Blood flowed through the courtyard, its metallic stench thick in the air.
What had once been a majestic mansion now looked like a battlefield from the underworld. The noble murals were splattered with red. Silverware lay overturned, stained and broken. Bodies covered the ground in every direction—armored warriors among them, but also the old, the weak, and even children.
This had not been a battle.
It had been a massacre.
And on the rooftop, the fighting was not yet over.
Four figures stood at the four corners of the roof, forming a tight encirclement around a single man in the center. It was a coordinated siege.
Beyond the mansion walls, soldiers in heavy armor surrounded the estate in tight formation. Thousands of archers had drawn their bows, arrows aimed upward. There would be no escape through the air.
The man at the center—Vincent Carles—had fair skin and sharp, handsome features. Under normal circumstances, he would have been considered striking. Now his face was streaked with blood, his armor shattered, his breathing heavy from prolonged combat.
"Vincent, surrender!" shouted the burly warrior in the southwest corner. "You have no path left! Your family is dead!"
Vincent's voice was cold and steady.
"I, Vincent Carles, do not surrender. If you want my life, take it yourselves."
"Tsk. A real man," sneered the tall warrior in the northeast. "Unfortunately, that changes nothing."
"You slaughtered my entire household," Vincent said with a bitter smile. "And you speak of offense? Stop talking. Come at me—all of you."
Before the words had fully faded, the short man in the northwest vanished.
In the next instant, he appeared behind Vincent, dagger stabbing toward his heart.
Vincent did not turn.
His longsword swept backward in a flash of silver light. The force of the strike cut across the assassin's waist, forcing him to leap away. Vincent pressed forward immediately, delivering three rapid strikes that drove the smaller man into retreat.
A whistling sound split the air.
A heavy machete came crashing down toward Vincent's head, ice-cold killing intent wrapped around the blade. The tall warrior from the northeast had joined the attack.
Facing two masters at once, Vincent did not falter. Silver fighting spirit surged along his blade, dazzling and sharp. His sword became a blur of white light, forcing both enemies to give ground.
Seeing an opening, Vincent attempted to break through—
—but the burly warrior blocked him, roaring as a massive axe cleaved downward.
Vincent twisted aside just in time.
The two attackers behind him seized the opportunity, striking at his back.
Before Vincent could fully regain his footing, lightning tore through the air.
The magician in the southeast had finally moved.
Vincent felt a weight settle in his heart.
Each of these four was a master in their own right. Under normal circumstances, he could defeat any one of them.
But he had already fought through an entire army. His strength was nearly spent. Surrounded by four elites and thousands more outside—
There was no hope.
The fierce battle raged on.
Not far away, on a hillside overlooking the mansion, a line of luxurious carriages stood in the moonlight. A crowd gathered around a tall, thin man in a purple robe as they watched the battle from afar.
He appeared to be in his early thirties. His face was sharp and severe, his eyes like those of a hawk.
After observing for a while, he smiled faintly.
"Vincent Carles truly deserves his title as one of the continent's Level 16 Legendary warriors. Even at the end of his strength, he still fights like this. His reputation is well-earned."
As if sensing something, Vincent suddenly erupted with silver energy, forcing the four attackers back.
He turned toward the hillside and roared:
"Jack Fried! I know you're there! You murdered your father and brother, seized the throne, and now you slaughter my loyal servants and wipe out my family! Do you dare fight me one-on-one?!"
Beside the man in purple, a one-eyed old man's face darkened.
"Your Majesty, allow me to silence him forever."
"No need," said Jack Fried calmly. "The victor is king, the defeated is nothing. Let him bark. It is the cry of a dying dog."
"But—"
Jack smiled faintly.
"Still… it would be unseemly for Vincent Carles to die like this, besieged. And besides—"
He flexed his fingers.
"My hands are itching."
Before anyone could react, his body dissolved into streaks of violet light and shot into the sky.
In an instant, he appeared above Vincent and stood suspended in midair.
"All of you, withdraw," Jack said calmly. "Vincent, you wanted a duel. I'll grant it."
Vincent said nothing. His eyes burned red. With a roar, he forced every last drop of fighting spirit from his body, silver light blazing toward Jack.
"Oh?" Jack sneered. "Planning to die together? Let's see if you can manage it."
Boom.
Silver and violet energy collided in midair with a thunderous explosion. Heat waves blasted outward, forcing even the four masters to stagger back.
Vincent's body flew backward like a broken kite. He crashed heavily to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. The silver light around him faded. His armor was scorched black in several places.
Jack descended slowly before him. Parts of his purple robe were singed, but he was otherwise unharmed.
"You… reached… Level 17… Sanctuary…" Vincent rasped.
"Yes," Jack replied coldly. "Do you have any last words?"
Vincent's throat gurgled weakly.
Then, with great effort, he whispered a single name.
"Rezard…"
His head fell still.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
"Rezard Carles. The so-called magical prodigy?" He smiled faintly. "I've heard of him. You placed your hopes on that boy. A pity he won't outlive you."
"My lord," said the one-eyed old man, landing behind Jack. "Rezard is his seventh son. He is currently studying at the Flönsberg School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Vincent's illegitimate daughter is there as well. All arrangements have been made."
"Then carry them out," Jack said without turning around. "Anyone who stands in my way must disappear. In ten days, there will be no one left in this world bearing the surname Carles."
"As you command," the one-eyed old man said, bowing deeply. "Your Excellency."
Jack turned slowly, smiling.
"And what did you just call me?"
The old man immediately fell to his knees, trembling.
"Forgive me… Your Majesty."