The battlefield was divided with each force clashing for its own cause. The war raged with relentless fury, steel meeting steel, screams echoing across the plain as bodies were trampled beneath the chaos. Victory and power drove both sides.
In one corner where the fighting had reached its peak, the ground trembled beneath their struggle as a man with deep red eyes, clad in crimson robes, gripped his broad sword with unyielding force. His blade descended in a deadly arc toward another warrior—a man with whisky‑colored hair, standing firm against the storm.
The whisky‑haired man's expression grew tense; he had misjudged his opponent's persistence. What he thought would be a fleeting clash revealed itself as a test of endurance and decisiveness. He came to realize just how forbearing the red‑robed warrior truly was.
As he parried the descending strike, he twisted swiftly to deflect the follow‑up slash—but the red‑robed man was already there. The instant their weapons met, a surge of red energy pulsed outward, hurling the whisky‑haired man into the air with a violent somersault.
He flipped mid‑air and landed with precision, sliding backward across the blood‑soaked ground. Red line could be seen trailing down his jaw which betrayed the toll of the exchange. His figure looked battered, almost pathetic, it was a stark contrast to the composure he had tried to maintain.
He had indeed suffered greatly at the hands of the seemingly simple man, whose power was anything but ordinary.
The whisky‑haired man lifted his gaze, only to see his opponent standing firm, looking as though he could fight countless rounds more. That was when the realization struck him—he had been toyed with all this time. All the powerful enemies he had faced before, none had left him so drained, and none had revealed such strength and persistence.
Salza Marble stood unmoving, his crimson robes flowing with the wind, his broad sword lowered close to his waist.
It is time to end the war.
With a subtle nod over his shoulder, the signal was given.
A horn was sounded, its whirring cry buzzing through the air, carrying across the battlefield. The atmosphere shifted instantly, soldiers pausing mid‑strike, their eyes widening as the sound heralded change. The tide of battle began to turn, and one could see the transformation unfolding.
The soldiers, clad in Sand‑Scale force uniforms rushed into the battlefield after receiving Salza's cue. Their march began steady but grew in pace, voices booming like thunder as they stormed forward. What set them apart was their cultivation base; the weakest among them stood at the second stage of the Silver Realm, a level of strength that instantly left the enemy in bewilderment.
The opposing forces grew hesitant at the sight; their confidence was shaken as the Sand‑Scale warriors streamed in with overwhelming might.
Blood, who had just pulled his sword free from an enemy, paused to watch the soldiers rushing in. A smile crept across his face, relief and pride mingling as he darted a perplexed look toward his father. Salza Marble met his son's gaze with a simple wink.
Although Salza was unsettled when Blood first arrived on the battlefield, his idea was to send someone to escort his son to safety. The thought of harm coming to Blood in his presence weighed heavily on him and his wife would never forgive such a failure.
Yet the opposing force pressed forward with renewed strength, forcing Salza to focus on coordinating his men, even with the second commander present. He couldn't afford to put his force at a disadvantage. They were two divisions fighting alongside and the competition was fierce.
His worry eased when he witnessed Blood fighting with incredible skill, far beyond what he had expected and wondered if it was really his first time fighting. That sight gave Salza a sliver of hope, which was enough to steady his heart and direct his full attention back to the war. His troubled spirit was completely relieved when Blood's servant joined the fray, wielding unusual powers that shifted the tide.
But what shocked him most was the servant's eyes—they were glowing with an aura identical to his own. Although it appeared only for a brief moment, Salza recognized it instantly...
Within seconds, the elite forces of the two divisions stormed onto the battlefield, their imposing might shaking the ground beneath them. Their arrival brought chaos, scattering the enemy lines and overwhelming the resistance.
The Bland Town had gravely miscalculated the strength of Sand-Scale city's divisions. Their error was almost inevitable since Sand‑Scale City hadn't fought a war or even a skirmish since the mayor took control. That long silence had concealed the true depth of their overall strength.
Now, the mistake proved fatal. Bland Town's support forces were caught unprepared, their soldiers were massacred left and right as the elite warriors pressed forward. The combined force of the divisions was unstoppable, and the battle that was once raging in uncertainty was now tipping decisively toward its end.
Victory for Sand‑Scale City was nearly assured.
Salza's eyes flared crimson as red energy surged and tainted the blade of his sword. With a decisive motion, he slashed toward the whisky‑haired man, whose complex expression betrayed both shock and realization.
From the beginning, Salza hadn't devoted his full attention to this duel. He had only intervened occasionally, assisting his men while waiting for the perfect moment to unleash his main force. Now, that moment had arrived.
His reflexes, sharper and faster than anything he had shown before, carried his strike with devastating breadth. The attack's wide area of effect left no room for resistance. The whisky‑haired man was torn apart instantly, unable to withstand the overwhelming surge.
The residual energy didn't stop there—it rippled forward, cutting through the enemy forces behind him. Tens of enemies were consumed in its wake, their bodies collapsing under the unstoppable wave of crimson power.
With the demise of the whisky-haired man, the tide of war had shifted decisively in Sand‑scale City's favor.
The defeat of the whisky‑haired man was sensed across the battlefield like a shockwave. His soldiers felt the loss instantly, their morale collapsed as fear gripped them. They began to retreat, unable to withstand the crushing reality that one of their most prominent commanders had been slain amidst the chaos.
Jagan, who stood behind the rough‑faced man, turned grim. The sight before him revealed why Salza Marble was feared and renowned throughout the region. He was branded as a war addict by those who had witnessed his relentless ferocity.
Jagan's eyes shifted toward the only figure who could possibly intervene, the one who might stop this tide of devastation. Yet the way he acted told him everything, that the burden was his alone.
"Senior, you have to save me and my town. We've been following you all this while, you can't possibly leave us now." he screamed out his lungs and went to grip the rough-faced man's leg.
Insolent!
The man kicked the ground lightly, and Jagan was thrown away as he aggressively smashed into a boulder by the side and passed out.
"How dare you! You dared to render wrong information and now you need our help? I will do well by gifting you to the enemy." he stated in displeasure and instantly dove.
There was nothing that could be done, the battle was already lost.
___
With the support of the elite team, the Bland Town forces were swiftly overridden as the Sand‑Scale warriors rounded them up. Some were captured, while many were terminated. The battlefield that was once chaotic, was now bent under the Sand‑scale's might.
In due time, the soldiers stormed into Bland Town itself. What had once been a bustling settlement now stood deserted. With full force, the Sand‑Scale troops brought all those they encountered to their knees, searching each room with precision.
Meanwhile, the main forces advanced toward the town's central. A towering tree house was built as the residence of the town head and where important meetings were held.
Salza and Kamil stood before the towering tree, its massive trunk supporting the large dwelling above. Salza, with his robes still stained with blood, glanced over his shoulder as a single man emerged and began climbing toward the residence.
Kamil's armor gleamed. It was still intact despite the battle. His cultivation base, though only at the ninth stage of the Silver Realm, was enough for the battle. With a sharp click of his fingers, a slim figure quickly followed, ascending the tree house with ease.
As they climbed, smaller compartments appeared along the way. Chambers tucked into the branches. Their destination was the grand residence at the top, where the town head lived.
In the meantime, Salza shifted his gaze, turning his back. His gaze fell on the kids covered by the soldiers.
He must have told them to do this.
A knowing smirk appeared on his face.
"Why don't you come on out, didn't know you now hide from your father." Salza smiled playfully.
Kamil shook his head slowly, but his gaze drifted toward the kid who had already carved an ample impression within the two divisions. He too was impressed by the boy's decisive actions. But the moment he heard that the kid was the son of his rival, disappointment clouded his mind. Were it not for that, he would've recruited him without hesitation.
Blood, who was standing amidst the crowd wasn't shy before their eyes. He only feared that his father might be disheartened by the choices he had made.
Today had taught him a bitter truth; in war, a man's life was fragile, woven like a spider's web, which could be easily torn by the storm of battle.