The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, a spectacle of blood and fire. Below the plateau, where the three Crimson Serpent commanders and the trusted warriors of Goodie Hunters clashed, every swing of a blade and every roar of defiance seemed to shake the very earth. But far above the cacophony, standing motionless atop a rocky outcrop, was Manav.
His figure loomed against the dim light of the setting sun, his coat billowing slightly in the wind. There was no anger on his face, no excitement, no pride—only a chilling stillness. His piercing eyes, sharper than any weapon below, scanned the battlefield with an intensity that could freeze fire itself.
At his side stood General Ryan Jim, a battle-hardened man who had seen countless wars. Yet, even he felt a gnawing unease in the presence of Manav's unnerving calm. The sounds of the raging battle below were muted, distant, as if the world itself was holding its breath in deference to Manav's silent authority.
"Sir," Ryan said hesitantly, his voice breaking the oppressive silence. "The Crimson Serpent's commanders are formidable. Our men are holding their ground, but perhaps they need—"
Manav raised a single finger, cutting Ryan off mid-sentence. The general stiffened, feeling as though a glacier had grazed his spine.
"They don't need me," Manav said, his tone as cold and cutting as the wind at their altitude. "They need to prove themselves. If they fail, they are unworthy of the trust I've placed in them."
The general swallowed hard. This was Manav's way—a man who ruled with an iron will, whose every decision was calculated for maximum impact. Below, the battle seemed to reflect his ruthless philosophy.
The Crimson Serpent commanders fought like demons unleashed, their movements a deadly ballet of precision and power. But the trusted Goodie Hunters commanders were no mere soldiers; they were warriors forged in the fires of Manav's brutal regime.
Every clash of steel sent shockwaves through the air, and every scream of pain was a note in the symphony of destruction. The youngest of the Goodie Hunters' warriors, Rhea, moved with an elegance that belied her deadly skill. Her blade flashed in the dim light, severing through armor and flesh with ease. Beside her, Jarek's strikes were calculated, each one a masterstroke of strategy.
Despite their ferocity, the Crimson Serpent commanders held their ground, their loyalty to their shadowy organization evident in every defiant strike.
Manav watched it all unfold without a flicker of emotion. To him, the battle was not chaos but a meticulously orchestrated event—a test, a lesson, a prelude to the larger war that lay ahead.
As the fight reached its zenith, time seemed to slow. Every movement, every strike, was drawn out in agonizing detail. The sound of clashing weapons dulled, and the battlefield became a dreamlike tableau of violence and determination.
Finally, as the last Crimson Serpent commander fell, the battle came to a brutal close. The once-mighty elites of the Crimson Serpent lay broken and defeated, their forces scattered like ash in the wind.
Ryan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "The battle is over, sir," he said, turning to Manav.
But Manav's expression remained unchanged. His voice was as icy as ever when he finally spoke. "This was only the beginning."
He turned to face Ryan fully, his cold gaze boring into the general's soul. "Send word to the captains of the 3rd and 4th branches of Crimson Serpent. Tell them their end is near."
Ryan blinked. "Sir, are you suggesting we—"
"I'm not suggesting," Manav interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I'm commanding. Assemble five of my most trusted commanders—those who did not fight today. They will finish what was started here."
Ryan nodded, though his mind raced with questions. Who would be sent? What awaited them at the 3rd and 4th branches?
---
Far away, in the shadowy depths of the Crimson Serpent's 3rd branch, Captain Delran received the news of the battle's outcome. A towering figure with a scar running down his face, Delran was known for his ruthlessness and cunning.
"So, they've bested the 2nd branch," he muttered, swirling a glass of dark wine. "Fools. They think they can challenge the Crimson Serpent and survive?"
Standing nearby was Captain Yurika of the 4th branch, a woman as deadly as she was beautiful. Her eyes glittered with malice as she spoke. "Let them come. They'll regret ever crossing us."
Delran chuckled darkly. "Indeed. But we won't wait for them to come to us. We'll prepare traps they'll never see coming."
---
Back on the plateau, Manav descended from his vantage point, his steps slow and deliberate. His commanders awaited his orders with bated breath.
"You," he said, pointing to five individuals. "You will march to the 3rd and 4th branches of Crimson Serpent. Leave no survivors."
The chosen commanders saluted, their faces a mixture of determination and pride.
As they departed, Ryan approached Manav once more. "Sir, is it wise to provoke them further? The Crimson Serpent is vast, and their reach—"
Manav cut him off with a chilling glare. "The Crimson Serpent has festered for too long. If we let them continue, they will only grow stronger. We strike now, while their wounds are fresh."
Ryan nodded, though unease gnawed at him. Manav's ruthlessness was unmatched, but it was also what had kept their nation standing strong for generations.