The horizon glowed with the last embers of sunlight as Dumal turned to Amil, determination etched across his emotionless face. "Let's go and fight," he commanded, his voice steady, filled with a fierce resolve.
Amil hesitated, glancing at the approaching herd of crowned monsters, his mind racing. "We have no weapons. How do you expect us to fig—"
Before he could finish, Dumal extended both his hands outward, palms facing each other. A brilliant white light pulsed between his fingers, radiating warmth and energy that seemed to resonate with the very air around them. Amil watched in awe as Dumal's left eye, obscured by an eyepatch, shimmered with the same radiant glow. The light intensified, enveloping them in a halo of purity.
In a swift motion, Dumal brought his hands together, and from the brilliant light, a sleek sword materialized in his left hand, its blade shimmering like fresh snow under the dawn's first light. "Bring it on," he declared, a stark contrast to the chaos around them, and with a fierce battle cry, he charged into the fray.
As Dumal surged forward, he was a whirlwind of lethal precision, slashing through the ranks of the monstrous crowned. Each swing of his blade was a fluid dance of destruction; he cut and slashed without a shred of humanity in his eyes or face. Blood sprayed like dark rain, staining the pale sand beneath him, and the air filled with guttural roars of agony as he cleaved through the creatures with ruthless efficiency.
Amil stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from the brutal display. He watched as Dumal fought with a singular focus, the rhythm of battle synchronizing with the heartbeat of the dying day. The golden hues of the sunset dimmed, casting long shadows that intertwined with the chaos of combat.
Suddenly, a crowned leaped from behind, its fangs bared as it sunk its teeth into Dumal's left shoulder. Unfazed, Dumal twisted, driving his sword into the creature's skull with a swift motion. The fight raged on, the world around them fading into a blur of movement and sound. Dumal continued to slash and stab, his form a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the rising moon, an angel of death in a world of despair.
As the night deepened, the battle pushed toward its final throes. Dumal fought with an unyielding spirit, a machine of war that knew no fatigue. One by one, the crowned fell, their lifeless bodies dotting the desert floor like discarded remnants of a forgotten age. Finally, as dawn broke on the horizon, the last creature collapsed under Dumal's relentless assault.
Breathing heavily, Dumal surveyed the carnage, his weapon vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving him standing amidst the ruins of their battle, drenched in the dark ichor of the crowned. He walked toward Amil, the dawn's light casting a golden glow over the desolate landscape.
"Let's go," he said, his voice devoid of triumph or exhaustion.
Amil looked at him, bewildered. "You killed all of them alone," he stated, a hint of awe coloring his tone.
Dumal merely nodded, silence enveloping them as he turned and continued walking, the first rays of sun illuminating the path ahead, unfurling their journey into the unknown
END OF CHAPTER 64