Nyx knew what he had to do—only one piece of the puzzle remained.
With unwavering determination, he continued his charge toward the Orc Shaman and its formidable guards. The remaining Orcs, having mostly shifted their focus to Grall and the fleeing Flora, offered only scattered resistance. Nyx fought them efficiently, using their corpses as shields against the Shaman's relentless lightning bolts and suffocating fireball spells.
The Shaman, glancing between Nyx and the fleeing duo, suddenly grinned. It seemed to realize something: Nyx's calculated focus on the battlefield gave the impression he cared little for his companions' safety. The Shaman raised its staff high, chanting in a guttural tongue, and a green aura enveloped the Orc Warden.
"Is that... a buff?" Nyx muttered, his sharp eyes catching the Shaman's spellwork.
"I thought you only knew fire and lightning!" Nyx called out mockingly.
The Shaman's grin widened, a meticulous and sinister gleam in its eyes.
The Orc Warden stepped forward, its massive frame now radiating with the green hue of the spell. It raised its spear, locking its gaze on Nyx before advancing.
Nyx braced himself as the Warden closed the distance. Their weapons met with a thunderous clash, a shockwave rippling across the open but cluttered field. The force of the impact pushed Nyx back, but he landed gracefully, ready for the next strike.
The two exchanged a flurry of blows, Nyx's sword meeting the Warden's spear in a deadly dance.
Meanwhile, Flora and Grall were fleeing through the chaotic battlefield.
"What is he doing?" Flora asked, glancing back at Nyx as he battled the Orc Warden.
"Whatever Lord Nyx does is beyond my understanding," Grall replied between labored breaths, "however he always comes out on top."
"Then why are you slowing down?" Flora asked pointedly.
"Do you expect me to breathe, run and talk at the same time?" Grall shot back, his voice strained.
"I don't think those Orcs will give you the same excuse!" Flora countered as an arrow whizzed past them, narrowly missing its mark.
A voice called out ahead. "Captain, over here! We'll cover you!"
Grall spotted the other knights waving them forward, they had ran faster because they had less to carry. With renewed urgency, he pushed himself to the limit, his stamina waning.
"Princess," he said, sweat dripping from his brow, "can you run?"
"What? Why?" Flora stammered.
"I'm running out of strength," Grall admitted. "At least one of us has to make it."
Before she could protest, Grall gently set her down. "Run!" he commanded.
"But what about you?" Flora's voice trembled as she looked back at the exhausted knight.
"Don't worry," Grall said with a weary smile. "I'll take a few heads with me before I fall."
Flora hesitated, only to be scooped up by another knight who slung her over his shoulder and bolted toward safety.
Grall turned to face the pursuing Orcs, his sword at the ready. Is this my last fight with you, Lord Nyx?
FlashBack
Grall was seated at a humble dining table, the cracked walls of the room illuminated by dim candlelight. The air was warm and filled with the chatter of family: his mother, Claudia; his father, Baron Sleuvice; and his siblings—two sisters and three brothers.
"Grall," a voice called faintly.
"Grall!" his father's voice rang louder, snapping him back to attention.
"Wha—wasn't I just... fighting?" Grall muttered, confused.
"Is something on your mind?" his mother asked, her tone soft with concern.
"Your father was speaking to you, but you didn't answer," she added gently.
"It's fine, Claudia," Baron Sleuvice said, waving off her worry.
The silence around the table was palpable.
"I was asking about your admission to the Erton Knight Academy," his father repeated.
Grall hesitated. Before he could reply, one of his sisters, Quinn, teased, "I think that's a bit too difficult for him."
Another voice chimed in—a sharper, more competitive tone. "He'll manage. He should know what it's like to be a man," his brother Chrone said.
The rest of the family joined the conversation, their voices blending into a symphony of warmth and banter. For a moment, Grall felt a profound sense of peace, surrounded by the people he loved.
Was it all a dream? Grall wondered. Was the battle just a nightmare?
Why did I....want to become stronger any..way
The memory shifted. Darkness consumed the warmth, replaced by the cold light of torches. Grall stood with his family in the dead of night, searching frantically through the streets and forests outside their town.
"Have you found them?" Baron Sleuvice's voice was strained as he questioned a knight holding a torch.
The knight's solemn expression spoke volumes.
Grall followed his father to a grim scene: his sisters, Quinn and Olivia, lay lifeless in a pit, their torn clothes illuminated by the flickering torchlight.
The Baron's fists clenched as a man whispered something in his ear. His gaze darkened, and the grief in his eyes gave way to a cold, steely resolve.
Back at the manor, the family fractured under the weight of their loss. Baron Sleuvice drowned his sorrows in alcohol, locking himself away in his study. Grall's brothers quarreled incessantly, the blame and pain tearing them apart.
"You were supposed to stay with them!" one shouted at another.
Grall clenched his fists, the memory of that night seared into his soul.
This is why I wanted to be stronger, he thought, his heart burning with resolve. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again... even if I have to kill an entire country to prevent it.