As the two warriors charged toward one another, the clash of their wills erupted in an instant. Rezoun's sword gleamed as it sliced through the air, aiming with lethal precision at the Knight Commander's midsection. Yet, in a sudden blur of movement — so swift it resembled teleportation — the Knight Commander vanished from Rezoun's front and reappeared behind him. With a fluid motion, he swung the blade in his right hand, its deadly arc seeking Rezoun's face.
But Rezoun's instincts roared to life. He twisted just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike, and retaliated with explosive force. His left fist surged upward in a brutal uppercut, driving toward the Knight Commander's chin. The impact landed cleanly. The Knight Commander's head snapped back violently, his body lifting off the ground as if yanked by the force of a detonation.
Suspended in the air for the briefest heartbeat, he was given no reprieve. Before gravity could reclaim him, Rezoun followed through, his movements seamless and merciless. Twisting his body mid-step, he drove the elbow of his left arm deep into the Knight Commander's abdomen. The blow struck with thunderous force, sending the Knight Commander hurtling backward through the air before crashing to the ground.
He skidded across the earth, tearing up soil and dust in his wake. As he struggled to rise, bracing himself on one knee, determination blazing in his eyes, a flicker of movement caught his attention, and his blood ran cold. His eyes widened in shock.
A sword was spinning through the air, a silver blur of death streaking toward his face.
With no time to think, only to react, the Knight Commander jerked his head to the left. The blade passed so close it sliced through strands of his hair, the hiss of steel deafening in his ears. The sword slammed into the ground behind him with a resonant thud, embedding itself deep in the earth where his skull had been moments before.
The Knight Commander finally rose to his feet, bloodied but unyielding, a storm of fury and resolve burning behind his eyes. Across the battlefield, Rezoun reached down without hesitation, grabbing a sword from the cold hand of a fallen knight, its edge still stained with battle. Without a word, they both surged forward, feet pounding the blood-soaked earth, drawn together again by the gravity of war.
This time, Rezoun made no move to strike first. He waited — watchful, calculating — as the Knight Commander closed the distance. And then it came: a swift, brutal strike from the Commander's right hand, a blow aimed directly at Rezoun's head. The attack came fast, but Rezoun was faster. He ducked low in a single, fluid motion, his head slipping just beneath the Knight Commander's torso.
From this lowered stance, Rezoun retaliated, slashing upward with the sword in his hand, the blade aimed to sever the Knight Commander's left calf. But the Commander reacted with uncanny precision. He slammed his own left-hand sword down, not to counterattack, but to anchor it, planting the blade into the ground right beside his leg. The metal barrier caught Rezoun's strike and absorbed its force, halting it mid-swing.
Before Rezoun could recover, the Knight Commander twisted his hips and drove his right leg forward in a savage kick. The heel of his calf slammed into Rezoun's left ribcage with devastating power. A sharp crack sounded as Rezoun's sword flew from his grasp, spinning away into the dirt.
Rezoun's body lifted from the ground, flung by the force of the blow. He sailed a short distance through the air before crashing to the earth, his body tumbling across the battlefield. Pain erupted through him like fire.
He lay there, gritting his teeth, his jaw clenched in agony. One hand clutched his left side where the ribs had taken the blow. His face twisted with pain as he tried to rise, but the moment he strained, a searing pain stabbed through his torso. His breath caught, then a metallic taste filled his mouth.
He coughed harshly. Blood splattered from his lips onto the dirt.
His eyes widened, not just in pain, but in shocked realization. Blood. In his mouth. His breathing grew heavy, unsteady. He glanced up through his blurred vision.
The Knight Commander was still coming.
Step by step, he approached, slow, deliberate, relentless. His form loomed larger with each step, a harbinger of doom against the backdrop of war. Rezoun's eyes stayed locked on him, every breath a struggle, every heartbeat echoing with dread.
Rezoun remained on the ground, his body wracked with pain, clutching his fractured left ribs with trembling fingers. Every breath felt like fire. His vision blurred, and his limbs refused to answer the desperate commands of his will. He couldn't stand, he could barely move. And in front of him, death approached.
The enemy Knight Commander, blades gleaming in both hands, walked toward Rezoun with a predator's calm, savoring the helplessness of his prey. His intent was clear.
From the distance, Clause — Rezoun's ally and fellow Knight Commander — caught sight of the scene unfolding. His eyes widened in horror as he recognized Rezoun's condition. "REZOUNNNNNNN!!!" he bellowed, his voice thundering across the battlefield. But he was too far. Far too far.
Clause broke into a sprint, his armor clattering as his legs pounded the earth in desperation. Yet no matter how fast he ran, he knew he wouldn't reach in time.
The enemy raised his right sword, blade poised for a fatal thrust.
Rezoun saw it coming. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, powerless to stop it.
Clause's heart sank as he watched in despair. It was too late. Rezoun was going to be—
But in that instant, everything changed.
A blur of motion flashed into view — silent, sudden, unstoppable.
Clause's eyes widened again, this time in disbelief. A man — tall and broad-shouldered, muscles so defined they strained the fabric of his shirt — appeared from seemingly nowhere, sprinting with predatory speed. A short beard lined his jaw, and his sword gleamed with purpose. The cut came so fast, Clause almost missed it. A flash of silver. A gust of wind. Nothing more.
The enemy Knight Commander had no time to react. One moment, his sword was plunging forward; the next, his body betrayed him.
His arms trembled, the blade stopped mid-motion. Confusion painted his face. Blood spilled from his mouth in a thin line, and his eyes darted downward in bewilderment.
He didn't feel pain. Not yet. Just a strange numbness, as if his body no longer obeyed him.
And then he realized, he could no longer feel his torso as one whole. His body was separating, slowly sliding apart, cleanly bisected by a stroke so precise he hadn't known he was already dead.
He collapsed in two pieces, his consciousness flickering like a dying flame. The last thing he saw was the warrior's back, the one who had ended him without hesitation, now standing between him and Rezoun like a silent reaper.
Darkness claimed him.
Clause stood frozen, breath caught in his throat, eyes stretched wide in disbelief. The man who had felled the two-sworded enemy in a single, unfathomably swift stroke was now standing motionless, yet the pressure he radiated traveled across the field like an unseen storm. Even from a distance, Clause could feel it, an aura that seemed to twist the very air around him. It wasn't the kind of power that roared, it was quiet, measured… and overwhelmingly absolute.
The man, muscles outlined beneath his stretched shirt, his presence radiating composed menace, slowly sheathed his sword with a metallic whisper. Then, without wasting another breath, he knelt beside Rezoun and gently lifted him onto his back.
His voice was low, firm — no hesitation in his tone — as he spoke to the barely conscious youth. "Can you still move, kid?"
Rezoun, face twisted in pain and voice rasping, forced out a broken reply, "B-barely... His kick... was strong..."
At that moment, Clause finally reached them, breath ragged from the sprint. His eyes locked on Rezoun, slumped against the stranger's back, and he shouted in concern, "Rezoun!"
But Rezoun's strength had already given out. The adrenaline that had kept him conscious slipped away. His eyes fluttered closed, and his body went limp. He had fallen into a deep, pain-laced slumber.
The man with the slight beard turned his head only slightly, his tone calm but commanding, the kind that expected obedience. "Take this kid to the nearest town. There should be an inn there, one used for recovering soldiers. Get him there and make sure he rests. I'll handle what's left of the battlefield."
Clause hesitated, only for a moment. The man's voice didn't ask. It commanded. And though Clause was a Knight Commander himself, his instincts bowed to the authority in that voice. He took Rezoun onto his own back with a respectful nod.
Yet, just before he turned to leave, something burned in Clause's mind, curiosity and disbelief clashing in his chest.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man looked at him fully for the first time. His eyes were hard, steady, eyes that had seen countless wars and never blinked at death.
"Gazel," he answered plainly. "Former Knight Commander."
Clause's breath caught.
That name echoed in his ears like a thunderclap. Gazel? Could it be? And then it clicked, he had heard of him. No, everyone had.
Gazel Kleinmod.
The Knightmare of Vaslenia.
A legend cloaked in blood and steel. He had become a Knight Commander at only seventeen, and during the Great Vaslenian War thirty-five years ago, he had slain ten of the strongest warriors on the entire continent. The Kingdom of Latence had carved its name into history through his blade. He was now fifty-three, but nothing about him had faded, neither his strength, nor the dread his name invoked.
Clause could only stare in stunned silence as Gazel turned back toward the battlefield, walking calmly into the chaos as if death itself had returned to finish unfinished business.
As Gazel turned back to rejoin the raging war, Clause carried Rezoun on his back, sprinting toward the nearest town with all the speed he could muster, while the battlefield behind them remained engulfed in chaos, enemies and allies locked in an unrelenting bloodbath.