The impact of the landing still echoed as Kael rose from the cracks in the wall. The sound of the wind mingled with the roars of beasts, the screams of soldiers, and the steady crackle of flames consuming the outer towers.

The city of Azalith was at war.

And he had arrived.

The air was thick with mana, vibrating in almost palpable waves. The ground trembled beneath the footsteps of the creatures scaling the walls, and the ancient stone seemed to mourn the weight of the chaos bearing down upon it. Kael lifted his head—and saw.

Hundreds of monsters, perhaps thousands, pushing against each other, howling, destroying, corrupting everything they touched.

And among them, armored men and women fought to their last breath.

Kael took a deep breath, tasting the metallic taste of blood carried by the wind. The sound of the world seemed to vanish for an instant. He flicked his wrist—and the blade responded, sliding from its holster with a cold, silvery glint.

The shadows stirred at his feet.

"Let's end this."

The first wave came like a tidal wave.

Mana-cracked golems, crystalline-toothed beasts, shapes formed of smoke and pure energy.

Kael ran in the opposite direction—toward death.

His speed tore through the air.

The first blow wasn't seen, only felt: a white line sliced across the horizon, and the creatures in front of him were torn apart, evaporated before they even touched the ground.

The soldiers behind him, stunned, paused for a moment—unsure if the man before them was ally or demon.

Kael didn't look at them.

He simply advanced.

His feet touched the parapet of the wall, and the wind blew hard, kicking up debris and ash.

He leaped.

As he leaped, the world seemed to slow.

Below him, the army of monsters moved like a living mass—mouths, eyes, and claws overlapping, a sea of pure fury.

Kael raised his sword above his head and concentrated his mana.

The sky darkened.

Silver and black sparks began to swirl around his blade, coalescing into a whirlwind of energy. Wind magic condensed, roaring with fury, while the shadow responded, shaping the air like a living veil.

As Kael descended, the impact was like the birth of a storm.

The ground gave way.

The explosion swept across the front line—creatures and rocks hurled in every direction. The muffled sound of the impact echoed throughout the wall, sending soldiers and monsters staggering.

Kael emerged from the center of the crater, his silhouette obscured by dust and the pulsing glow of mana. A beast the size of a house charged at him, roaring with stone teeth and blazing eyes.

Kael spun, dodging the blow, and plunged his sword into the creature's neck—the steel flashed, and the beast dissolved into smoke.

Without hesitation, he spun, and the wind pushed him forward, transforming each movement into a fluid, perfect cut.

The blade didn't just cut flesh—it tore through mana itself.

Each strike cleansed the air, disintegrated the corruption, and left trails of silver light floating in its wake.

A group of soldiers behind him tried to reorganize their defense.

They watched, mouths agape, as Kael cut through monsters that had once driven them to despair.

One of them, his face covered in blood, murmured in disbelief:

"...Who... who is this man?"

No one answered.

Kael didn't hear, nor did he care. The sound of blood pounding in his ears drowned out everything.

He spun, and a shadow emerged from his feet, like an extension of himself.

The shadowy copy attacked a group of beasts from the flank, its ethereal blades piercing the air like cutting smoke.

The two versions of Kael fought in sync, as if they shared a common predatory instinct.

A beast with enormous horns struck him unexpectedly, hurling him against a stone wall. The impact shattered part of the wall.

Kael coughed, blood trickling down his lips—and smiled, a dry, tired smile.

"You're persistent, aren't you?"

He snapped his fingers, and the shadows converged again.

The surrounding darkness condensed like smoke being sucked into a flame—and the ground shook.

From the earth, dozens of shadowy arms rose, grabbing legs, fangs, and bodies. The creatures roared, held captive by an invisible force, as Kael advanced, cutting them down one by one until only dust remained.

Explosions shook the gates.

The soldiers shouted orders, but Kael barely noticed.

His eyes were fixed on the road leading to the Academy—the silhouette of the castle in the distance, above the plumes of smoke.

"I need to get there."

He swung his sword, wiping away the black blood dripping down the blade, and then ran again.

A new wave approached the gate—magically armored, quadrupedal monsters covered in spikes and living runes.

Kael took a deep breath and raised his free hand.

The wind responded.

Invisible blades sliced through the air, ripping through the creatures' front line before they reached the wall.

But as the beasts fell, twenty more replaced them.

The cycle seemed endless.

Kael ran along the wall, leaping between the destroyed towers.

A golem attacked him from the left, throwing a stone fist. He spun in the air, dodging by a hair's breadth, and severed the creature's arm—the blow was so swift the wind was slow to catch up.

The severed fist fell into the crowd below, crushing smaller monsters.

Kael landed atop a ruined tower.

From up there, he saw the battlefield in its entirety—and felt the weight of it.

Even though he'd killed hundreds, the flow wouldn't stop.

It was like trying to hold back an ocean with his bare hands.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

He heard the screams. The crackle of fire. The sound of swords clashing against claws.

And then something in his chest flared.

An impulse.

A memory.

The ancient image of a place like this—also in ruins, also devoured by monsters, also left for dead.

And he, too weak to stop it.

"This time... no."

The wind around him changed.

It no longer blew—it roared.

The shadow at his feet spread like living ink, covering the entire tower.

Kael leaped again, but this time not as a man.

He was a blur.

The ground cracked as he landed in the middle of the enemy camp, and before any creature could react, the massacre began.

The air filled with slashes.

Horizontal, vertical, cross, spinning blows—all in sequence, without pause, like notes in a furious symphony.

Each thrust made way for the next, each movement perfect, without waste.

The sword was an extension of the body, and the body an extension of the will.

Blades of wind mingled with the shadows, slashing in opposite directions.

The entire field trembled.

The soldiers on the wall began to scream—not in fear, but in astonishment.

Those who still resisted began to attack again, inspired by the sight of the lone warrior cutting through hundreds of enemies.

Hope, however brief, had returned.

But Kael wasn't seeking hope.

Only the end.

A winged creature, made of smoke and bones, dove from the sky with a deafening scream. Kael spun, severing a wing.

The beast fell, collapsing part of the walls.

He climbed onto its body, ran along its back, and with the final leap, struck the heart of the horde—an explosion of light and shadow engulfed the field.

When the dust settled, only he remained standing.

The shadows slowly dissipated.

The ground was strewn with carcasses and ash.

The soldiers stared in silence—unable to comprehend what they had witnessed.

Kael breathed heavily.

His body trembled with exhaustion, but his wounds were already healing.

He looked to the horizon, where the Academy's golden tower still stood, stained with smoke.

The gleam in his eyes softened—just for a moment.

"It's almost..."

A roar echoed behind him.

A gigantic creature emerged from the ruins—a monster of pure mana, formed of dense, unstable energy.

Kael spun, raising his sword.

The beast lashed out at him with a massive claw.

The blow smashed the ground.

Kael was thrown against a wall.

Before he could touch the ground, he gathered wind into his feet, spun, and used the momentum to fly straight back.

The blade flashed—and pierced the monster through.

The explosion was so powerful that the flames went out for a second.

Silence returned.

And with it, only the sound of the wind rushing through the ruins.

Kael landed among the rubble, his sword still in his hand, his body covered in blood and ash.

He looked around—the field was clear.

The soldiers, shocked, began to regroup. One of them tried to approach, perhaps to thank him, but Kael had already turned his back.

There was no time for rest.

The real war was above.

At the Academy.

Kael sighed.

The sound echoed faintly, almost swallowed by the wind sweeping through the ruins.

He flicked his wrist, wiping the blade in the air—the black blood evaporating before it touched the ground.

For a moment, everything seemed still.

Smoke rose slowly, curling up into the gray sky. The smell of iron and burnt mana filled the air.

He looked up at the walls again.

There were still soldiers up there—shadows moving between the broken towers, trying to hold back what remained of the smaller hordes.

Kael flexed his legs and, with a push, leaped.

The wind screamed beneath his feet.

The ground fell away, the rubble becoming distant dots.

Within seconds, he was back on the wall, landing beside a group of exhausted knights.

The impact sent him sliding for several meters, the stones cracking beneath his boots.

The men stared at him—frightened, confused; one even instinctively recoiled.

Kael said nothing.

He simply passed between them, as if the chaos were still behind him.

The noise of smaller battles echoed in the distance.

Isolated roars. Arrows being fired. The crack of spears against carapaces.

But here, at this high point, the main sound was the wind beating against the torn banners of Azalith.

Kael walked to the central guard tower.

The gate was broken, and a trail of blood led up the stairs.

At the top, amidst the rubble and fire, he found the man he was looking for.

The captain of the guard—a tall knight in gray armor and a torn blue cloak.

He leaned his weight on a sword stuck in the ground, his face smeared with soot, his breathing heavy.

When he saw Kael approaching, he looked up—and for a moment, his hardened expression wavered.

Kael's presence seemed to distort the air.

The shadows around him moved, even without the wind, as if recognizing the surrounding countryside.

The knight took a deep breath.

"You..." His voice was hoarse. "It was you down there."

Kael stopped a few steps away, his gaze steady and direct.

"What happened here?" His voice was low, almost emotionless, but carried a weight that compelled a response.

The knight hesitated. He looked at the horizon, where the flames still burned, and then at the distant castle in the heart of the mountain.

His fist clenched tightly on the hilt of his sword.

"It's been weeks... maybe months."

His voice was shaky, as if admitting it was shameful.

"The hordes started small. Creatures coming from the forests, the valleys, from within the earth itself. We thought it was temporary."

He took a deep breath.

"But they come back. They always come back. And each time... worse."

Kael fell silent.

The wind blew between them, stirring up ash and embers.

The knight continued, his voice rougher now, filled with exhaustion and suppressed anger:

"We sent messengers north, to the council of Azalith and the Academy. We asked for reinforcements... they said they were on their way. To hold out."

He laughed—a dry, humorless sound.

"It's been two weeks since the 'reinforcement' was supposed to arrive. And here we are, dying every day, holding the walls with blood and mana."