A cold wind howled across the blood-soaked battlefield, carrying the scent of iron and death. The moon loomed high, its crimson glow casting eerie shadows on the war-torn land. Crumbled ruins of a once-thriving town surrounded them, the skeletal remains of buildings whispering tales of despair. Fires flickered in the distance, embers dancing like spirits in the night. And in the midst of it all, one man stood alone.
Vincent.
Draped in a tattered black cloak, his twin sabers gleamed under the moonlight as he surveyed the sea of warriors encircling him. Knights in polished armor, mages with their staffs humming with energy, archers standing with taut bowstrings, and even the scum of the underworld—thugs, mercenaries, and assassins. Their eyes burned with the same desire: his death.
Vincent let out a low whistle. "Damn, now this is what I call a party. And here I thought I wasn't popular."
"Enough talk, demon! Surrender and accept your fate!" roared the knight clad in pristine white armor, his voice carrying an air of authority. He was the strongest among them—an awakened being, an aura user. The golden insignia on his chestplate marked him as the Branch Guild Master of the White Moon Guild.
Vincent scratched his head, yawning. "You guys sure love to make a dramatic entrance. What's next? A speech about justice? No, wait—let me guess. You'll say, 'We won't let you escape!' right?"
The knight gritted his teeth. "We won't—"
Vincent grinned. "—let me escape. Called it!"
A few of the adventurers exchanged uneasy glances. Among them, a young archer nudged his companion. "Hey, uh... doesn't he seem a little too relaxed? Shouldn't devils be, you know, more... menacing?"
A gruff swordsman spat on the ground. "Tch. He's just putting on an act. Once the Guild Master gives the order, he's dead meat."
"Right, right... but did you hear the rumors?" The archer lowered his voice. "They say he once tricked a whole noble family into believing he was a saint, and when they found out—POOF—he was already long gone, and their treasury was empty."
"Heh, typical outlaw nonsense. A cornered rat always tries to act tough."
Meanwhile, Vincent tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "Alright, let's play a game. Who here actually thinks they can kill me? Raise your hand, don't be shy."
No one moved. A few nervous gulps echoed in the silence.
Vincent smirked. "See? Even you guys don't believe in yourselves. That's just sad."
"Enough! Attack!" the Guild Master roared.
Vincent's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Finally! I was getting bored."
With a swift motion, he unsheathed his twin sabers. The instant the blades left their scabbards, the wind howled violently, as if the world itself had acknowledged their thirst for blood. He didn't rely on mana, artifacts, or divine blessings—only his body, his blade, and his experience.
With a flick of his wrists, two crescent-shaped slashes tore through the air, aimed directly at the front line.
Suddenly, a massive gust of wind tore through the battlefield.
The slashes cut through the darkness like shooting stars, roaring toward the gathered warriors—
PANG!
A blinding flash erupted as a massive magical barrier materialized, intercepting his attack. The ground beneath him pulsed with golden light, ancient runes igniting with an ominous hum. The formation activated, layers of magical barriers extending skyward like an unbreakable cage. Chains of pure mana shot out, wrapping around his waist, locking him in place.
And then, a deafening roar shook the night.
Vincent looked up, eyes narrowing. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
A colossal shadow loomed above, wings spreading wide as a massive dragon descended from the sky. Its golden scales shimmered under the crimson moon, and atop its back sat a lone warrior—clad in azure and silver armor, a long spear gleaming in his grasp.
A Dragon Rider.
"Why the fuck is a Dragon Rider from the Eternal Dragon Kingdom here?!" Vincent cursed, his expression twisting in frustration. "Isn't this just a countryside town?! What the hell?!"
The Dragon Rider's voice echoed across the battlefield. "Vincent the Devil. Your crimes have reached beyond borders. By order of the Eternal Dragon Kingdom, you will be sealed and brought to justice."
Vincent scoffed. "Oh, so now the big boys are interested in me? Damn, I must be famous."
"Struggle all you want," the Dragon Rider declared, tightening his grip on his spear. "The formation is inescapable. This ends here."
Before Vincent could respond, hundreds of warriors surged forward, their battle cries shaking the night.
But Vincent did not falter.
He moved like a phantom, his feet barely touching the ground as he weaved through the incoming storm of weapons. He was a tempest—unpredictable, untouchable, unstoppable.
A spear lunged at him. He sidestepped, twisting his saber and severing the attacker's arm in one fluid motion. A knight swung his sword down, but Vincent ducked, elbowing the man in the throat before slashing across his chest. He disarmed, dismembered, and destroyed with ruthless efficiency.
"H-He's still fighting?! How?!" a rogue shouted in disbelief.
"This... this isn't human!" a mage gasped.
Vincent grinned, blood splattered across his face. "Of course it isn't. I never claimed to be human."
A war hammer struck from behind, but Vincent spun, parrying with his left saber. He retaliated with a brutal kick to the wielder's knee, shattering it on impact. The battlefield became his dance floor—every movement precise, every strike lethal.
But then—
SHINK!
A cold, searing pain shot through him. He glanced down.
His right arm was gone. Severed at the shoulder. His saber lay on the ground, gleaming in the moonlight, soaked in his own blood.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
"We got him!" a knight cheered.
"He's finished now!" another added.
But Vincent only chuckled. "Finished? Me?"
He picked up his remaining saber with his left hand, eyes burning with untamed fury. Blood dripped from his wound, but his stance remained unshaken. His lips curled into a wicked grin.
"One arm's enough to kill a few hundred more." He took a step forward. The warriors who had cheered moments ago stumbled back.
Fear. Real fear.
Vincent laughed, licking the blood from his lips. "Come on then, cowards. I've still got plenty of fight left in me. Let's see how many of you I can drag to hell before I drop."
The battle raged on, a cacophony of steel against steel, magic flaring across the ruined landscape.
And in the eye of the storm stood Vincent.
His right arm—a mangled, bloodied stump—oozed crimson, yet his smirk remained intact, defiant. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across his face, illuminating eyes that gleamed with reckless abandon.
"Hah..." He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Still standing. Not bad for a one-armed devil."
From above, the Dragon Rider's golden-scaled beast hovered, its wings kicking up violent gusts. The rider's gaze was cold, spear crackling with deadly energy.
"Vincent the Devil," the Dragon Rider's voice thundered, carrying an authoritative weight that pressed down on the battlefield, "your defiance ends now. There will be no more games."
Vincent glanced skyward, lips curling into an irreverent grin. "Games? C'mon, I was just getting warmed up. Don't tell me you're already tired, lizard boy."
Nearby, a group of lower-ranked adventurers exchanged uneasy glances.
"This guy's insane..." whispered a young mage, his staff trembling.
"Shut it! Focus on the mission," barked a grizzled mercenary. "He's just bluffing. No one can keep fighting like this... right?"
"Did you see him dodge the vanguard's charge? He's not normal—he's a monster!"
Vincent, overhearing, offered them a lazy wave. "Hey, I can hear you, you know. Kinda rude talking behind someone's back—especially when I'm still breathing. Well... barely."
The Dragon Rider's patience wore thin. "Enough! Your crimes are unforgivable. By decree of the Eternal Dragon Kingdom—your soul will be erased!"
Vincent's smirk faltered for just a moment. Judgment-type spell. Shit. Not good.
The air thickened as radiant sigils appeared, orbiting the Dragon Rider's spear. The sheer pressure pressed down on Vincent's shoulders, every breath heavier than the last.
And yet—
"Wait, wait! Time out!" Vincent raised his left hand, palm open. The battlefield froze, warriors exchanging confused glances.
"What nonsense is this?" the Dragon Rider snarled.
Vincent exhaled, shaking his head. "Look, we both know how this ends—you get your shiny hero moment, I get vaporized. But y'know..." He reached into his bloodstained cloak, pulling out a battered cigarette pack. "Any chance I could have one last smoke?"
Silence. Absolute and complete.
"Is... is he serious?" a spearman muttered.
"He's gotta be mocking us... right?" another whispered.
Even the Dragon Rider faltered. "You think this is a joke? Your end is nigh!"
Vincent shrugged. "Dude, I'm about to die. Least you could do is let a man enjoy his vices. Tradition and all that? Y'know, 'last wish' stuff? Unless..." He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "The dragon folk have no manners?"
The Dragon Rider's jaw clenched. "Tch. Fine. One minute. But after that—you die. No tricks."
"Scout's honor." Vincent winked.
With practiced ease, he flicked the cigarette between his lips and snapped his fingers. A spark ignited from a nearby mage's lingering flames, lighting the end. He inhaled deeply, exhaling a plume of smoke that mingled with the battlefield haze.
The tension hung heavy. No one moved. No one breathed.
Vincent closed his eyes for a beat. Not how I planned this... but hey, life's about improvisation.
Then—his lips curled into something darker. "Y'know... funny thing about 'borrowed time,'" he murmured. "Sometimes you forget who you borrowed it from."
And that's when the ground beneath him glowed. Runes—ancient, malicious—flared to life, twisting around his feet.
"Wha—?!" The Dragon Rider's eyes widened. "That's—impossible! How—?!"
Vincent opened his eyes, golden and burning. "Never said I was alone out here. Say hi to my backup plan."
BOOM.
A shockwave erupted. Light and shadow collided in a blinding explosion. Warriors screamed as the force hurled them back like ragdolls. The Dragon Rider's beast roared, struggling against the blast.
When the dust began to settle...
Vincent was gone.
Only a smoldering crater remained—his cigarette still burning at the edge.
The battlefield fell into stunned silence.
"D-Did... did he just escape?!" someone stammered.
"How the hell—?! There were three layers of sealing magic!" a mage gasped.
The Dragon Rider's fists tightened. "Damned devil..."
Far away, on a crumbled rooftop, Vincent lay sprawled out, coughing blood but grinning ear to ear. "Heh... Told ya..." He glanced at the stars overhead. Still breathing. Still got time.
He took another drag from his cigarette, savoring the burn. "Let's keep the party going..."