about my war," Raiking said. "Our paths were set long before tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
Without another word, Raiking disappeared into the moonlit night, leaving the giantess alone in the cratered street, the wind howling in the silence he left behind.
Far in the depths of the shadowy eastern forest, Raiking emerged from the mist. Arshka stood waiting, his usual stoic expression now shadowed by concern.
"Demon King... your hand..."
"Don't fret," Raiking responded, tightening his grip. His palm was a mess, torn and bleeding from catching the invisible Godsword, the blood trickling down to stain the fallen leaves. "Nothing will stand in my way of vengeance."
"May I push the bounds a bit?" Arshka asked quietly, his curiosity piqued. "Why did you spare the giantess?"
"My sword is for those lost to Evil," Raiking responded calmly. With that, he moved past the barbarian, disappearing into the shadowy depths of the forest. He was on a mission to claim another soul before the break of dawn.
---
[14 Hours Later]
The pale morning light crept over the horizon. Normally, Dia'Tia would be found amidst the clamor of the vanguard barracks at dawn. But yesterday had turned her world upside down. She craved silence to process it all, something the bustling military camp couldn't offer.
She had retreated to a quiet inn near the northern border, pondering Raiking's enigmatic warning. Despite hours of meditation, its true meaning remained elusive.
She hoped destiny would allow their paths to cross once more.
His power is unmatched, she thought while walking along the icy road. His foes will surely fall. Perhaps once his quest for vengeance is over, I can reach the man beneath the rage.
As she reached the grand gates of the encampment, her lieutenant awaited her, panic etched on her face. "Commander! Where have you been?!" Elinea shouted, her armor clinking as she hurried forward. "We've been searching everywhere since news of your duel spread through the camp!"
"What has everyone so on edge?" Dia'Tia asked, maintaining her composure. "Don't I always return around this hour after a night of drinking?"
"Under usual circumstances, yes!" Elinea replied, eyes wide with fear. "But something unprecedented has happened."
"Unprecedented?"
"The four generals... they've been massacred."
"Massacred?!"
The encampment buzzed with a suffocating tension, a sinister cloud hanging over the soldiers as Dia'Tia moved through them. The grim truth of the generals' mysterious disappearance was etched on every weary face. The army's spirit felt crushed, their drills sluggish under the oppressive weight of uncertainty.
"No bodies at all?" Dia'Tia demanded, her voice a mix of disbelief and urgency.
"None," Elinea replied, shaking her head. "If one general was missing, we might suspect capture or a delay. But all four? Such coincidences don't happen in war."
These missing commanders were no mere strategists. While they didn't match Dia'Tia's unparalleled strength, they had ascended to the Immortal Stage, the pinnacle of martial prowess. Constantly shielded by elite guards, they were as formidable as any adversary.
Only the barbarian warlords rivaled their might. However, the alliance's network of spies within enemy lines ensured that any incursion of such magnitude would be immediately detected. Ordinarily, a feat like this would be attributed to the continent's most lethal assassination clans. But who possessed the audacity and skill to eliminate four Immortals in a single night?
A chilling vision flashed in Dia'Tia's mind: a man with lifeless eyes, wielding a sword that could slice through destiny itself.
Impossible, she thought, trying to dismiss the notion. Yet, he had traveled with an Immortal Stage barbarian and vowed a blood-soaked revenge that seemed unstoppable. If the alliance was his true target, their confrontation wasn't happenstance but a deliberate clash. If he was indeed the ghostly assassin, then why had he spared her?
Unfounded theories couldn't win a war; she needed cold, hard facts.
"Elinea, gather every historical record we have on Raiking."
"The Betrayer?" Elinea gasped, eyes wide. "Why dig into his past now? Unless... could the rumors in the tavern be true? Was he your adversary?"
"I'm not certain if the man I battled is the same one who dismantled our command," Dia'Tia replied, determination etched into her features. "That's precisely what I aim to uncover."
"I stand ready to help, Commander."
With a shared sense of urgency, they split up. Dia'Tia strode decisively toward her private command tent in the northeast, while Elinea rushed west to the restricted academic archives.
---
[Location - Barbarian Outpost]
In the heart of the fierce and untamed Northern Region, the relentless blizzards roared like the fury of forgotten gods. Here, the proud chieftains of the barbarian tribes, once fierce and unconquerable, found themselves brought to their knees. They now bowed before a solitary figure who had risen from obscurity to claim the title of King. His dominion was not granted by lineage or tradition, but forged through sheer might and the undeniable strength he commanded.