The battlefield was a sea of death. Broken and shattered weapons lay across the crimson-stained, muddy ground, only faintly illuminated by the moon. The air reeked of blood and ash, thick with smoke. Battle cries, screams, and the clash of steel echoed across the field.
The Champion stood amidst the chaos, his breath ragged, his body scarred but unyielding. His armor was cracked, streaked with mud and blood, and the sword in his hand was chipped and dull—a discarded weapon he had claimed from the lifeless hands of a fallen soldier.
He scanned the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes. Every movement was deliberate, every step purposeful.
Around him, warriors closed in, their movements hesitant yet determined. They knew who he was—the Empire's Champion, the man who had turned the tide of war.
And yet, even now, he felt no fear. Instead, a rush of exhilaration surged through him, a drive to conquer. Exhaustion crawled at his limbs, and pain burned through every muscle, but he did not falter. To falter was to die, and he refused to let death claim him just yet.
The end of the war was near, and he would be the one to carve it into history.
At the end, only one figure stood between the Champion and victory—Verdant's Hero, the strongest swordsman. The battlefield was silent now, the sounds of battle dying away as if they had never existed. There were only two remaining combatants on the vast field of corpses.
The Hero stood tall, his golden armor gleaming even in the moonlight, an unshakable confidence radiating from him, untouched by the chaos of the battlefield. Unlike the Champion, whose every breath was a labor and whose legs trembled beneath him. His knees slightly bent, he braced for a charge.
The Hero made no move to rush. He simply waited, his stance poised and graceful.
Meanwhile, the Champion charged forward, driven by sheer will, despite his body being on the brink of collapse.
The Champion lunged, slashing with frantic precision. The Hero met him with practiced grace, his blade deflecting the Champion's strike effortlessly. But the Champion, using the momentum, spun quickly, aiming for the Hero's exposed flank.
The strike was swift, but the Hero parried just in time, his blade clashing with the Champion's with a resounding ring.
Now the battle shifted. The Champion pushed forward relentlessly, hammering down with every strike. The Hero, cornered, used his powers, commanding several blades of light that rained down on the worn Champion.
Yet the Champion did not falter. He pressed on as the blades of light struck nothing but the empty space he left behind. He swung down with all the force he could muster, but when the Hero met his blade with his own, the expected weight of impact was absent. The Champion, instead of trying to overpower him, let go of the sword, letting it hang in mid-air for a split second.
Before the Hero could react, the Champion ducked low, snatching up a discarded weapon from the ground. With a savage thrust, he drove the blade straight into the Hero's leg, the impact shocking him into a staggered gasp.
The Hero's knees buckled as the blade sank into his leg, and he staggered, clutching his sword for support. Blood stained his golden armor as his composure began to falter. He dropped to one knee, his sword slipping from his grasp, the battle clearly slipping away from him.
The Champion, breath ragged and legs trembling beneath him, stood victorious—though barely. His gaze was fixed on the Hero, whose strength was now spent. His gaze, heavy with exhaustion, drifted upward, toward the endless night sky. The vastness of it calmed him, the soft glow of the stars seeming to steady his frayed mind.
As the distant stars blinked down at him, he felt the rush of adrenaline begin to fade, replaced by a quiet, almost serene exhaustion. The chaos of the battlefield, the tension of the fight—it all seemed distant now.
The greatest warrior of Verdant had been defeated—not through raw power, but through the unyielding will of a man who refused to be outlasted.
Exhausted or not, the Champion knew he still had one thing left to finish. He reached down, his hands trembling as he picked up his original sword—the one he had started the duel with. The weapon, though battered and stained, was a symbol of his resolve. With what little strength remained in him, he raised it high, ready to strike the Hero down and bring the battle to its tragic end. But as his sword came down, the pressure of the final blow caused the weakened blade to snap, shattering with a sharp crack. A jagged shard of the broken weapon flew directly into the Champion's throat, sealing his fate in an instant.
The Hero stared, frozen, his heart heavy with disbelief. The man who had pushed him to the very edge and made him kneel now lay lifeless in front of him.
Despite the brutal nature of their duel, the Hero could not suppress the surge of respect and sorrow that filled him. The Champion's tenacity had been undeniable, but in the end, it was his own weapon that betrayed him. As the battlefield fell silent, the Hero knelt beside the fallen Champion not as a victor, but as a man who understood the true cost of war.
The Hero, still kneeling, grimaced as he reached down to remove the sword that had been thrust into his leg. His movements were slow, deliberate, as pain shot through him. With the blade finally discarded, he quickly uncorked a healing potion and poured it over the wound, feeling the cool magic ease the sharp sting. The blood flow slowed, and though he was far from fully healed, the worst of it was done.
The Hero then shifted the Champion's lifeless body onto his shoulder, his muscles straining slightly under the weight. Blood from the fallen Champion dripped down onto the Hero's armor.
The Hero stood, a grim but steady resolve settling in his chest. The battlefield was still, silent now except for the faint drip of blood from the Champion's wound, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. With the Champion in his arms, the Hero turned, walking away from the field of death, the promise to honor the fallen warrior weighing heavily on him.
The Champion's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged and heart pounding. The battlefield was gone—replaced by a massive stage, thousands of eyes locked on him. Confusion gripped him as he struggled to make sense of the strange lights, the towering structures, the deafening roar of the crowd—it was a world he didn't recognize.
His thoughts raced: Where am I? What is this place? How am I alive?