A lonesome hill stood on the broken battlefield.
All around it lay a landscape of death and destruction. The earth had been torn apart by countless spells, leaving behind craters, shattered stones, and smoldering ruins.
Lucian's figure soared through the air and landed atop the hill, instantly forming a small crater beneath his feet.
After fighting for several hours without pause, a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. His breathing was slightly heavy, while several parts of his tunic were cut apart in clean, razor-sharp cuts.
A thin line of crimson ran horizontally across his face, stretching over the bridge of his nose. It was a shallow wound, but it stood as proof that even he had not emerged from the battle unscathed.
His golden eyes flashed with a solemn light, and he couldn't help but curse under his breath, "Damn that sneaky rat."
