Hayato moved southward with ruthless efficiency, leaving a path of destruction in his wake. The barren landscape of desolation stretched before him, marked by remnants of past battles, skeletal remains, and scorched earth. His gaze was fixed on his goal—the ancient stronghold that lay on the horizon, half-buried in dust and ruin, but still formidable, standing defiantly against time.
But soon, that stronghold would be his.
As he crept through the dense forest edging the stronghold, Hayato's senses sharpened, every step calculated, silent. He could feel the power thrumming through his veins, ignited by the knowledge of his army gathering, swelling in strength with each passing day. The thrill of conquest coursed through him, his blood pounding as he approached the boundary wall.
