Rayn didn't waste another microsecond. He aggressively channeled his Wind Gnosis entirely into his leg meridians, the energy surging through his body like liquid lightning. His muscles coiled, his bones creaked, and the air around him began to shimmer with the force of his power. The wind itself seemed to bow to his command, swirling around him in a vortex of raw, untamed energy.
BOOM!
The ground violently shattered beneath his boots, forming a massive kinetic crater. The earth buckled and cracked, sending shockwaves rippling outward in all directions. Rayn moved with such absolute, terrifying speed that he appeared to be literally teleporting through the freezing air. One moment he was there, the next he was gone, leaving only a trail of displaced air and shattered ground in his wake.
The world blurred around him. Trees became streaks of shadow, the wind became a roar, the cold became a distant memory. He was a bullet, a missile, a divine instrument of death hurtling through the night. The stars themselves seemed to trail behind him, their light bending and warping in his wake.
Exactly two minutes later, he arrived at the Southern sector coordinates.
Rayn stopped, his Wind Gnosis aggressively dissipating into the trees. The energy bled from his body in visible waves, the excess power crackling and fading into the darkness like dying embers. He looked at the scene in front of him.
Victus and Freddy were completely unconscious. They were sound asleep, directly in the center of a massive, bloody clearing, completely surrounded by a towering pile of exactly 400 violently butchered bandit corpses. The bodies were stacked in a crude pyramid, their limbs intertwined, their blank eyes staring at the cold, uncaring sky. The pyramid was a monument to death, a testament to the savage brutality that had unfolded in this frozen wasteland.
The two captains lay in the center of the carnage, their chests rising and falling with the steady rhythm of deep, exhausted sleep. Their weapons lay forgotten at their sides, their armor stained with the blood of a hundred battles. They looked peaceful, almost innocent—a stark contrast to the horrors that surrounded them. In their sleep, their faces were free of the pain and fear that had plagued them in their waking hours.
Rayn crossed his arms, staring at the two sleeping captains. His crimson eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and contempt. These mortals are sleeping peacefully right next to the rotting corpses of their enemies. And yet... they have the absolute audacity to call me cruel.
A cold, cynical laugh escaped his lips. The sound was hollow and bitter, a testament to his growing disillusionment with the world and everyone in it. They bathe in blood and call it justice. They kill and call it duty. And they judge me for being honest about what I am. Hypocrites. All of them.
Rayn violently kicked Victus directly in the ribs. The impact was sharp and brutal, the sound of boot meeting bone echoing through the clearing like a thunderclap.
"Hey. Freddy. Victus," Rayn ordered coldly, his voice cutting through their sleep like a blade through silk. "Wake the fuck up. We still have over 9,000 men to violently butcher tonight."
Victus and Freddy violently gasped, shooting up from the bloody mud. Their eyes were wide, their bodies trembling with the sudden shock of awakening. They scrambled to their feet, reaching for their weapons, their instincts screaming at them to fight. Their hearts pounded in their chests, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"Rayn!" Freddy shouted, completely disoriented, his voice cracking with a mixture of relief and accusation. "How much time did you actually take to get here?! Were you intentionally trying to let us die?!"
"You two explicitly claimed you were heavily injured," Rayn noted, completely ignoring the accusation. His voice was flat, emotionless, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the near-death of his comrades. There was no apology in his tone, no regret, no hint of compassion.
Victus and Freddy looked down at their own bodies. They completely froze in absolute shock. The catastrophic, deep wounds they had suffered from The Magician's wind-blades and fireballs were entirely gone. Their flesh had been perfectly, flawlessly knitted back together, as if the injuries had never occurred. There was no scar tissue, no discoloration, no sign that they had been on the brink of death just moments ago. It was as if time itself had been reversed, as if their very existence had been rewritten.
"No... Rayn, we were definitely on the brink of death," Victus stammered, frantically touching his chest. His hands roamed over his healed flesh, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I have absolutely no idea how we were healed."
They stood up, realizing they were completely restored to peak fighting condition. Their muscles were strong, their minds clear, their energy reserves fully replenished. It was a miracle—a resurrection, a rebirth. Then, they finally noticed the massive mountain of bodies surrounding them.
Rayn smiled, placing a bloody hand on both of their shoulders. The gesture was possessive, almost paternal, but the glint in his crimson eyes was anything but warm. It was the touch of a master claiming his property, a god acknowledging his servants.
"You two are absolutely worthy of being my Executioners," Rayn mocked, his voice dripping with dark sarcasm. "You violently slaughtered 400 men on your own, yet you still manage to act like pathetic, complaining cowards. I am highly impressed by your acting."
Victus and Freddy exchanged a look of absolute, terrifying confusion. Their faces paled, their eyes widening with genuine, unfeigned horror. The color drained from their cheeks like water from a cracked vessel.
"No, Lord Rayn," Freddy whispered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. His face went pale as fresh snow, all color draining from his cheeks. "We only killed exactly 100 men. We butchered The Magician and his squad. We have absolutely no idea where these other 300 bodies came from... or who killed them."
Rayn's crimson eyes violently narrowed. The dark, mocking smile slowly faded from his lips, replaced by an expression of absolute, terrifying realization. His mind raced, connecting the dots with cold, calculating precision. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place, revealing a picture that was both thrilling and terrifying.
The person I have been waiting for is finally back, Rayn thought, his Gnosis humming with violent anticipation. The energy coursed through his veins, demanding release, demanding action. The one who massacred those camps in the North. The one who has been shadowing us from the darkness. Let's absolutely see who racks up the highest kill count tonight.
Rayn dismissed the mystery for now. There was work to be done, blood to be collected, debts to be paid. He had a mission to complete, and nothing—not even the specter of a mysterious ally—would stand in his way. The night was still young, and the blood of thousands awaited.
He casually raised his hand. Utilizing his profound Ice and Metal Gnosis, he violently extracted iron from the surrounding earth. The metal rose from the ground in molten streams, glowing with intense heat as he shaped it with his will. The iron twisted and flowed, taking the form of a massive, hollow, seventy-gallon metallic container directly in the mud. The vessel was crude but functional, its surface still glowing with residual heat. Steam rose from its surface, mingling with the cold night air.
He pointed at the 400 mysterious corpses, his crimson eyes gleaming with cold purpose.
"Victus. Freddy," Rayn commanded, his voice returning to absolute, dictatorial authority. Each word was a whip crack, sharp and uncompromising. "Drain every single drop of blood from those 400 bodies and pour it directly into this container. Do not spill a drop. I need it all. Every last ounce of life essence they possess. The price of power must be paid in full."
The two captains exchanged another look—a look of fear and confusion and morbid curiosity. But they did not question their orders. They simply nodded, their faces grim, and began the grisly work of draining the dead. Their hands trembled as they worked, their minds reeling from the horrors of the night.
Rayn watched them for a moment, his mind already turning to the next task. The night was young, and there were still thousands of enemies to slaughter. Thousands of lives to extinguish. Thousands of debts to collect. The blood would flow like a river, and he would stand at its center, a god of death and destruction.
He looked up at the moon, its pale light reflecting in his cold, crimson eyes. The moon was indifferent to the suffering below, just as he was indifferent to the pleas of his enemies. It was a cold, beautiful, and utterly merciless world.
This is the price of power, he thought, his smile returning, darker and more terrifying than before. This is the cost of victory. And I will pay it, again and again, until the world kneels at my feet. Until the stars themselves bow before my will.
The Gambler's Heart pulsed in his soul, hungry and patient, waiting for its final tribute. The blood would come. The debt would be paid. And when it was, the world would tremble.
Rayn turned his gaze to the horizon, where the next battle awaited. His crimson eyes burned with the fire of a thousand dying suns.
Let the games begin.