The land that was once green and glorified as a peaceful, charming, and elegant field is now covered with the hue of red. Metals and papers, bent and damaged beyond repair, lie scattered on the plains, alongside bodies being consumed by crows and figures resembling vultures. The sounds of clashing metals, explosions, rushing winds, and chilling snow, known as swords and magic, are distantly visible, aggressively colliding until they gradually faded. The sword, now covered in red, has pierced its last victim—a man covered in bruises, carrying what seems to be a bundle of fabric shaped like a bean. The wielder of the sword is Zel. Zel shouted, sounding like cries of happiness... 'It's finally over, haha,' he said, feeling anguish as he sat near his sword, which had pierced both the man and the bean-shaped bundle he was holding.
A man covered head to toe with a set of armor, full of engravings and polished to the finest now looked like a rigid, rough, full of holes as if a blacksmith made a mistake, standing in front of Zel.
Zel looked at him and said in an exhausted yet hopeful voice, "It's finally over, right, Dar?" The man removed his helmet, tossed it aside, and replied, "I hope so, I really hope so." Darwin clicked his tongue, feeling a mix of hope and uncertainty, and sat next to Zel, embracing the plaguing yet calming wind. Chuckling, Darwin said, "Hey Zel, you think this wind will bring us the black death?"
Zel just looked at him and replied, "I don't know, man. Stop saying that, or it might come true." Darwin followed up with a grin, "Like, if we inhaled all this air and then—bam we cause a global outbreak when we return." Zel responded, "That would be a real disaster. We'd go back only to be treated as test subjects."
"Right? And then what's the point of all this? I know now, man—I'm gonna hold my breath until we're out of here," Darwin said, puffing his cheeks as he dramatically held his breath. "Zel, you gonna do this too? What if you plague the earth when we retu—" Darwin paused as he noticed Zel's eyes closing, succumbing to sleep. "Sleep well, Zel, sleep well..."
The battlefield, once drenched in blood, now echoed with cheers. Thirty-nine survivors, excluding Zel and Darwin who were resting, cheered for victory, led by a man with long hair, dressed in a robe, holding a large branch. The man lifted the branch and muttered some gibberish, and a large blue circle with random, bizarre shapes appeared in the sky. He finally stopped mumbling, and his voice rang out across the sky—loud yet harmless. Clearing his throat, the man announced, his voice that sounds happy yet clearly somber, "Everyone, gather in the center. If anyone is missing, find them. We'll return to the kingdom as soon as we're all together. Congratulations."
The man stopped lifting his hand and the blue circle diminished slowly. the man wandered among the bloodied plains, observing the carnage. Muttering to himself, he scowled. "This shitty empire….