The morning sun clawed its way into the vast expanse of the sky, its nascent warmth spreading a faint, hopeful blush across the waking earth.
Yet, long before the first rays crowned the horizon, Aethel and his weary company of fifty were already on the move. Driven by a singular, consuming purpose, Aethel was hell-bent on reaching home. The chilling urgency of the vision he'd seen through his Roogan—the spirit-guide's gift—refused to abate.
Father must have given the Oathkeeper's Shadows to Thorenz right about now. I need to convince him to change his mind and give the sword to me instead, Aethel thought, his steps lengthening into a near-run.
"Aethel! Aren't we moving too fast? Slow down!"
The plea came from Kesienna, a young woman among the group, her voice strained. Her companions nodded silently, their exhaustion palpable.
Aethel barely glanced back. "You guys just aren't moving fast enough," he replied, pushing his pace further. "Let's keep moving."
A collective, audible "Awww" rippled through the ranks as his company reluctantly struggled to keep up.
I have to get home quickly. The Oathkeeper's Shadows is mine! The conviction was a burning coal in his chest, driving out all compassion for his followers' fatigue.
Meanwhile, in Welbgard, a different kind of urgency was taking hold. Thorenz stood before a mass of Welbgardians, his presence commanding, his expression resolute.
"Welbgardians!" he began, his voice ringing with power. "You've chosen to fight!"
A unified, deafening cheer of "Yes!" rose from the gathered crowd.
"Yesterday," Thorenz continued, allowing the shout to fade, "we destroyed the enemy's factory. That factory has been a virus in this country. It was set to slowly wipe out Welbgard from the face of the earth. It has been polluting the air you breathe and the water you drink. Now that it has been destroyed, it is only a matter of time before the land begins to heal."
He paused, letting the profound truth of his words settle on them.
"Now," he resumed, "we will divide ourselves into three crucial groups. The first group is the Weapon Retrievers. These are the people who will head to the destroyed factory and retrieve the weapons which have been made. They will be led by Moses and Jonah. Those weapons were made by you, Welbgardians, and they are yours to claim. We will use them to fight against Lazio's men."
"The second group is the Spring Purification Group. This group, led by Laura, will head to the spring to purify the water. I have already instructed Laura on the necessary steps."
"And finally, the Combat Group will follow me. After destroying the enemy's factory, it is only natural for our enemies to get angry and try to fight back. They are coming, sooner or later, and we must be ready to face them. This," he concluded, a smile touching his lips, "is for the love of Welbgard!"
The Welbgardians erupted in shouts of joy and agreement, immediately springing into action and dividing themselves into the three groups as instructed, each rally point forming around its designated leaders.
Chief Mauritius walked the perimeter of the country, his eyes observant. He passed by the site of the destroyed factory, watching the people—the Weapon Retrievers—working together, straining to pull salvageable weapons from the ruins.
At the spring, the Purification Group toiled with equal fervor, united in the effort to heal the poisoned waters. The sight of his people working in harmony brought a flicker of warmth to the Chief.
Finally, he came upon the area where Thorenz was training the Combat Group. Every person, young and old, was gripping a mere stick.
"You're sending them to their graves," Chief Mauritius said, the protest raw in his voice as he approached Thorenz.
"These people are brave enough to defend themselves," Thorenz countered, his eyes fixed on his trainees. "To fight for themselves."
"You are up against Lazio and his men. You haven't seen him fight yet. You haven't seen what he can do yet," the Chief insisted, his brow furrowed with worry.
"Hmmmm." Thorenz's smile broadened. "You're right, Chief. I haven't seen what he can do. He also hasn't seen what I can do."
"This is madness," Mauritius muttered, shaking his head.
At that very instant, a deafening sonic boom tore across the land, followed immediately by a tremor that shook the ground beneath their feet, signaling a terrifying arrival.
"So," Thorenz said, the smile dropping away, replaced by an expression of grim focus. "They came really fast, huh."
The massive, deafening sound continued, an unbroken drumbeat of destruction that synchronized with the relentless quaking of the earth. Each successive blast felt closer, heavier.
The commotion instantly drew the two resource groups—the Weapon Retrievers and the Spring Purification Group—from their work. They rushed to join the Combat Group, their faces a mixture of confusion and terror.
"What's going on?" Laura cried out, her eyes searching the sky.
"I don't know," Thorenz replied, his voice calm despite the chaos. "Perhaps Lazio's men are here."
As the billows of smoke and dust began to settle near the impact zone, a figure emerged. He was a hefty, muscular giant of a man, carrying a weapon that looked utterly foreign and terrifying: a heavy, black bazooka.
"Just one man, huh?" Thorenz mused, a flicker of something close to amusement crossing his face. But the danger was immediate. "Moses, Jonah, Laura, get the people to safety!" he ordered sharply.
"Right!" the trio chorused, snapping into action to direct the panicked Welbgardians.
At that moment, the giant shouldered his weapon and fired. A spherical, ball-like projectile—a massive, black bullet—shot out from the bazooka's maw and screamed through the air directly toward the clustered people.
Thorenz reacted instantly. He lunged forward, moving with blinding speed, his wooden staff held ready. He slammed the staff's edge into the projectile, slicing through it cleanly. The bullet was cut into two perfect semicircles, both of which exploded immediately upon separation, throwing up a shower of dirt and noise but harmlessly dispersing their force.
"What the heck is that weapon? I've not seen it before!" Moses demanded, his eyes wide.
"Bazooka," Laura replied, her face pale but her knowledge evident.
"Ba-what?" Jonah questioned, staring at the dissipating smoke.
"A Bazooka," Laura explained rapidly, her voice tight. "It's one of the weapons that were made in the factory. It works like archery, but it's fundamentally different. It explodes at the moment of impact. It's one of the many terrifying weapons we invented, even though we didn't want to. We were forced to build them."
Thorenz ignored their hurried exchange. He sprinted toward the giant, closing the distance. The man, however, simply fired his bazooka again. Thorenz managed to twist and dodge the explosion. But the man was fast, immediately chambering and firing a second round. This time, the projectile found its mark, slamming into the ground precisely where Thorenz had been moments before. A thick, grey column of smoke and dust enveloped the area.
"Thorenz!" Laura screamed in horror, worry etching deep lines onto her face.
A moment later, a figure emerged from the choking smoke. It was Thorenz, coughing deeply, but otherwise miraculously unscathed.
"That didn't kill you? You're tough. I'll give you that. It's no wonder the guys at the factory lost," the giant sneered, reloading his weapon.
"Haha. Thanks," Thorenz said with a small, challenging smile, dusting himself off.
"That wasn't a compliment. You're tough, but you are no match for Lazio. Getting involved with this country is your undoing," the man declared, his massive fingers tightening on the trigger.
"Oh? How so?" Thorenz asked, his smile unwavering.
"Because you're about to die," the giant stated simply, and began raining a torrent of bazooka fire down on Thorenz.
Thorenz began a desperate, exhilarating dance of evasion. He was preternaturally quick, dodging the explosions by sheer instinct. But the man's attacks increased in speed and volume. He shot at Thorenz, who dodged. He shot again, barely giving Thorenz time to recover, yet Thorenz still managed to evade it. Then, the giant fired two rounds simultaneously. Thorenz twisted his body impossibly, allowing both projectiles to explode harmlessly on either side of him.
How do I attack? Thorenz thought to himself, his mind racing for an opening in the continuous assault.
The giant noticed the fleeting moment of distraction—the pause in Thorenz's rhythm—and seized the opportunity, firing a final, perfectly aimed round.
"Crap!" Thorenz's eyes widened in horror. The bullet connected, exploding directly against his torso. The force of the blast lifted him clean off his feet and sent him tumbling backward.
"Thoreeeenz!" Laura shrieked, watching in terror as Thorenz slammed onto the hard dirt, a thin wisp of smoke curling up from his lips.
The collective breath of the crowd hitched, the initial awe curdling into a desperate, sickening dread. Their champion wasn't moving. The dust settled around the still form of Thorenz, an ominous quiet descending upon the ravaged square. A ripple of genuine, unbridled fear started in the front ranks, seizing the onlookers and shaking them like an invisible tremor.
Chief Mauritius, his face a mask of weary defeat, allowed a bitter, self-pitying truth to escape his lips. "That is the cost of defying Lazio," he intoned, the words heavy as stones. He looked at the trembling faces of his countrymen, not with pity, but with a fatalistic resignation. "We cannot win this battle. No matter how hard we try, we can't beat Lazio."
A sharp, audible intake of breath sliced through the gloom. Laura whirled, her face a storm cloud of fury and anguish, her gaze locking onto the Chief. Her eyes, usually so vibrant, were suddenly blurred, welled up with unshed tears that magnified the venom in her glare.
"What?" Chief Mauritius asked, startled by the sheer intensity of her rage.
"Is that what you have to say?" she demanded, her voice shaking not from fear, but from a blistering indignation. "With due respect, Chief, this is your country! Your home! Yet, the first person to stand up and fight against Lazio is Thorenz, and he is not even from Welbgard." She gestured wildly towards the fallen warrior. Her chin lifted stubbornly, her resolve crystalizing. "If fighting means dying, I'll rather fight than live in this hell because of a man like Lazio."
Her fierce declaration struck a chord in the hearts of the Welbgardians—a forgotten spark of honor igniting into a tiny flame.
"We will fight!" a booming voice declared from the edge of the crowd.
"Yeah!" the Welbgardians chorused, the trembling in their limbs replaced by a sudden, surging heat.
A young man near the front began to chant, his voice raw with sudden, newfound hope. "Thorenz! Thorenz! Thorenz!"
The tide of emotion swept through the crowd, drowning out the fear. The rest of the Welbgardians joined in, a unified roar of defiance erupting from their throats: "Thorenz! Thorenz! Thorenz! Thorenz! Thorenz!"
A low, grating noise tore through the silence as Thorenz's eyes fluttered open. The sky above was a blurry, indistinct canvas as he struggled to regain focus. The pounding rhythm of the chant reached him, a confusing but powerful chorus in the swirling void of his mind.
"Thorenz..".
The sound was a catalyst, forcing his scattered thoughts to coalesce. He thought of his past, of the people who grounded him. Father, he mused, recalling Frederico's quiet strength. Mother, I wonder how she's doing. I wonder how she will react if she heard that I died in Welbgard. The image of Roxanne's tears was a physical ache. Ah, Aethel, he considered his brother. I wonder if he has gotten home by now. Or maybe he decided to fight for a country just like me. Perhaps, he didn't face a national issue such as this, and thus, he went home after his mission ended. Maybe there were no humans in the direction he was sent.
Then, his mind settled on the faces he saw every day: Moses, Jonah, and Laura. Ah, my friends... These people are precious to me. It'd hurt me if I lose any of them. So I know it will be painful if they lost me also. So no matter what happens, I'm not gonna die!
With a grunt that was lost beneath the fervor of the chanting, Thorenz pushed himself up.
The crowd's roar peaked as he rose steadily to his feet, his sword clutched firmly in his hand. The sheer willpower of his ascent shocked his opponent, but the Welbgardians erupted into a truly jubilant, triumphant chant.
The man, momentarily stunned, stared at the standing figure. "You really are tough," he admitted, his voice holding a sliver of respect.
Thorenz dusted himself off, an evil, confident grin spreading across his lips. "Haha, I'm gonna tell you three things. First, I'm not gonna die in Welbgard."
"Hah! You're one cocky bastard," the man scoffed.
"Second," Thorenz continued, his eyes glinting with fierce resolve, "I'm not leaving Welbgard until I've kicked Lazio's ass."
"Hah! Dream on. How do you hope to defeat Lazio when you can't even touch me?" the man mocked, erupting into a menacing, drawn-out peal of laughter.
"Third," Thorenz said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. His opponent's laughter instantly died in his throat. "You're fighting with a bazooka, but I'm fighting with a cannon. Why don't we find out which attack is more potent?"
"Huh? Cannon?" The man's brows furrowed in confusion before he began to laugh again, more hysterically this time. "You're holding a sword, not a cannon, dummy!"
"Don't tell me you haven't seen shot slashes before," Thorenz challenged.
"Stop talking nonsense," the man snapped, his amusement gone. "I guess, I have to kill you quickly. I'm sick of your nonsense talks." He raised his bazooka, preparing to fire once more.
"Am I?" Thorenz asked, dropping into his familiar, coiled sword fighting stance. "Why don't we find out? One sword style,"
The man didn't hesitate, unleashing his attack: ten bullets shot forth from the bazooka, a hail of explosive lead hurtling toward Thorenz.
"CONTINENTAL DEVASTATION!" Thorenz screamed, a whirlwind of motion. He spun, his blade unleashed a terrifying cyclone of wind and compressed air. The power was immense; the very earth beneath their feet shuddered, forcing the onlookers to shield themselves and duck for cover. The ten incoming bullets were caught by the eye of the cyclone, their momentum reversed. The swirling vortex slammed the captured projectiles back, hitting the man all at once and sending him flying backward like a discarded rag doll.
From the dense shadows of a distant alley, the man who had reported the factory's destruction watched the devastating attack with wide, frightened eyes.
"I told you," he muttered to himself, his voice shaking. "This foreigner is as strong as Lazio. Perhaps even stronger."
He turned and bolted, vanishing into the maze of the city, driven by a primal need to survive and report this unprecedented power.
The silence that followed the Continental Devastation was shattered by a deafening, unified cheer. The people of Welbgard erupted in triumphant celebration, their fear evaporated, replaced by an intoxicating sense of victory. They surged forward, a tidal wave of elation, running toward their hero. Hands grasped him, lifting him high above their heads, tossing him into the sky, then catching him repeatedly in a joyous, chaotic ritual of adoration.
The Obsidian Citadel loomed against a sky bruised purple and black. Outside its granite walls, the atmosphere was a violent chaos: thunder ripped through the air, followed by blinding, silver veins of lightning that momentarily etched the grim architecture against the night. A relentless, bone-chilling wind screamed across the battlements, a fitting soundtrack to the news that was arriving.
A cloaked figure, the scout who had witnessed the duel in Welbgard, raced across the courtyard. He was winded, his face pale, but he held the devastating report close. Reaching the main gate, he leaned in, his words a desperate, barely audible whisper in the ear of the massive, black-armored guard.
The message, too grave to be shouted, began its perilous journey inward. The first guard relayed it to a sentry inside the vestibule, who passed it to another climbing the stairwell. The news was relayed eleven times in total, a chain of hushed, grim pronouncements, until it finally reached the sanctum sanctorum: the throne room of the colossal ruler, Lazio.
The chamber where Lazio presided was built on a scale that dwarfed all human measure. The ceiling was a vast, dark expanse, and Lazio himself sat enthroned upon a seat that was easily ten times the size of a mortal's, radiating a sense of crushing, oppressive power.
The heavy, iron-clad doors shuddered open, and a solitary, terrified guard hurried in, dropping onto one knee at a respectful, safe distance.
The voice that answered was deep, abrasive, and impatient. "Yes? What is it?" Lazio demanded, his form barely shifting on the massive throne.
The guard swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Lazio, Zero is dead."
Silence, thick and absolute, fell upon the chamber. Then, with a sound like grinding continents, Lazio unfolded his immense body from the throne. He stood, a behemoth ten times the size of any normal man, the two terrible, curved horns that jutted from his forehead nearly scraping the high ceiling.
The latent fury within him combusted. He began to batter the thick, load-bearing walls of the citadel with his fists. Each thunderous blow made the very foundations of the castle groan, showering the room in a fine dust of pulverized stone.
"Lazio, calm down!" his guards pleaded, scrambling to avoid the seismic shocks of his rage.
"Those puny humans must pay!" he roared, his voice shaking the brazier flames. "Unforgivable!"
Just as his tantrum reached its peak, a clear, sardonic laugh cut through the chaos. It was not loud, but it possessed a strange, infuriating resonance, emanating from a nearby, reinforced cell.
"Hmmm?" Lazio paused, his chest heaving, his monstrous head slowly turning toward the sound.
Locked behind thick, glowing bars, a man sat calmly, his eyes holding a disturbing calmness. "Lazio, you asked for trouble from humans," the prisoner stated, his voice ringing with prophecy. "Now, you'll pay for what you've done."
Lazio glared down at the small, defiant figure, a bitter sneer twisting his lips. "I see the humans are stubborn, huh? Just like you, Doctor Lionel."