The shamans came into view at last—dozens of them, standing on a ridge half-buried in smoke and firelight. Their skin was painted in streaks of ash and blood, their eyes wide and feverish from mana strain. Each one raised a staff carved from blackened bone, chanting in a rhythm that made the ground tremble.

Flames gathered above them—slow at first, then growing, twisting, fusing together into orbs the size of wagons. The heat washed over the field like a wave, making armor hiss and air waver.

Arslan gritted his teeth. “Brace—!”

But the shamans didn’t give him time.

The fireballs screamed through the haze, dozens of them, trailing smoke and molten sparks as they tore across the sky. The world turned red.

Ludger moved before thought caught up. He slammed both palms against the dirt, mana bursting through his arms in a surge that cracked the ground.

The earth answered instantly. Shards of rock erupted upward, dozens at once—razor-edged bullets of solid stone that ripped through the air to meet the descending flames.

The first fireball met the barrage head-on. The explosion was deafening.

A shockwave blasted through the field, heat colliding with dust and mana like thunder trapped in a jar. The sky flared orange and white, the fireball shattering midair into raining embers.

Then came the next one. And the next. And the next.

Ludger’s arms shook from the recoil, veins glowing faintly gold with mana strain as he kept firing. Dozens of stone projectiles rose from the dirt, hammering into the falling infernos before they could reach the front line. Each impact lit the smoke with another blinding flash.

He couldn’t stop them all—there were too many. One fireball slipped through, detonating on the far flank and sending soldiers sprawling, shields melting from the heat. Another burst close enough to sear his cheek.

But the center held.

The path where his father and Viola fought stayed clear. Arslan cut down any barbarian who dared to close the distance, his blade blazing with mana. Viola followed his rhythm, swinging her sword to deflect the fire’s shockwaves as if batting away cannon blasts.

Ludger gritted his teeth, sweat running down his neck, the air thick with ash. His mana was burning fast, but he refused to stop.

Every fireball he shattered midair bought them another heartbeat. Another step forward. Another soldier alive.

The ridge ahead still blazed with ritual light. The shamans screamed louder, desperate now, forcing more mana into their staves until sparks crawled up their arms.

Ludger raised his head, eyes narrowing through the smoke. “You want to burn everything?” he growled. “Fine.”

He pressed his hand to the ground one more time. The earth around him cracked open, glowing faintly from the heat, and the next volley of stone bullets formed like a storm waiting to break.

Let’s see who runs out first.

The air blazed red again. A new chorus of guttural chants rose from the ridge—the shamans calling for a second storm of fire.

The horizon flashed. Hundreds of fireballs surged into the sky all at once, their trails splitting the clouds like fiery veins.

“Brace!” Arslan shouted, his voice raw.

Before the flames could fall, another presence moved forward onto the field like a shockwave of calm amid the chaos.

A swirl of pale blue mana burst upward, expanding in a shimmering dome that wrapped part of the frontline in translucent light.

“About time I did something, huh?”

Ludger glanced to the side just in time to see Cor—the old sage—standing while holding one of his spellbooks. His eyes burned with focus, the faint magic glow along his arms pulsing with every heartbeat.

“Mana Walls—deploy.”

A chain of luminous barriers erupted across the line, one after another, each one thick with reinforced sigils. The first volley of fireballs slammed into them—and for a moment, the sky stopped.

BOOM.

The world became fire and glass and sound. Flames shattered harmlessly against the magical walls, scattering in golden fragments. The soldiers behind them stared wide-eyed, their faces illuminated by the glow.

Cor didn’t look up. His hands moved in tight circles, maintaining the flow. Sweat streaked down his temple, his breathing sharp and uneven. Each impact made the barriers flicker, cracks spidering out like fractured crystals.

“Come on,” he hissed through his teeth. “Hold, damn you.”

The next wave hit harder. The explosions grew closer together, pressure vibrating through the ground. The barriers splintered under the heat, their edges flaring white before collapsing into raw mana mist.

Cor fell to one knee, gasping, but the soldiers behind him were still standing. He’d bought them precious seconds.

“Cor!” Arslan shouted, his voice cutting through the thunder.

“I’m fine!” the old sage barked back, though blood trailed from his nose. “Just end them already!”

That was all Ludger needed to hear. He pressed both palms to the scorched earth, channeling everything he had left. The ground answered like it recognized him—sand, dust, and stones surging upward in response to his will.

The soil around the shamans began to rise, forming a massive ring of fine golden dust.

“What is that?” Viola called, shielding her face from the sudden gust.

Ludger’s expression hardened. “A tomb.”

The ring of sand twisted faster, pulling itself into a towering vortex that surrounded the enemy formation. Within seconds, the shamans were trapped inside a spiraling curtain of earth, their view of the battlefield gone.

The storm roared, sand slicing through the air like razors. The sound of their chants turned into screams as the rotating current dragged them off their feet, their own fireballs detonating uselessly within the storm’s heart.

Ludger gritted his teeth, veins in his arms glowing as he maintained the rotation. “Let’s see you cast now.”

The sandstorm tightened, the spinning mass compressing with every turn, sealing the shamans inside their own inferno.

From the field below, Cor leaned heavily on his staff, squinting through the fading haze. “Heh. Didn’t think you had that kind of control yet.”

Ludger didn’t answer—he couldn’t. His entire focus was locked on the vortex, on keeping it spinning, on crushing the last threat that kept the battlefield bleeding.

And as the screaming inside the sand curtain finally faded into silence, the earth grew still again.

The wind from Ludger’s sandstorm began to fade, the last grains settling into a mound of still, smoking dust. Inside, the shamans had gone silent—no chanting, no mana flow, nothing. Just the faint hiss of residual heat dying in the dirt.

The soldiers began to cheer.

“Shamans are down!” someone shouted. “We’ve got them on the run!”

Arslan raised his sword high, pointing toward the ridge. “Forward! Finish it!”

The Lionsguard (temporary members) roared and surged ahead, their boots pounding across the scorched earth. Viola led the vanguard, her blade cutting through what remained of the barbarian flank. Every swing cracked the enemies and sent bodies flying; she was unstoppable, a storm in human form. Ludger had heard that she had been studying more than anything, but it was clear that she had done some secret training as well.

Ludger followed a few steps behind, his eyes narrowing through the thinning smoke. His pulse was still thrumming with residual mana. That’s it, he thought. Once we break through here, it’s over.

But then he felt it.

A shift in the ground—deep, heavy..

The kind of vibration that didn’t come from scattered soldiers or stray beasts. It was the tremor of hundreds moving in unison.

Ludger’s head snapped up. The air had changed. The faint tension of mana and bloodlust thickened into something heavier, darker.

“Stop,” he said, voice low at first. Then louder. “Wait—!”

It was too late.

From beyond the ridge, the smoke rippled—and then split apart as a new mass of warriors emerged.

Another army.

Hundreds strong, maybe more, all clad in scavenged armor and furs, their eyes wild with fury but their steps measured. These weren’t the frenzied berserkers from before. Their charge was deliberate. Controlled.

And leading them was a giant, around two and half meters tall.

He stepped into view slowly, each stride sinking inches into the dirt. His presence alone made the air around him feel heavier, like gravity had decided to take sides. An iron club rested across his shoulder—thick as a man’s torso, spiked at one end, the metal darkened with age and blood.

His muscles were scarred and knotted, his long hair tied back with strips of leather. But it was his eyes that caught Ludger’s attention—cold, sharp, and very aware.

Unlike the others, this one wasn’t a beast lost to rage. He was a predator who knew what he was doing.

The barbarian commander stopped at the front of his force and raised his club. The air around him shivered with mana—not refined like a mage’s, but raw and crushing, like the world itself didn’t want to stand too close.

Ludger’s breath caught in his chest. He didn’t need anyone to tell him who it was.

So that’s Kharnek.

The warlord’s aura rolled across the field like a wave, suffocating, primal, commanding. Even the smoke seemed to recoil from him.

The soldiers in the front line hesitated. Viola gripped her sword tighter, and Arslan’s stance shifted subtly, readying for what was coming.

Ludger could feel his heartbeat syncing with the vibrations in the ground, each one heavier than the last.

Kharnek pointed his iron club toward the fortress, his voice booming across the plains.

“Imperials!” he roared, his words thick with accent but clear enough. “You’ve killed my kin! Burned my shamans!” He slammed the club into the dirt, and the shockwave rippled outward like thunder. “Now you’ll learn what a real fight feels like!”

Ludger exhaled slowly, his smirk gone, replaced by a calm, sharp focus.

“Guess the boss finally decided to show up,” he muttered.

Arslan shifted his sword to a two-handed grip, eyes locked on the towering warrior. “Stay close, Ludger. This one’s not dying easy.”

Ludger’s hand brushed against the ground again, feeling the pulse of Kharnek’s fury through the soil — heavy, dense, unrelenting.

“No,” he said quietly. “But he’ll bleed like everyone else.”

And as Kharnek lifted his iron club high and the earth itself seemed to tense in anticipation, the next stage of the battle began.

The moment Kharnek’s army began to spread out, Ludger knew what he had to do.

If they wanted to break this siege before the fortress burned, someone had to take down the warlord — and fast.

He stepped forward, mana already coiling around his arms like heat waves. The vibrations through the earth told him everything he needed to know: Kharnek wasn’t just strong, a walking mountain of muscle and power that made the ground pulse with every step.

Perfect.

Ludger smirked faintly. “I’ll handle him.”

Arslan turned sharply, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “The hell you will.”

Ludger didn’t stop walking. “He’s the head of their force. Once he falls, the rest—”

Arslan’s hand shot out, gripping Ludger’s shoulder and yanking him back with a strength that surprised even him. The older man’s tone dropped low, hard, but not angry—just final.

“You’re not fighting him first.”

Ludger frowned. “This isn’t the time to—”

“It’s exactly the time.” Arslan’s eyes locked on his, calm but fierce. “If I go back home and tell your mother I let you charge that monster before me, she’ll skin me alive, then bring me back just to yell at me again.”

Ludger blinked once, that joke was supposed to be too old already, caught between exasperation and disbelief. “Are you seriously worrying about that right now?”

Arslan gave a dry, humorless grin. “I don’t plan to die twice. So I’m going first.”

He turned toward Kharnek, rolling his shoulders, sword gleaming in the haze of firelight. There was no hesitation in his stance — just the kind of certainty that came from a man who’d already decided what dying for something looked like.

Ludger stared at his back for a long second. Part of him wanted to argue — he should argue — but something in that tone stopped him.

Arslan’s voice came again, quieter this time. “I wasn’t a good father, Ludger. Never pretended to be. But I can do this much. That’s enough for me.”

Ludger said nothing for a moment even though that was one hell of a death flag.. His jaw clenched, his eyes tracing the faint scars on his father’s armor. Not a good father? he thought. There’s no such thing. Just people trying not to fail the ones they care about.

He wasn’t much better as a son anyway. Cold, distant, pragmatic to the bone — the kind of kid who didn’t give comfort easily, even when he understood why people needed it. But right now, he understood what this was.

It wasn’t about pride. Not really. It was about purpose — about his father wanting to stand for something before the end.

Ludger exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Then don’t hold back.”

Arslan chuckled, low and steady. “You think I ever do?”

The older man lifted his blade, stepping forward through the fading smoke toward the towering figure of Kharnek.

Ludger stayed behind, watching him go — his hand still pressed lightly to the earth, every vibration feeding back to him like a heartbeat.

You’ve earned this one, he thought. So show him what a Lion really looks like.

And as Arslan’s silhouette advanced toward the barbarian warlord, the battlefield fell into that breathless silence right before the next explosion of violence.

Arslan took a slow step forward, the heat of the battlefield radiating off his armor. The clamor of steel and dying screams still echoed faintly around them, but in the space between him and Kharnek, everything felt quiet.

He lifted his sword high, the blade gleaming orange in the burning air. Then he slammed the tip into the ground with a sharp clang, his voice rising above the chaos.

“Kharnek!”

The barbarian warlord turned, his iron club resting casually on his shoulder. His massive frame cast a shadow through the smoke, but his gaze was steady, focused.

Arslan pointed the blade straight at him. “No more blood needs to be spilled today! You want to fight for your people? Then prove it. One of us bleeds — not all of them.”

A low murmur spread through both sides of the field. Even the barbarians behind Kharnek hesitated, the weight of those words cutting through their frenzy.

Arslan’s voice stayed firm, his tone that of a soldier, not a diplomat. “If I lose, my side withdraws. We’ll leave this town behind, no siege, no retreating ambushes. You’ll have it.” He shifted his grip on his sword, eyes never leaving Kharnek’s. “But if I win—you will listen to our terms..”

Kharnek stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then a deep, rumbling laugh rolled from his chest. “Bold words from a man I’ve never heard of,” he said, his voice carrying like thunder. “You’re no lord. You’re no general. Just a mercenary.”

He took a step forward, and the ground quivered. “Why would I stain my weapon with the blood of someone without authority?”

Before Arslan could respond, another voice cut through the smoke — sharp, confident, unmistakable.

“Because I’m giving him that authority.”