Azraël was now eleven years old.
He was looking outside his tent, where he was comfortably settled with his brother and his mother.
This time, Reno had gone alone to the arena, while Rita had stayed behind to take care of the village because there was a worrying influx of warriors. Something seemed to be driving them away from the capital.
They came in numbers, like soulless zombies, as if their spirits had been swallowed by something.
And yet, physically, they were perfectly fine. They had no wounds at all. However, what had been taken from them was probably worse than life itself. For a warrior of Nozras, returning without the will to fight was an almost unforgivable condemnation. No warrior retired in this mad world—either they protected villages, or they died in battle.
Once a weapon was taken and a goal set, laying down arms was forbidden. Or rather… one had to be strong enough to decide their own fate. Because to live a life like Reno and Rita's, one needed enough strength to survive after having sat on the throne even once—both inside the capital and beyond it, where wandering warriors constantly sought prestige.
And now… warriors were arriving in waves, all as empty as one another. Like ghosts.
There was a problem in the capital. A big one. And it stirred the Ogre's curiosity.
Some had even asked Reno to deal with it.
By now, people saw him as a king without a crown. Someone responsible for the capital and its troubles whenever something went wrong. It was ridiculous, since the eternal battlefield would remain an eternal battlefield even with Reno's presence. But this… this was something bigger than the usual chaos, and only the Ogre could handle it.
No one could contest his title anymore. To the point that sometimes, the warrior sitting on the throne would step down on his own the moment he saw the Ogre's smile appear at the top of the stairs.
As for the village, it had become three times larger, and its safety was unquestionable. In truth, the mere presence of Reno and Rita was enough to declare the place untouchable. Nothing and no one could oppose them. On top of that, many warriors had settled there. Some had fled the capital and stayed to serve as the Ogre's clan. Others stopped by on their journey, seeking advice or weapons before heading back.
It was like a save point in a video game.
However, lately, the warriors reinforcing the clan were arriving in large numbers. Some had no injuries but looked utterly broken and discouraged. Not even the Ogre inspired such a deep sense of defeat.
When Reno asked them what was happening in the capital, they all gave roughly the same answer.
"It was like we couldn't touch him. He controls water and wind like a sorcerer, and it's impossible to reach the throne because of that."
"He doesn't fight by Nozras' rules. He calls upon the wrath of the land and the sky. We can't get close."
"He tore the sky apart. I saw it. When he raised his hand, lightning fell from above."
"He's a sorcerer… or a magician. I would've dealt with him myself, but I can't. No one can… except you."
"He mocks us… mocks our culture. All these years we bled for honor and glory… and that bastard is killing Nozras."
Reno was surprised—but not in a good way. It irritated him more than anything else.
Clearly, this man didn't fight like a warrior at all, but like a mage. And magic had been banned in Nozras since Nozras himself. No one had ever been able to control wind or water to such an extent… not enough to break the will of warriors.
Something was definitely wrong.
So, Reno decided to take matters into his own hands.
"Go get my sword."
During one of his conquests, Reno had picked up a heavy two-handed sword—or rather, it was originally meant to be wielded with two hands. The weapon had lores fur wrapped around its handle. It was long, slightly shorter than Reno himself, incredibly wide, and nearly half the Ogre's width, making it a truly terrifying sight.
He didn't know who it had belonged to, nor why such a monstrous weapon had been abandoned. But when he saw it lying there under the pouring rain, he immediately understood just how fearsome it was.
During his battles, after cutting down thousands of men, the sword had eventually earned a name—"Man-Eater."
"You're going to go? Do you need help, chief?"
A warrior approached him, struggling to carry the blade. It was heavy—extremely heavy—even for a highly trained warrior of Nozras.
The small group of warriors gathered around Reno had become quite formidable. More than fifty warriors were now under his command. Or rather… under Rita's. It had become clear that she possessed far greater leadership skills than Reno. Still, he was called "chief" for obvious reasons.
"No. I don't really know what the enemy is capable of. I'll go with only three men. We'll see if he can stop me."
Reno had made up his mind, and judging by the anger on his face, it was clear that nothing could prevent him from settling things with this traitor to the nation.
Rita, watching the small group prepare in the distance, said nothing.
She trusted her husband. Nothing could stop the Ogre anyway.
But this time… she still had doubts. Deep within her, she felt something sharp pierce her heart. A bad premonition that refused to leave.
It was the first time she had ever seen him this angry.
Trying to remember, she couldn't even recall if he had been this furious when his homeland had been attacked.
But now… he truly looked like he could destroy everything.
And more than that—he wasn't taking his usual club.
He was taking the massive sword.
The one that wasn't made to defeat…
…but to kill.
And her doubts were confirmed. It had been more than eight months since he had returned. Azraël had had to celebrate his birthday without him.
The young boy, with his dark gaze, watched his candle slowly burn down until it nearly reached the end on its own… but Azraüs ended up blowing it out in his place.
"You don't have to worry, Azraël. Dad is fine."
Azraël looked at him and saw eyes full of hope, as if he feared nothing. As if he didn't know that in this world, even the strongest could fall. That things didn't always go as planned… and that regret often came with ignorance.
Rita watched the rain pour violently outside. Or rather, she observed it carefully… because this rain was strange.
On the dry and arid lands of Nozras, rain rarely fell. And it was true that when it did, it usually came down in torrents. However, for some time now… it hadn't stopped. It had been raining endlessly for months, to the point that she no longer remembered when it had started. Rivers overflowed, plants drowned beneath the water, birds became scarce, and water carried away the blood of warriors across the entire nation.
Everything pointed to one thing—the country had entered a completely different climatic phase. And that had never happened before.
Rita then recalled what one of the warriors Reno had questioned had said:
"It was like we couldn't touch him. He controls water and wind like a sorcerer, and it's impossible to reach the throne because of that."
Could that strange man control the rain? Not only had it appeared around the same time they had heard of him, but it had also grown stronger ever since Reno went there.
Rita's instincts flared up, and the sharp pain in her chest had now almost turned into a spear.
"This is definitely not normal."
She suddenly stood up from her chair, under the surprised gaze of Azraël and Azraüs, and equipped herself with several daggers.
That was another strange thing about her—no one ever knew where all her daggers came from. One day, when she fought against Reno, the group of warriors around them had seen at least twenty appear out of nowhere.
Now, she armed herself heavily—but not too much. After all, her fighting style relied on lightness and freedom of movement. Being overloaded would only slow her down.
She rushed out of the tent, while her sons tried to follow her. Outside, under the pouring rain, her golden-blonde hair was quickly soaked and dragged downward.
She gave an order to three warriors standing in the middle of the village, holding spears.
Azraël could only see the three warriors move at incredible speed in three different directions. Then Rita moved again, heading toward other warriors in another part of the village.
Azraüs, worried, tried to grab her before asking:
"What's wrong, Mom? What's happening?"
Rita calmed herself and stopped for a moment when she saw her children had followed her. She crouched down and placed her hands on Azraüs's shoulders.
"I'm going to get your father. He's late for dinner."
Azraüs thought for a moment, then suddenly seemed reassured.
But that wasn't the case for Azraël, who seemed to understand the urgency.
Rita looked at her eldest son with dark eyes before saying:
"Take care of your brother while I'm gone. I'll leave people to watch over you."
Then she turned around and disappeared into the shadows. She moved like a serpent, and no one could hear her steps despite the muddy ground. She truly deserved her name—the Black Viper.
Azraël remained there with his brother, who didn't seem worried at all. They watched as a small group of soldiers formed under their mother's orders. With her, the soldiers seemed revitalized, ready to face anything.
Then later, when everything was ready… they left. Rita hugged both her sons, kissed each of them on the forehead, and turned away to go find Reno.
No one could know what would happen. No one could predict the future.
However… whether they wanted it or not…
This was the last time Azraüs and his brother saw the distinctive golden hair of the last of the Obu.