The clash grew fiercer when Skarn and Vakk unleashed the boar cavalry. Massive tusked beasts thundered through, armored riders crushing everything in their path.

Shields shattered like glass, soldiers were impaled on tusks, or thrown screaming under hooves. Their charge was an unstoppable wall of iron and fury, leaving only mangled corpses in their wake.

And then, terror itself walked the battlefield when Shade crashed into the ranks. His legs sliced like spears, his abdomen spewed thick webs that tangled and trapped, while poison smoke billowed out, choking enemies who tried to fight back. Despite his huge body, he moved unnaturally fast, scuttling through soldiers and crushing them beneath his weight.

In the shadows, Skitz became a phantom. His movements blurred, each step leaving another Sengolio soldier collapsing, their throats cut before they even realized he was there.

At the center of it all was Lumberling. Sparks danced across his body, lightning weaving along his armor and spear. He charged like a storm, his weapon piercing everything before him.

Soldiers tried to block, but none could stand, each thrust tore through steel, flesh, and bone alike. Every step he took left bodies fallen, the battlefield itself bending under his wrath.

The hunters had become the storm.

Liraeth's soldiers could hardly believe what they were seeing. The line they thought was about to collapse had suddenly found relief, not because the enemy slowed, but because Lumberling and his warband had torn straight into the enemy's gut.

"What's happening? Why did the attacks stop?" one soldier stammered, barely keeping his shield steady as he peered through the gaps.

"They're… attacking? But weren't we told to just endure and wait for Lucian's group?" another bellowed, voice cracking as he swallowed down disbelief.

The shield wall wavered, but instead of dread, relief began to seep through the ranks. The pressure that had nearly crushed them eased as Sengolio bodies piled up before their eyes, hacked apart by wolves, lizards, and monstrous beasts charging alongside that lightning-wreathed knight.

Gordon barked out, regaining his men's focus. "Quit staring and hold the damn line! If they're tearing the front, then we make sure nothing gets through here!"

A nervous chuckle escaped one soldier. "Hah… lucky we're on the same side. If they were against us, we'd already be corpses."

Liraeth herself was silent for a long moment, her eyes following the storm that was Lumberling and his captains. Her soldiers glanced at her, waiting for her command, but she only whispered under her breath.

"They… truly are strong."

…..

On the battlefield, the storm raged.

Lumberling's spear thrummed in his grip as he carved a path forward, sparks dancing along the shaft. The rhythm of battle consumed him, strike, pierce, advance, until a sudden whistle split the chaos.

An iron ball tore through the air. He twisted aside on instinct, boots grinding against blood-soaked earth as it screamed past him. The momentum of his charge slowed, then stilled.

Across the churned line of bodies, a new figure emerged. A tall man in black armor, hair tied back, rode steadily into view. His very presence pressed down like a weight of iron, chilling the air before Lumberling even glimpsed the crest.

The General.

Lafuente's horse snorted as he advanced, and the battlefield seemed to hush. Men moved aside without realizing, parting for him as if compelled.

He dismounted in one fluid motion, boots striking the earth with a heavy thud. His eyes locked onto Lumberling's, cold and unyielding, as if the battlefield itself no longer mattered.

"You." His voice cut through the noise. "Was it you who killed Anderson? And where is that assassin of yours?"

Lumberling met his gaze without flinching. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"I did kill Anderson," he answered calmly. "As for the assassin… I've no idea where he's gone."

The air thickened as Lafuente's aura surged. It wasn't just power, it was domination. The kind of presence that bent spines, crushed morale, and left even loyal soldiers trembling.

Lumberling's chest tightened as he measured it. Knight Three Stage. The realization struck hard. He wouldn't be able to match this man.

Still, he stood his ground, spear steady in his hand.

"Then you die for it," Lafuente growled, and his hand went to his sword.

But before the steel left its sheath, a chorus of desperate shouts tore through the air.

The cries were desperate, panicked rolling across the battlefield like a wave.

Lafuente's head snapped toward the sound, eyes narrowing as his men stumbled, confusion breaking their rhythm.

And then he saw it. From the flank, an entire force of three thousand soldiers thundering in from the flank, their banners snapping in the wind as they crashed into his unprepared men. Steel clashed, screams rang, and his formation began to buckle.

'Impossible… how?' His thoughts reeled. He hadn't felt a single presence, not even a ripple of warning, until they were already upon him.

Lumberling's grin flashed sharp in the chaos, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"I'm sorry, General," he said lightly. "I'm not your opponent today. Adios."

And in the blink of an eye, Lumberling slipped back into the chaos, vanishing like smoke.

"Coward!" Lafuente's roar thundered across the field, rage cutting through the din of war. He lunged forward to give chase, but then he froze.

A chill crawled down his spine, instincts screaming. Something was behind him.

Clang!

His sword shot up just in time, sparks bursting as steel crashed against steel. The impact rattled through his arm, forcing his boots to dig into the churned earth. He snarled, twisting against the pressure, and snapped his gaze over his shoulder.

"Is it you? The assassin?" Lafuente barked.

But the figure before him wasn't cloaked in shadow. A young man stood tall, golden hair catching the sunlight, his eyes calm yet burning with intent.

"No assassin," the youth replied, lips curving into a confident smile. "I'm here to take your head. Nice to meet you, General."

Lafuente's face darkened, but before a word could leave his lips, the young man moved.

Steel flashed. Their swords clashed again, the blow surging like a hammer strike. This time, the shock drove Lafuente a half-step back, boots grinding against the blood-soaked dirt. His arms shook from the sheer force.

'Fast… too fast.'

The young man's blade weaved through the air like lightning, precise and merciless, giving no room to breathe. Every swing pressed harder, as if he had stepped into the fight already knowing how Lafuente would move.

"Knight… Stage Three?" Lafuente growled, his eyes narrowing.

The young man answered with another strike, blade cutting in an arc too quick to follow. "Lucian Arden," he said, his voice steady amid the clash of steel. "Remember the name. It'll be the last you ever hear."

Lafuente's eyes widened, the weight of recognition sinking in. 'The Arden heir… here?!'

But thought gave him no time.

Steel rang out again and again, sparks scattering like fireflies as the two locked blades. Though both bore the power of Knight Three, the difference was stark. Lucian pressed forward like a storm, each swing faster, heavier, sharper than the last.

His rhythm only grew, while Lafuente's stance cracked under the relentless assault.

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