Both General Varek and General Arhim moved toward each other through the chaos of the battlefield, their paths cutting straight through the ongoing clash. Any soldier who came in their way—friend or foe—was pushed aside or struck down without hesitation. The noise of war surrounded them, but neither of them was focused on the battle anymore.
They were focused on each other.
Arhim could feel the pressure closing in from every direction, but his resolve did not waver. In his mind, only one thought remained clear. This is the moment. The opportunity that had not come in years, the chance to break the long-standing stalemate, had finally arrived—and it had been given to them.
By their king.
This is where we prove it… that Valenford stands above all doubt.
His grip on the sword tightened.
"I will end this today!" Arhim roared, his voice cutting through the battlefield as he surged forward. "Velkyrians fall here!"
The shout didn't shake Varek.
If anything, it excited him.
A sharp grin spread across his face as he accelerated, his eyes locked onto Arhim with a hunger that had nothing to do with strategy anymore.
"Good…" he muttered under his breath. "Don't hold back."
The distance between them closed in an instant.
Their blades met with force.
A sharp metallic clash rang out as their swords collided, sparks bursting outward from the impact. The force of it traveled through both of them, pushing neither back. For a brief moment, their weapons locked, steel grinding against steel as neither yielded ground.
In that narrow space, their eyes met.
Recognition.
Memory.
Sixteen years of unfinished conflict compressed into a single moment.
Varek spoke first, his voice low but steady, carrying a familiarity that didn't belong on a battlefield.
"Arhim… it's been sixteen years."
His expression didn't soften, but there was something deeper behind his gaze.
"The last time we fought… it ended before it should have."
A faint smile returned, sharper this time.
"What do you say we finish it properly?"
Arhim didn't look away.
His expression hardened, but there was no hesitation in it.
"I was about to say the same."
Sixteen years of rivalry. Of unfinished outcome. Of waiting for a moment that never came.
Until now.
"Let's end it."
The lock broke.
Both moved at once.
Steel cut through the air as their blades separated and returned again in rapid succession. The controlled clash turned instantly into a lethal exchange, each strike aimed not to test—but to kill. There was no room for restraint, no space for error.
This was no longer a battlefield engagement.
This was a duel.
A fight that had been delayed for sixteen years—
Now finally unfolding to its end.
The clash between the two generals rose above the rest of the battlefield, drawing attention without command. What had begun as a widespread fight now seemed to narrow around them, as if the war itself had found a single point of focus.
To those watching, it didn't feel like a normal duel.
It felt overwhelming.
One soldier, standing at a distance with his blade lowered, wiped the sweat from his face as his eyes remained fixed on the two figures. "Do generals… always fight like this…?" he muttered, his voice barely steady.
Steel collided again.
And again.
Each strike carried intent, each movement precise, controlled, and lethal. Neither Arhim nor Varek gave space, their blades meeting with force that sent sparks scattering into the air.
Then—
Varek found an opening.
His blade slipped through Arhim's defense and cut across his abdomen. Not deep enough to end the fight—but enough to disrupt it. The impact forced Arhim to step back, breaking the rhythm that had held until now.
For the first time—
He was pushed away.
That single moment spread across the battlefield faster than any command.
Valenford's soldiers saw it.
And something shifted.
It didn't collapse instantly—but it weakened. Movements slowed. Strikes lost their sharpness. Eyes drifted toward their general, searching—not for orders, but for certainty.
If he falls…
The thought didn't need to be spoken.
It was already there.
Arhim felt it.
Not through sound—but through absence.
The force behind their push… fading.
The weight of expectation settled heavily on him. He didn't look at Varek. He didn't look at the battlefield.
He looked at his sword.
For a brief moment, the noise of war dimmed, replaced by something older.
A memory.
King Leki stood before him, placing that very blade in his hands. Not as a reward—but as a burden.
"You are not just a general, Arhim."
The voice was calm, but absolute.
"You are the shield of this land. When others fall, you do not. When others hesitate, you stand."
"Protector of the Land."
The present returned.
The battlefield roared back into existence.
And with it—
Clarity.
Across from him, Varek saw only what he wanted to see.
The wound.
The pause.
The stillness.
A faint smile formed on his face, sharp and certain. To him, this was the moment where resistance broke. Where the battle tipped fully in his favor.
Arhim was slowing.
And that meant he was losing.
But Arhim moved.
Not forward.
Upward.
He raised his sword high enough for every soldier to see.
For a brief moment, he said nothing.
And that silence carried weight.
Then his voice followed.
Not loud at first—
But steady.
"For our motherland…"
The words carried, cutting through hesitation.
"For our country…"
His grip tightened.
His voice rose.
"We did not stand all these years… just to fall today."
The force behind his words grew, each line striking deeper than the last.
"We are Valenford."
"We endure."
"We do not break."
His voice sharpened, carrying across the battlefield with undeniable strength.
"So stand your ground… and fight."
For a moment—
Nothing moved.
Then one soldier lifted his weapon.
"For our motherland!"
Another followed.
Then ten.
Then a hundred.
"For our motherland!"
The chant spread, growing louder, stronger, echoing across the battlefield. The hesitation that had taken hold moments before shattered under its weight, replaced by something far more dangerous.
Resolve.
And with that—
They surged forward.
Valenford's soldiers advanced with renewed force, their strikes sharper, their movements unified. What had been a faltering line became a pushing front, driving back Velkyria's forces with growing momentum.
The shift was immediate.
Decisive.
On the left, Captain Rim seized the moment, breaking through the enemy line and defeating his counterpart after a fierce exchange. On the right, Lieutenant Sam pressed forward relentlessly, overwhelming the opposing forces and securing control of the gate.
Both flanks—
Stabilized.
Then secured.
The battlefield had changed again.
Not through numbers.
Not through chance.
But through will.
And this time—
Valenford was advancing.
The shift on the battlefield did not go unnoticed.
Varek saw it clearly—his soldiers, who had been advancing moments ago, were now being pushed back. Lines that should have held were breaking. Momentum that had belonged to him… was slipping away.
And with it—
His control.
A surge of anger rose within him, sharp and immediate, burning through whatever composure remained. This was not how it was supposed to unfold.
Not now.
Not here.
Arhim stepped forward again.
This time, there was no hesitation in his movement. The earlier pause was gone, replaced by a clear, unwavering intent. Blood continued to flow from the wound across his abdomen, staining his armor, each step costing him—but he didn't slow down.
He knew.
This was the moment.
One exchange.
One opening.
That was all he would get.
Varek noticed the change.
For a brief instant, there was something close to surprise in his eyes. The man who had stepped back moments ago was no longer the same. There was no sign of weakness left—only resolve.
Then Varek moved as well.
The distance between them closed once again.
Their blades collided.
The impact rang out, sharper than before, heavier with everything that had led to this moment. Steel pressed against steel as both pushed forward, neither willing to yield even an inch.
This time, Varek struck first.
He drove forward aggressively, attempting to overwhelm Arhim with force, trying to break through before the encirclement behind him tightened further. Every strike carried urgency now—no longer controlled, but driven by pressure.
But Arhim did not give ground.
Not this time.
He held.
Then pushed back.
The shift was subtle—
But decisive.
Arhim turned the force aside, stepping into Varek's attack instead of retreating from it. The clash changed direction, momentum reversing as he forced Varek backward, breaking the rhythm that had favored him until now.
For the first time—
Varek was pushed.
"…Enough," Varek growled, his voice breaking through clenched teeth. "ARHIM!"
The restraint vanished.
He gathered everything into the next strike—strength, anger, desperation—and surged forward with full intent to kill. This was not a calculated attack anymore.
This was final.
Arhim saw it.
And was ready.
As Varek closed in, committing fully to the strike, Arhim moved—not away, but forward. He stepped into the attack, narrowing the distance at the exact moment Varek extended himself.
And in that opening—
He struck.
The blade went through.
Clean.
Decisive.
Arhim's sword pierced through Varek's abdomen, the force of it stopping both of them in place. For a brief moment, everything seemed to still—the clash, the movement, the noise around them.
Then—
Reality returned.
Varek's grip weakened.
Blood rose to his mouth, spilling forward as his body began to give way. The strength that had driven him moments ago drained rapidly, replaced by something heavier.
Finality.
Arhim held his ground, his voice low but steady.
"…Your time is over."
Varek's body gave out.
He fell to his knees, then to the ground, the impact dull against the chaos of the battlefield. For a moment, he lay there, staring upward—then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
A broken, breathless sound.
"Even if… you kill me here…" he said, forcing the words out between breaths, "Velkyria will still crush you…"
His eyes locked onto Arhim, defiance still burning.
"You've already lost Hower… ha… ha…"
Before the words could settle—
A messenger reached Arhim, leaning in just enough to deliver the report.
Arhim listened.
And then looked back at Varek.
A faint, almost tired calm had returned to his expression.
"Do you really believe that?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Look."
Varek turned.
Slowly.
And what he saw—
Didn't align with his belief.
Velkyria's soldiers were no longer advancing.
They had stopped.
Weapons lowered. Some slipping from their hands entirely. The structure of their formation had dissolved, replaced by confusion… then fear.
The momentum was gone.
So was the will to fight.
For the first time, doubt surfaced—sharp and unwelcome.
When did this go wrong…?
Was this decided before I even arrived…?
Arhim's voice followed, quiet but absolute.
"Your captains are dead."
"The gates are lost."
"And now—"
He held Varek's gaze.
"You are finished."
The realization struck too late.
Whatever resistance remained in Varek's body faded, his strength giving way as the weight of everything collapsed at once. There was no final response, no last defiance.
Only silence.
General Varek Noctis was dead.
The effect was immediate.
Across the battlefield, Velkyria's remaining soldiers broke. Some dropped their weapons where they stood. Others turned and fled, abandoning the fight entirely. The structure of their army collapsed in moments.
And in its place—
Victory.
Valenford's soldiers surged with relief, with exhaustion, with triumph. Cheers broke out across the field, echoing through the city they had just defended, their voices carrying the weight of survival and victory combined.
Arhim turned.
Slowly.
His gaze lifting toward Hower Castle.
Toward the place where it had all been decided before the battle had even begun.
And there—
I stood.