The battlefield was suffocating.
Smoke drifted through the air in long, ghostly strands as the once-proud Zaiton banners lay torn in the dirt. Arron Zaiton stood amidst the chaos, gripping his spear so tightly his knuckles looked carved from bone. His men—loyal guards who had followed him through a dozen lesser conflicts—were exhausted, bloodied, and breaking.
Not from cowardice.Not from lack of discipline.
But from despair.
Across the field, the enemy forces advanced in a single, crushing formation. The Grey Family, bolstered by three other great clans, had seized the opportunity to strike at the Zaitons during their weakest moment. Their alliance was brutal, efficient, and merciless.
Their combined army was more than double Arron's.
And they knew it.
The ground trembled under thousands of synchronized steps as the coalition tightened its encirclement, pushing the Zaitons back with every clash of steel. A cacophony of war cries echoed across the plains, but even those sounded muted to Arron's ears. He could see his men dying—one, then five, then ten.
They were losing.
And not slowly.
The Weight on Arron Zaiton
Arron slashed his spear through the chest of an enemy commander, spinning the weapon as he shifted into a defensive stance. Another attack came immediately. Then another. He handled each with skill honed through decades of battle, but the pressure never let up for even a breath. Sweat mixed with the blood running down his arm.
His lungs burned.His legs trembled.His heart pounded with the relentless pace of a man forced past his limits.
"This is bad," Arron muttered under his breath.
His gaze flicked across the battlefield. His guards were fighting valiantly, but the truth was unavoidable:
They were being slaughtered twice as fast as the enemy.
Gaps were forming in their lines. Men were looking over their shoulders instead of forward. Their morale—the thin thread holding them together—was fraying rapidly.
One guard stumbled back toward Arron. "Patriarch! Our left flank—"
A blade pierced the man's throat before he could finish. Arron killed the attacker in a single, furious strike, but the damage was done.
His soldiers had seen it.More fear.More despair.
And layered beneath all of it, something else weighed heavily on Arron's mind:
Kaizen.
His son had vanished into the Forest of the Abyss hours ago—an ancient, unpredictable place where even seasoned cultivators feared to tread. As much as Arron tried to push that fear aside to focus on the battle, the thought gnawed at him endlessly.
Where was Kaizen?Was he alive?Or had the forest claimed him too?
He wanted—needed—to look for him. But he couldn't leave. As patriarch, as commander, he couldn't abandon the battlefield.
Yet the longer the fight dragged on, the harder that logic was to hold onto.
The Enemy Seizes Their Chance
Across the field, the coalition's leaders watched Arron's faltering forces with predatory smiles.
"Look at them crumble," one elder from the Grey Family said. "Their morale is in shambles."
"They won't last long. Zaiton strength was always exaggerated."
"And now the patriarch is too distracted to fight at full strength. Perfect."
It was the moment they had been waiting for.
"Advance!" their commander roared.
A fresh wave of soldiers surged forward. Blades flashed, arrows rained, and coordinated qi attacks lit the air with bursts of lethal energy.
The Zaitons fell back step by step, unable to hold their ground. The sound of metal clashing and men screaming blended into a single, overwhelming roar.
Arron's heart tightened as he watched the Grey Family warriors carve through his front line.
"Damn it," he growled.
He forced his weary body forward, cutting down attackers with sweeping strikes meant more to intimidate than kill.
It wasn't working.
The enemy had numbers. Strength. Confidence.
Arron had barely half of that—and even what he had was draining fast.
The Collapse Begins
A Zaiton shield-bearer fell to his knees beside Arron, gasping for breath.
"Patriarch… we can't… hold…"
"Stand!" Arron roared, but even as he shouted it, he knew the truth:
They couldn't.
Another wave of qi blasts tore across the battlefield, exploding against the Zaitons' defensive line. Shields shattered. Bodies flew. One explosion landed close enough to send Arron reeling backward, sliding through the dirt.
He rose with a snarl, but the attack had shaken him. His blood burned, and he tasted iron.
The opposing soldiers saw it.
"Patriarch Zaiton is faltering!"
"Press forward!"
"For the Grey Family!"
The momentum shifted sharply. Zaiton forces split under pressure. Small pockets of soldiers struggled to retreat, only to be hunted down with merciless precision.
Arron looked around, breathing heavily. This wasn't just a loss.
This was annihilation.
And if the coalition continued at this pace, the Zaitons wouldn't survive long enough for reinforcements—or miracles.
Arron's Last Stand
He made a decision.
It didn't matter if he was tired.It didn't matter if the odds were against him.He had to hold the line.Even if it killed him.
He stepped forward and unleashed everything he had left.
His spear danced like a serpent of lightning.Enemies dropped.Three at once.Four more.A dozen.
The guards behind him found a sliver of hope and rallied, screaming his name as they surged forward for one last push.
But exhaustion was catching up to him.
Arron felt it in his arms.His legs.His breath.
His vision blurred for a moment—just long enough for a coalition warrior to land a heavy strike against his ribs.
Crack.
Arron coughed violently, blood spilling down his chin.
The coalition warriors immediately backed up and regrouped, forming a tight tri-formation.
"Now!" one of the elders shouted. "Finish him!"
Three powerful figures stepped forward—coalition elders known for their precision and deadly synergy. They raised their hands simultaneously, gathering enormous amounts of qi.
Arron knew this was it.
He tightened his stance, but he could barely stay upright. His spear felt heavier than iron. His breath came shallow and ragged.
The attack formed quickly—a swirling orb of flames and crackling energy, growing hotter and brighter with each passing second. Even the ground beneath it began to scorch.
Zaiton soldiers screamed his name.
"Patriarch!"
"Move!"
"Arron!"
But he couldn't.
The attack launched.
A roaring inferno hurtled toward him, tearing the battlefield open as it streaked forward. The heat alone burned against his skin.
Arron closed his eyes.
Maybe this was fate.If Kaizen was gone…If the Zaitons were destined to fall…
Perhaps this was the final chapter of their legacy—
But Fate Had Other Plans
Just as the blazing attack neared him—three meters, two, one—
A violent shockwave rippled through the air.
A shadow appeared in front of him.
Firm. Steady. Unshaken.A silhouette he thought he might never see again.
A voice rose—calm, confident, and almost irritated.
"You really let things get this bad without me?"
Arron's eyes shot open.
Kaizen.
His clothes were torn, faint traces of battle clinging to him, but his presence…It radiated a chilling power Arron had never felt before.The spear in his hand pulsed with a strange, dark light.
Kaizen raised it calmly.
"Voultron—Third Level: Absorb."
A black vortex erupted in front of him.
The massive fireball—an attack powerful enough to kill an elite cultivator—was swallowed whole in an instant.
Silence swept across the battlefield.
Even the coalition elders froze.
Kaizen exhaled, as if annoyed by how easy it was.
Arron stared at his son in speechless disbelief.
Kaizen tilted his chin upward, eyes cold.
"You picked the wrong time to attack my family."