The battlefield was chaotic. Clang! Clang! — the sound of swords clashing with one another. Groaning sounds of the injured. A last painful scream of dying persons. Thud… Thud… Thud… dead bodies littering the ground. A thick stench of blood filled the air.
Smoke curled lazily above it, rising from the bodies of men who had once called themselves sword kings, fighters, and cultivators. Now, they were nothing but ash beneath the boots of Aiden Ferith, the War Hero of the Ashenvale Kingdom. He was a general to whom battle tactics were like child's play. To whom martial arts was a hobby but not a necessity. Who stood at the peak of the Martial Emperor realm, a realm above Martial Saint. Who doted on his loved ones. Who always bestowed kindness upon all.
Aiden Ferith — he stood alone, his crimson cloak torn and tattered, whipped in the wind, fluttering like the remnants of a fallen banner, his breathing shallow but steady. Blood dripped from his blade — a pitch-black claymore sword pulsed with quiet menace and power, hissing as they met the scorching earth.
The war was going on. It had been continuing for two whole months. But… finally… he was about to win. The general of the Nyvarian Empire, Richard Hendriction — known as the Sword King — dead, with a fist-sized hole in his chest. The king of the empire, known for his crafty politics and battle tactics, beheaded. The persons who thought they were at the peak of cultivation — the Martial Saint realm — disintegrated. All their pride grovelled under the gaze of mighty Aiden Ferith, the War Hero.
Yet why did he feel nothing?
Victory lay at his feet, but it brought him no peace, no joy. The roar of battle had started to fade, yet the silence screamed louder — echoing the names of those he could never hold again. Blood still dripped from his injuries and sword cuts, but the only wounds that truly mattered were the ones carved into his heart. His beloved were gone, taken by the very war he had won. And in that hollow triumph, he stood alone — haunted not by the thousands of enemies he had slain, but by the few he could not save.
The enemies started to flee. They had lost all their hopes. It was a huge victory after a long battle.
But suddenly —
A soft crunch of gravel behind him. He didn't turn. He already knew who it was.
"I see you've come," Aiden said coldly. Already expecting his arrival. But deep down he hoped his expected arrival was a lie —
The voice that answered him was soft, reverent, and full of poison.
"I had to, Master. You've grown too strong. Too dangerous."
Aiden finally turned.
Nolan Ashborn, his disciple. The boy he had raised from nothing. His eyes, once full of admiration, now held only ambition.
Aiden smiled sadly. "So it's you. Of course it's you."
The betrayal came not as a surprise — but as a confirmation of the truth he had long denied.
The sword pierced Aiden's back before he could move.
A clean strike. Straight through the heart. A great long sword, its tip emerging from the front with a gush of blood.
Aiden staggered, blood bubbling up in his throat.
"You were my brother," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow.
Nolan didn't flinch. "And you were a fool. You should have seen it coming."
Aiden coughed up blood, dropping to his knees, barely balancing his body with the sword as a crutch to keep himself from collapsing.
"Why? Why you of all people?" asked Aiden with a plain voice, sharp as steel, expressing his regrets, frustration, and sadness.
He was devastated. After losing all his beloved ones, his own disciple — his sworn brother — had betrayed him. His world was destroyed. Though he was clinging to life, he felt already dead inside.
"I was tired," Nolan said, his voice cold now, but trembling at the edges. "Tired of living in your shadow. Tired of being 'Aiden's disciple.' You saved kingdoms, won wars, became a legend. And me? I was always second. You call me your brother. But I never felt like I was more than a shadow of yours."
Aiden's lips curved into a bitter smile. "You think I ever cared about that?" He looked up at him, pain and sadness filling his eyes. "You were my brother… my family. I would've given you everything I had."
"That's the problem," Nolan said, his expression hardening. "You had everything to give. And I had nothing to claim… unless I took it."
Aiden's body trembled, but he forced himself to stand. Blood ran down his chest, staining his torn cloak. "If power is all you wanted, you've already lost."
"Spare me your dying wisdom," Nolan muttered.
"No," Aiden said, his voice suddenly strong, even as his body weakened. "You need to hear this."
He stepped forward, every inch of him shaking, but his eyes burned with a final fire. "You betrayed not just your master — but your brother. The one who trusted you, loved you, believed in you when no one else did."
Nolan faltered.
"I don't hate you, Nolan," Aiden whispered. I can only blame my self.
With that, his strength gave out. Aiden collapsed to his knees, then fell to his side, eyes dimming — but still locked onto Nolan. Not with anger. But sorrow.
Nolan stared at him, unmoving, as the blood pooled and the silence grew heavy.
For the first time in his life, Nolan felt the weight of victory —
Darkness claimed Aiden, his conscience dripping with each passing moment. He regretted everything. "I wish I had a second chance. A chance to right my wrongs. A chance to nip the seed of betrayal in the bud," he thought to himself. But it was already too late now.
Just as the cold grasp of death closed around him, the sky split open —
—and a strange voice whispered in the void:
"A soul unyielding… shall not perish."
Complete darkness swallowing him, yet far ahead, a faint glimmer of light pierced the void. Like a candle at the end of a tunnel. His body moved relentlessly toward it, every step fueled by a desperate hope to escape the abyss.
To be continued _________________