The bodies of the still-smoking demons littered the ground; the enemy army was nothing more than a carpet of ashes and debris. The silence following the storm was heavy, filled with the scent of iron and burning. In the midst of this scene of ruin, two figures rose — Velthar and Zykran, untouched, hatred boiling in their eyes.
Velthar spat on the ground, his voice like twisted metal:
> "Azrakel… Morvath… you were one of us. Why this betrayal?"
Zykran, colder still, stepped forward, each word a blow:
> "You have renounced your blood to kneel before a human. Explain yourselves."
Azrakel and Morvath remained motionless, a mixture of contrition and resolve on their faces. They did not move to defend Ryo — their place was by his side, but this duel was meant to be their master's alone.
Morvath answered in a measured voice, without malice:
> "We made a choice. Protecting Ashen was more just than enslaving it."
Velthar sneered, a sound that did nothing to hide his anger:
> "Weakness. A weakness that will be your downfall. I will kill your master for this."
Kaelen sensed the threat and transmitted it immediately to Ryo, sharp and clear: an image, words, urgency.
Ryo tightened his grip on the Orbe blade and, without raising his voice, sent a single concise thought:
> "Gabriel, be ready."
The response in his mind was immediate, simple, and certain:
> "Understood."
Velthar and Zykran exchanged a look — their defiance betrayed that they had underestimated something. Ryo did not respond with threats. He remained calm, the blade pointed but not raised, as if his immobile determination weighed more than a flood of words.
Morvath and Azrakel briefly nodded toward Ryo: no intervention, only silent support. They knew that the confrontation about to unfold belonged to the King.
Velthar exhaled, his features ravaged by rage:
> "Very well. If you choose mercy, we choose the end. Your master will fall."
He stepped forward, Zykran at his side, and both readied themselves — no longer as an army, but for a targeted duel. Behind them, Ashen's troops regrouped, redeployed under Tavric's orders, ready to contain any potential escape or reinforcement.
Ryo did not respond with a war cry. His mere presence was enough: the blade, the posture, the unwavering calm. The seconds stretched, each actor repositioning their pieces on the battlefield's chessboard. The threat remained alive; the war was only changing scale.
Then Velthar took a step forward, hatred burning in his eyes, and the personal confrontation began — silent, sharp, inevitable.