Druvan's voice cracks in terror.

"My lord! We need orders!"

Grell stares at the falling soldiers, at the endless storm of arrows blotting out the sky.

His ambition freezes into raw fear.

"This… This isn't possible…"

Grell's horse skids back as another blast of force shakes the earth.

His face twists—fear, confusion, anger all fighting to surface.

"When… when did the monster race of that place become this strong!?" he shouts, gripping his reins until his knuckles pale. "Nam City always reported their monster population is kept in check! They hunt them when any group grows too strong! So why—why is this happening? That was all a lie!?"

Arrows keep falling. Soldiers scream. Smoke rises.

Grell's lips tremble.

"R-retreat… we need to—"

He never finishes.

Because in that moment—

—two auras crash down onto the plains like thunder from the heavens.

One is heavy, oppressive, crushing the lungs of every human below.

A high-level Tier 6.

The other is sharper, colder, vast like a mountain ready to collapse.

A peak Tier 6.

The humans freeze.

Randon's eyes bulge. "Two… two Tier 6 monsters!? And one is PEAK-level!?"

Even the two city lords pale.

Then—

Two shadows descend from the sky with deafening force.

BOOOOOOM!!!

Dust blasts outward. Soldiers stagger back from the shockwave.

And standing in the crater.

Ruk the minotaur general, towering, muscles like iron cables, gripping a massive halberd etched with deep brown runes. Earth mana swirls around him, cracking the ground with every breath.

Beside him.

Vordon a colossal tiger-beastman clad in full, runic armor, his halberd twice the length of a grown man. His presence alone feels like a predator that has already decided its prey will die screaming.

Vordon lifts his halberd, pointing its tip at the entire human army.

His voice booms like rolling thunder, amplified by mana.

"Humans. You will not leave this plain alive."

He lowers his stance, armor grinding.

"ATTACK!!"

The plains erupt.

Ruk charges forward first, the earth rumbling under his hooves.

"TIER 6: PULVERIZING STRIDE!"

Each step detonates with shockwaves. Soldiers are thrown back like leaves in a storm. Some collapse without ever understanding what hit them.

Halven raises his hand. "ALL SPEARMEN! BRACE! BRACE!!"

Hundreds lower their weapons at once—

—but Ruk swings his halberd down.

"TIER 5: EARTHBREAKER CRESCENT!!"

A massive arc of compressed earth-mana tears through the ground, splitting soil, armor, bodies—everything.

KRRAAAAAACK—BOOOOOOOM!!

The spear line disintegrates.

Dozens of men vanish in an instant, shredded or crushed.

Ruk roars, stamping his hoof.

Dust and dirt burst upward, forming jagged pillars that impale anyone nearby.

"Who's next!?"

City Lord Druvan charges with his elite Tier 5s behind him. "FORM UP! ATTACK TOGETHER! WE CAN TAKE THEM IF WE—"

Vordon appears in front of him before he finishes the sentence.

His halberd shimmers with swirling brown runes.

"TIER 6: RUPTURING FANG."

He thrusts.

A shockwave erupts point-blank into Druvan's chest.

CRACK.

The city lord's armor shatters. His eyes widen.

Blood sprays.

He flies back hundreds of meters, smashing through three supply wagons.

Dead before he hits the ground.

The elites freeze in horror.

Vordon doesn't.

He spins, halberd sweeping a full circle.

"TIER 5: QUAKE CLEAVE."

The earth trembles violently.

The shockwave rips through metal, flesh, shields, and bones. The elites split apart, bodies collapsing like broken dolls.

Not one survives.

---

City Lord Halven sees Druvan get obliterated and panics.

"F-FALL BACK! FALL BA—"

He doesn't finish.

Ruk turns his head toward him, snorts once, and the ground beneath his hooves cracks like dry glass.

"Low-level Tier 6," Ruk rumbles. "You're not even worth a warm-up."

Halven's eyes widen. He raises his sword desperately. "W–WAIT, WE CAN TAL—"

Ruk steps forward.

Just one step.

BOOOOM!!

The shockwave sends Halven flying backward like a ragdoll, smashing him into a wall of soldiers.

"Tier 5: Pulverizing Stride."

Ruk appears above him before Halven even lands.

"Tier 6: Stonehammer Drop."

He brings his halberd down like an executioner's axe.

CRUUUUNCH!!!

The earth caves in. Halven's body is reduced to nothing but a cratered smear of armor and bone.

Ruk exhales once, bored.

Randon watches in horror as both city lords—two Tier 6 elites—die in less than ten seconds.

His entire body trembles.

"H-How… how are Tier 6 monsters THIS strong…!?"

Then—

A shadow falls over him.

Vordon.

The tiger's golden eyes look down at him like he's already dead.

"Mid-level Tier 6," Vordon says calmly, voice like cold iron.

Randon grips his sword so hard his hand bleeds. "Y-you… You killed Druvan… as if he were a child…"

"He was," Vordon replies. "Compared to me."

He lifts his halberd slightly, the runes along its shaft glowing a deep earth-brown.

Randon's face twists with desperation. "I—I am a knight of the kingdom! A sworn servant of Baron Grell! If you kill me, you declare war on the human crown!"

Vordon blinks once.

"And?"

Randon feels something crack inside him.

"D-damn you—!"

He draws his sword, aura exploding outward.

"TIER 6—"

His blade ignites with fierce wind mana, forming a raging spiral.

"—GALE SHATTERING STRIKE!!"

He leaps forward, wind screaming around him, the ground splitting under his burst of speed.

Humans watching from afar cheer desperately.

"Sir Randon is fighting!"

"He can do it! He's a mid-level Tier 6!"

"He'll kill that monster!"

Randon's blade descends like a razor hurricane.

And Vordon… simply raises his free hand.

Just one hand.

CLANG.

The wind stops.

The sword stops.

Randon's eyes go wide.

"Impossible," he whispers. "You… blocked it with your—"

Vordon tightens his grip.

CRACK.

His fingers crush the sword.

The entire blade turns to powder.

Randon collapses to his knees, staring at the broken hilt in disbelief. "No… No… This can't be real…"

Vordon places his halberd against Randon's shoulder like a father scolding a child.

"You should not have marched on our king's territory."

A flash of brown light.

"TIER 6: Tectonic Rend."

SHHHLAAASH!!!

The ground splits open beneath Randon, a deep fissure ripping through earth and stone.

Randon screams as the shockwave tears through his armor, body, and soul.

A second later—

A geyser of blood erupts.

And the mid-level Tier 6 knight is gone.

Entirely.

The human front collapses.

Soldiers throw their weapons and run.

"RETREAT!! RETREAT!!"

"THE CITY LORDS ARE DEAD!!"

"EVEN SIR RANDON IS—AARGH!!"

Ruk watches the chaos with a grin. "Hah! They break fast."

Vordon taps his halberd into the ground.

A deep vibration travels outward—like a heartbeat in the soil.

"Do not let them flee," Vordon says calmly. "Not one."

Ruk cracks his neck. "Thought you'd never say it."

Baron Grell watches his army crumble. His heart squeezes in his chest.

"This… This can't be happening…"

He slowly turns his horse around.

"I… I must retreat. I must warn the Duke… I must—"

A massive shadow blocks the sun behind him.

Grell freezes.

He turns.

Ruk stands there.

No emotion. No mercy. Just inevitability.

"Going somewhere?"

Grell opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

Vordon lands beside Ruk, halberd dripping with fresh blood.

"The king sends his regards," Vordon says.

Ruk lifts his halberd.

Grell screams.

The plains echo with the final sound of a man whose ambition outran his fate.

----

The next morning, In Duke Charles' working chamber

The sun has barely risen, but Duke Charles is already seated at his broad mahogany desk, quill in hand and documents spread before him. The chamber is quiet, lit only by the soft glow of mana-lamps lining the walls.

He signs one parchment, sets it atop a stack, and reaches for the next.

A knock breaks the stillness.

Knock. Knock.

Charles doesn't look up.

"Enter."

The door opens, and the head butler steps in swiftly—too swiftly for his usual reserved demeanor. His face is composed, but Charles notices the stiffness in his posture.

The butler bows low.

"My lord… urgent news. It concerns Baron Grell."

Charles sets his quill down with deliberate calm.

"Speak."

The butler inhales softly. "Yesterday… Baron Grell marched his forces toward Nam City."

Charles' expression doesn't change.

"Yes. He asked for permission to gather information. I allowed it."

The butler swallows.

"My lord… He did not gather information."

Charles' gaze sharpens. "What did he do?"

"He invaded, Your Grace," the butler says. "Full force. Fifty-five thousand soldiers."

Charles closes his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose.

"So he got greedy."

The butler nods grimly. "Yes, my lord. And… it appears he did not understand the capabilities of his enemy."

Silence fills the chamber.

Charles does not feel shock—only irritation. "Of course he didn't. Grell always believed ambition alone compensates for intelligence."