While Steven, Lily, Magnum, and the Dwarf King waged war against the beastmen outside, Asael and the others moved like shadows, slipping undetected through the dense forest toward Beastwell Town.


    The town loomed ahead, its towering stone walls cracked and weathered, stained with the dark remnants of old blood.


    The heavy scent of iron and decay clung to the air, filling Asael’s lungs with every breath.


    The silence was unnatural—too still, too oppressive.


    This was a place where suffering had taken root, where the cries of the fallen had long faded, leaving only ghosts behind.


    As they approached the entrance, a flickering torchlight revealed their obstacle.


    Two figures stood waiting—Kelly and Borris, their monstrous forms illuminated by the fire’s trembling glow.


    Their beastly eyes burned with cruel anticipation, sharp claws flexing in the dim light.


    Behind them, a small army of beastmen warriors stood ready, their weapons gripped tight, their growls rumbling through the night air.


    "You all go ahead," Sirius commanded, stepping forward with a quiet, deadly resolve. "Hemel and I will handle them."


    "I’ll also help," Giren said, his voice steady, but his gaze locked onto Borris with an intensity sharp enough to cut steel.


    Asael hesitated for only a moment.


    His fists clenched, but he knew there was no time to argue.


    "Okay," he finally said. "Be careful."


    Then, without a sound, they vanished.


    Under the veil of Hemel’s invisibility magic, Asael, Anne, and Kenta moved like whispers through the battlefield, slipping past the enemy undetected.


    Behind them, the silence shattered.


    Sirius, Hemel, and Giren stepped forward, revealing themselves to Kelly and Borris.


    The air vibrated with raw energy, a deadly storm about to break.


    Then, the tension snapped like a bowstring


    —


    Asael, Anne, and Kenta moved swiftly through the war-torn town, their footsteps light against the cracked stone streets.


    The silence here was different.


    It wasn’t the hush of a town at rest—it was the breathless stillness of something watching, something waiting.


    They reached the grand arena, its towering stone pillars casting jagged shadows against the dark sky.


    The massive coliseum stretched open before them, a vast circle of death where countless beastmen gathered, their voices low murmurs filled with anticipation.


    And there, standing at the center of it all, waiting like a predator savoring the hunt—


    Was Korran.


    The lion beastman stood tall, his golden fur gleaming in the torchlight, a crimson cape draped over his broad shoulders like a mantle of war.


    His arms were crossed over his chest, a slow, knowing grin curving his lips.


    "So, you’ve finally arrived," he mused, his voice laced with amusement.


    Asael tensed.


    Even under the magic’s invisibility, he felt Korran’s piercing gaze settle on him—on all of them.


    Stolen story; please report.


    "Foolish," Korran scoffed, shaking his head. "You think tricks of light can fool me?"


    He took a slow, deliberate inhale, his sharp senses drinking in their scent.


    There was no point in hiding.


    With a silent agreement, Asael, Anne, and Kenta stepped forward, revealing themselves beneath the torchlight.


    The beastmen surrounding them stiffened, their grips tightening around their weapons.


    Low growls rippled through the crowd, teeth bared in anticipation.


    The bloodlust in their eyes was unmistakable.


    But Korran wasn’t done yet.


    With that same eerie smirk, he turned, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor as he approached a towering podium at the heart of the arena.


    A massive curtain hung from above, concealing something behind its thick folds.


    He reached up—


    And with a swift, effortless motion—


    He pulled it away.


    The sight that greeted them turned their veins to ice.


    Human bodies dangled from thick ropes, their lifeless eyes wide with horror, their mouths frozen in silent screams.


    The ropes groaned under their weight, creaking as the corpses swayed ever so slightly, a grotesque dance to the rhythm of death.


    Beneath them, scattered across the bloodstained ground, lay countless more—bodies twisted and broken, their fingers curled into fists, the final remnants of a fight that had long since ended.


    And those who hadn’t fought?


    They had been hung like cattle, left to choke, to struggle, to suffer.


    The stench of decay hit them like a physical force, thick and suffocating, curling in Asael’s throat.


    His breath caught, his chest tightening as his fingers curled into shaking fists.


    Anne bit her lip so hard it bled, her entire body trembling with rage.


    Kenta stood frozen, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned ghostly white.


    And Korran—


    Korran simply laughed.


    "Take a good look," he said, spreading his arms as if unveiling a masterpiece.


    His golden eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction.


    "This is the fate of those who refuse to bow."


    His voice was calm, almost casual, but it dripped with something far worse—something that made Asael’s blood burn.


    Korran met his gaze and smiled.


    "And soon…"


    He tilted his head, his grin widening, his voice soft but sharp as a dagger against the skin.


    "It will be yours."


    “You monster!”


    Asael’s furious roar tore through the arena, his voice trembling with uncontained rage.


    His golden eyes blazed with fury, locked onto Korran, the executioner of countless innocents.


    The weight of all those lost lives pressed upon him, and his hands tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.


    Korran simply chuckled, his sharp fangs gleaming under the flickering torchlight.


    There was no remorse in his gaze, no hesitation in his movements.


    Only amusement.


    “That’s the price for running away, Hero,” he sneered.


    Then, with a lazy wave of his hand, he turned to his warriors. “Now, finish them.”


    A deafening roar erupted from the beastmen as they surged forward, a frenzied tide of claws, blades, and bloodlust.


    Their weapons gleamed under the dim light—clawed gauntlets, jagged swords, crude axes still wet with the blood of past victims.


    Their eyes burned with the thrill of the kill, their fangs bared in anticipation.


    Asael stepped forward, his grip tightening as he summoned his sword in a flash of golden light.


    The air around him crackled, and in the next instant, radiant armor formed around his body, the metal gleaming like celestial fire.


    A divine aura flared to life, its sheer intensity pressing down upon the battlefield like a wrathful god descending upon mortals.


    Anne clasped her hands together, whispering prayers that carried the weight of heaven itself.


    Her magic surged, not a gentle stream, but a raging storm.


    Light coiled around her, a golden tempest of holy energy, searing the approaching beastmen while mending the wounds of her allies.


    Her radiance pulsed outward, wrapping around Asael and Kenta, strengthening them with a divine blessing of speed and resilience.


    Kenta exhaled slowly, feeling the surge of power from Anne’s magic.


    His small frame trembled as dark purple energy coiled around him, the signature technique passed down by Marquis Hector.


    A killing technique. One that made him faster than the eye could follow, that let him strike before his enemy even felt the pain.


    His daggers glowed with an ominous violet hue, his breathing slowing, his mind sharpening into a lethal edge.


    Then, in a single heartbeat—


    The battle began.


    Asael launched forward like a golden tempest, his sword carving a gleaming arc through the air. The first beastman—a hulking wolf hybrid—barely had time to react before Asael’s blade tore through his chest.


    A gurgling choke left the beast’s throat as blood sprayed into the night, his massive form crumpling with a sickening thud.


    A tiger beastman with twin axes lunged from the side, roaring as he brought his weapons down.


    Clang!


    Sparks flew as Asael parried, twisting his blade and driving it straight into the beastman’s gaping maw.


    A gruesome crack followed as the golden steel burst through the back of his skull, his body convulsing before going limp.


    Pain flared through Asael’s side.


    A sudden spear had pierced through his armor, the warmth of his own blood spilling down his waist.


    But before he could even register the agony, Anne’s divine energy pulsed, sealing the wound as if it had never been there.


    Asael snarled, wrenching himself free and twisting his body in a deadly arc, cleaving the spearman in half.


    Blood splattered across his armor, dripping down in thick rivulets, but he didn’t stop.


    He kept cutting. Kept killing.


    While Asael tore through the battlefield like a vengeful storm, Kenta became a shadow of death. One moment, he was there.


    The next—gone.


    A monkey beastman gasped, clutching at his throat as Kenta’s dagger buried itself deep into his windpipe.


    Before the body could hit the ground, Kenta was already behind another enemy, slicing through his Achilles tendons with eerie precision.


    The beastman howled, collapsing onto his knees, his wide eyes filled with horror.


    And then—a flash of dark steel.


    His head rolled from his shoulders, landing with a dull, lifeless thud.


    The enemies never saw him coming. Each time he struck, there was only a brief moment of agony, then silence.


    Bodies dropped like flies, throats slit, arteries punctured, eyes gouged out.


    Anne’s magic made him even faster, his daggers moving with such unnatural speed that the beastmen barely realized they had already died.


    The scent of blood grew thicker, the air heavy with the stench of death.


    Anne stood at the heart of the battlefield, her hands trembling as she continued to chant.


    She could feel it—the weight of the battle, the suffocating malice of the enemy.


    But she did not falter.


    Her golden light pulsed outward, wrapping Asael and Kenta in warmth, sealing their wounds, easing their pain.


    She fortified their spirits, turned their fatigue into endurance, their fear into fury.


    A massive boar beastman charged straight for her, his colossal hammer raised to crush her skull.


    Anne’s breath hitched. There was no time to react.


    Just as the hammer came crashing down—


    Asael moved.


    His sword intercepted the hammer mid-air, golden sparks exploding upon impact.


    With a fierce snarl, he drove his knee into the beastman’s gut, the force so great that bones shattered with a sickening crunch.


    As the beastman choked on his own bile, Asael ended him with a single downward slash, cleaving his body in two.


    The arena fell into an eerie silence.


    The golden glow of Asael’s armor flickered, dimming slightly.


    Kenta’s daggers dripped with thick, blackened blood, his breath coming in sharp gasps.


    Anne’s hands trembled, her magic still surging but her energy nearly spent.


    And all around them—


    Bodies.


    Beastmen littered the battlefield, their corpses butchered beyond recognition.


    Blood pooled beneath their feet, soaking the dirt so deep that it turned into thick, muddy gore.


    Yet, in the center of it all, Korran still stood.


    His smug grin remained, but there was something new in his eyes—interest.


    He clapped his hands slowly, his deep chuckle resonating across the battlefield.