The battlefield lay silent, the echoes of clashing steel and desperate cries now nothing more than ghosts in the wind.


    A faint crackling of fire flickered in the distance, its embers painting the night with an eerie glow.


    The air hung thick with the scent of blood and charred flesh, mingling with the low groans of the wounded who still clung to life.


    Asael and Steven stood in the heart of it all, their bodies aching, their breath coming in ragged gasps.


    Every muscle burned, every step felt like wading through a sea of lead, yet they remained standing.


    Around them, the land had become a graveyard of monsters alike—corpses strewn across the blood-soaked earth, their weapons shattered, their shields discarded.


    And at the center of it all—


    Movok’s lifeless body remained standing.


    His greatsword was still planted in the earth, his fingers locked around the hilt as if refusing to let go.


    His eyes, though dim and hollow, held onto something fierce—a defiance that not even death could take from him.


    A warrior who never knelt.


    Asael found himself unable to look away.


    For the first time, he wasn’t just seeing a monster. He was seeing a warrior.


    Steven, still catching his breath, wiped the blood from his cheek before glancing at Asael’s silent form.


    "What’s on your mind?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.


    Asael’s golden eyes remained locked on Movok.


    "Do you think… if his tribe hadn’t been wiped out by humans and orcs, he would have lived a different life?"


    His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Would we have avoided all this destruction?"


    Steven followed his gaze, taking in the sight of the fallen general, then the battlefield that stretched endlessly around them.


    "I don’t know," he admitted. "Maybe he would’ve still become a Demon General. Maybe not. We can’t change what happened." He exhaled, glancing at the corpses surrounding them.


    "But I do know one thing—he fought for something. For his reasons. His people. And that’s why we should also fight for our reasons. Our people."


    Asael nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.


    "Since childhood, I was taught to hate monsters. Even now… I still do. But today, I think I understand them a little more." His fists clenched at his sides.


    "Everyone fights for something. For a reason. My reason is to protect this world. And the Demon King’s reason is to rule it. That’s why I have to stop him."


    Steven let out a tired chuckle, though there was no real humor in it.


    "Yeah…" His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. "For me, it’s revenge. The Demon King’s army took my family from me. That’s the only reason I need."


    Before they could say more, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the ruins.


    A group of warriors appeared through the haze, their figures illuminated by the dying fires.


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    Sam led the charge, his eyes scanning the battlefield before landing on them.


    Lily was at the front, her face pale with worry.


    Anne rushed past them, immediately kneeling beside Giren, who lay unconscious but alive.


    Relief flooded her features as she checked his pulse.


    Sam knelt beside the fallen orc, pressing a hand to his burned chest before looking up at Asael.


    "You bought us time," he said. "We’ll handle things here."


    Asael gave a weary nod.


    The battle was over.


    Now, they had to prepare for what came next.


    ---


    Many days passed away.


    The fortress, once on the brink of destruction, had been reclaimed.


    The banners of the Demon King’s army had been torn down, their fabric trampled beneath the boots of the resistance.


    In their place, new banners were raised, bright with the colors of defiance and hope.


    The air, once thick with the scent of blood and fire, carried something different now—the scent of rebuilding.


    Warriors worked tirelessly to repair the damage, fortifying the walls, tending to the wounded, preparing for the battles yet to come.


    Giren had recovered enough to stand, though his body still bore the scars of his battle with Movok.


    Asael, Anne, Steven, and Kenta gathered in the main hall, their supplies packed and their next destination set.


    Sam leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed as he watched them.


    "So, where are you headed next?" he asked.


    Asael adjusted his cloak, his expression sharp with determination.


    "The Forest of Monsters. It was our first destination before all this happened. We might find clues about the Demon King there."


    Giren and Lily stepped forward.


    "Then we’re coming too," Giren said, his deep voice carrying no room for argument.


    Lily nodded beside him. "We won’t be left behind."


    Asael studied them for a moment before nodding. "The more, the better."


    Sam sighed, pushing himself off the wall. "I’d go with you, but someone has to stay behind and hold this place."


    Asael placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I know. Keep it safe for us."


    And with that, final preparations began.


    Kenta checked the supplies in the subspace bag, ensuring they had everything they needed.


    Giren and Lily bid farewell to the orcs and elves who had chosen to stay behind.


    Anne double-checked her supply of healing potions, while Steven sharpened his blade with slow, practiced movements.


    Then, without hesitation—without looking back—


    They set off.


    Through the ruined gates, past the battlefield where Movok’s lifeless form still stood, frozen in defiance.


    Toward the Forest of Monsters.


    Where new dangers awaited.


    ------


    Deep within a land untouched by human rule, a thriving town pulsed with life beneath the rule of beasts.


    The streets were alive with the chatter of merchants and the laughter of children.


    Young ones of various beast races darted between the bustling stalls, their tails swishing, their ears twitching with excitement as they played.


    The scent of fresh meat and spices filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of sharpened steel from weapon forges.


    Stalls displayed shimmering gemstones, hand-crafted bows, and blades designed for clawed hands.


    This was no human settlement.


    Those who walked its streets bore fangs and horns, claws and tails, fur and scaled skin.


    They were beastmen—proud, untamed, warriors and hunters by birth.


    At the heart of it all, seated upon a stone throne within a grand hall carved into the mountainside, their ruler watched over them.


    Korran, the Tigerkin.


    His golden fur gleamed beneath the torchlight, streaked with bold black stripes that rippled with every movement of his steel-corded muscles.


    A great beast of a man, he exuded raw power, his claws idly tapping against the armrest of his throne.


    The open balcony before him overlooked the town, allowing him to see his people as they thrived beneath his rule.


    To outsiders, he was a demon general—a ruthless warlord who had earned his title through blood and conquest.


    To the beastmen, he was their protector, their leader, their king in all but name.


    And he ruled without fear.


    Then—


    The massive doors to his throne room burst open, the heavy stone slabs groaning as a group of his most trusted warriors strode in, their movements urgent.


    Without hesitation, they knelt before him, their heads lowered in deference.


    Korran’s piercing yellow eyes flicked toward them, his tail giving a single slow flick.


    “What happened?” His voice rumbled like distant thunder, deep and edged with a growl.


    One of the warriors—a scarred wolfkin with matted fur—stepped forward.


    “My lord, Movok is dead.”


    The room fell into a heavy silence.


    Korran did not move.


    His claws stilled against the stone, his gaze sharp and unreadable.


    His tail flicked again, once.


    Then, he leaned forward, the weight of his presence pressing down on the room like an unseen force.


    “Say that again.”


    The wolfkin swallowed hard but held his ground. “Movok is dead.”


    For a brief moment, the only sound was the distant crackle of torches.


    Then, Korran’s grip tightened against the armrest, stone grinding beneath his claws.


    Movok was a brute, but he was strong.


    Too strong to fall so easily.


    His voice, though calm, carried a dangerous edge. “Who killed him? Do we have a name?”


    The wolfkin hesitated for the first time, his ears twitching back slightly.


    “No name, my lord. But according to the few gnolls that survived, they spoke of warriors unlike any we’ve faced before.”


    Korran’s golden eyes narrowed. “Explain.”


    “One had golden eyes and a golden aura. Another had blue eyes and wielded blue lightning. There was an orc with a broken tusk, an elf, and a woman with golden hair who radiated divine light.”


    A slow exhale left Korran’s lips, his sharp teeth glinting as a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him.


    “Golden eyes… the Hero. Golden hair… the Saintess. A broken-tusked orc… the last Orc King’s bloodline. An elf… insignificant. And thunder?” He leaned back slightly, resting his chin on his clawed hand.


    “That can only mean one thing.”


    A slow grin stretched across his face.


    “Duke Driesell’s son.”


    It had been a long time since he felt something other than boredom.


    Movok had been a warrior, but he relied on raw strength and instinct.


    Yet these warriors had defeated him.


    They were dangerous.


    “What are your orders, my lord?” one of the kneeling beastmen asked cautiously.


    Korran remained still for a moment, then his expression shifted—his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile.


    “Inform the Demon King,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.


    “And watch them carefully. If they continue forward, they have only two paths—through my lands or through Tores’s domain.”


    His claws dragged lazily against the stone, leaving deep grooves in its surface.


    “Either way, they will face us eventually.”


    His yellow eyes burned with anticipation as he leaned forward, his presence alone enough to send a shiver down the spines of those before him.


    “Let them come.”


    It had been far too long since he had a real challenge.