Irina swiftly placed her hand on her shoulder and wrenched the feathered arrow embedded there free.

Around her, under the night sky, countless goblins let out guttural screeches. Ogres gripped crude stone clubs, drool dripping unheeded from their slack jaws. Even the orcs—though slightly less repulsive—reeked so foully that Irina wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Filthy creatures," she muttered under her breath. She tucked the antidote, scavenged from a barbarian corpse, into her pocket. Meanwhile, the goblin who’d shot her capered like a monkey on the ground, chattering excitedly in its guttural tongue. But Irina simply raised a finger.

*THWIP!*

A silvery-white magic ray shot from her fingertip. It pierced the goblin’s forehead, then sliced downward. Green blood bloomed in the night air as the creature split cleanly in two. Irina lowered her hand, her voice icy.

"Don’t you vermin know? Non-humans exist on this continent in only one way—"

She tilted her head up slowly, smiling.

"—as corpses."

Whether spurred by her words or their fallen comrade, orcs and ogres alike roared. An ogre slammed its massive stone hammer against its palm with thunderous cracks. Irina released her grip—and a colossal silvery-white magic longsword materialized in her hand.

Radiant magic flared around her as her voice cut through the chaos.

"The price for provoking the Elvis Family is—"

She never finished. An ogre bellowed, charging with its stone hammer raised high. But before it closed in, Irina pivoted her blade.

*THWIP!*

Fetid crimson blood sprayed the air. A second later, a massive, grotesque head thudded to the ground. As the headless ogre crashed down, Irina’s magic longsword vaporized the blood staining its edge. She completed her sentence calmly.

"—well. I suppose you already know."

*"ROOOOAR!"*

Goblins and ogres howled. Even the smarter orcs snarled in fury. Weapons lifted. Someone shouted—and a wave of orcs and ogres surged toward Irina. Unflinching, she raised her glowing blade.

Silver flashes and crimson sprays painted the black night in frenzy. Irina moved like a specter of death in white, weaving through hulking bodies. Her silvery sword carved through flesh and weapons alike as if slicing tofu.

Amidst the carnage, several goblins drew shortbows. Arrows flew through gaps in the crowd—*thunk, thunk, thunk*—burying deep into Irina’s body.

"Tch."

The impacts staggered her. An ogre seized the moment, hefting its crude club for a skull-crushing blow.

*THUD!*

Irina dodged back just in time. As the club shattered stone where she’d stood, she lunged forward, driving her longsword through the ogre’s chest. But when she tried to withdraw it, the dying brute clamped a massive hand on her shoulder, pinning her.

"Release me, filth!" she snarled. The ogre only tightened its grip. An orc charged, swinging a poleaxe at her neck. By the time Irina turned, the blade was inches from her throat—

*CLANG!*

A blue-glowing sword severed the axe mid-swing. Before Irina could react, Oren strode into the fray, his blade forcing back the surrounding enemies.

"You alright?" he asked, eyes tight with concern. Irina offered a faint smile, yanking another arrow from her shoulder before replying softly.

"As you see. Nothing serious."

As she spoke, a sword flash severed the ogre’s neck still gripping her. Blood sprayed as Lia stepped forward, single knee hitting the ground before Irina.

"Your Highness Princess Irina. Your safety is all that matters."

"Is this really the time for greetings?" Oren parried a goblin’s lunge. "The situation hasn’t changed."

"Etiquette cannot be ignored for those born of the Alliance. As an Alliance citizen yourself, Oren, shouldn’t you show *some* respect for tradition?"

"Whatever you say."

Oren sighed, shielding Irina as they retreated. Switching to High Elven, he bellowed at the orcs:

"Soldiers of the Crimson Dragon! Do you truly think it wise to march openly through a human city—let alone the capital of the Duchy of Sidius?"

The creatures hesitated, glancing at each other. Oren pressed on:

"The Raging Tide City enforcers will arrive any moment! Withdraw now while you still—"

"*LIES!*"

A hoarse shriek cut him off. Lacres limped from an alley, his burned face twisted. He raised his longsword, voice thick with rage:

"Kill them all! Make them pay! Long live non-humans!"

"*LONG LIVE NON-HUMANS!*"

The battle-cry reignited the horde. Weapons rose. The charge resumed. Oren lifted his blue blade, glancing at Lia.

"Hey Lia—shouldn’t you take back your sword? Isn’t this your family’s heirloom?"

Lia just smiled faintly, twirling her blade. "Keep it. It’s yours now."

"Huh?"

*Family heirlooms only go to the firstborn son—*

Lia bit back the thought. How could she explain their bond when he’d forgotten his own name? When he called himself "Oren of Niweya"? And...

"I never thought you were alive... brother."

"Eh?"

Oren missed her whisper. Orcs were already closing in. As axes swung toward him, sharp *whooshes* cut the air near his ears.

*THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!*

Steel arrows pierced orcish eyeballs. As the blinded brutes reeled back, Oren spotted Ellen—captain of Raging Tide City’s enforcers—lowering her longbow. Beside her, William Huerista raised his staff high.

"*ATTACK!*"

Allied soldiers flooded the street, scattering the non-human ranks. But from the left flank came another command:

"*DRAW SWORDS!*"

A black-robed mage lifted his staff. Knights in armor bearing the Black Crowned Double-Headed Eagle crest—Elvis Family sigil—unsheathed their blades.

"*PURGE THIS FILTH!*" the mage roared. "*FOR THE GLORY OF ELVIS! CLEANSE THIS STREET!*"

"*ELVIS FOREVER! EMPEROR ISAREL FOREVER!*"

The knights crashed into the non-human flank. Amidst the screams and clashing steel, William pushed through the chaos to Oren.

"I came as soon as I heard the report. You unharmed?"

Before Oren could answer, explosions erupted to his left. Through raining chunks of ogre and orc, the black-robed mage appeared—kneeling instantly before Irina.

"Your Highness! Forgive my failure—allowing filth to touch your sacred person. Any punishment, I, Aston, will accept."

*Aston?*

Oren’s gaze snapped left. Irina merely waved a hand.

"This was my recklessness. Rise, Master."

"As you command, Your Majesty."

Aston bowed deeply before standing. His eyes locked with William’s. Beneath his hood, Oren saw the corner of Aston’s mouth tighten in clear fury.

"William Huerista."

"Aston Higgins."

The two greatest mages of the age advanced slowly, staves gripped white-knuckled.

*Great. I know you’re ranked #1 and #2, but seriously—*

Oren scanned the battlefield. Left and right, knights still clashed with non-humans. Steel rang. Men roared. The night bled.

Simultaneously, a suffocating torrent of magical power erupted around the two. Sadly, this torrent wasn't aimed at non-humans; instead, the magic, infused with killing intent, surged straight at each other.

Are they really going to fight here?

Oren watched the two locked in fierce confrontation, the corners of his mouth twitching nonstop.