The wind blew.

Dust swirled in the air.

"Strategist, let me handle this."

"Barzak—go all out. No holding back."

"I know that much."

Herates was only B Rank. Barzak had already gauged his strength.

Herates was weak. No clever tricks could save him now.

Yet he still stood before us. Before thousands.

No sorrow. No fear.

Just one hand on his horse’s reins, the other gripping his spear. Waiting.

Any mercy now would be an insult.

No pity. Heroes like him deserved a hero’s death.

Behind Herates, his soldiers knelt.

Bowing deeply. Again. And again.

No tears. No wails.

Only the faint, rhythmic *thud… thud…* of foreheads striking earth.

We Baha Balm were mere foils in this tale—highlighting Herates’ valor.

Battlefields were never joyful places.

But they were brutal. Sacred.

I retreated into our ranks.

My heart trembled.

Regret. Admiration. Sorrow.

A tangle of emotions.

This was different from the tales of Brune’s bravery I’d heard in Chining.

Facing such a man firsthand struck deeper than any story.

For a moment, his lone presence crushed our entire army’s spirit.

A faint light flickered around Herates—gone in an instant.

"Seems I’ve awakened a new gift," he murmured.

His face held no joy.

Not strength. Not wit.

A gift born of *realization*.

*Realization?* Herates seemed puzzled.

"My second gift, I suppose."

He spoke plainly.

No one had ever heard of two gifts in one person.

Silence hung heavy. No one interrupted.

"**Heavenly Righteousness**."

"The heavier the burden I carry… the stronger I become."

"Honestly? I don’t feel burdened by anything."

"But I *am* stronger now."

"Enough to put up a real fight before I die."

His voice stayed calm.

"One last question?"

"Ask."

I answered.

"Why did so many of us have to die?"

"..."

Silence. Countless answers flashed in my mind.

But none were *his* answer. I knew it.

"I see. Even you don’t know."

"Only now, facing death, do I ask this."

"My hands aren’t clean. Killing on the battlefield once felt… thrilling."

"Yet here I am, wondering."

"Nothing left to say. Come."

Herates spoke his heart bare. No secrets. Death made silence meaningless.

He mounted his horse. Gripped his spear.

Faced Barzak.

Barzak’s eyes held no madness—only solemn respect.

"I am Barzak."

"I am Herates."

"*Fight!*"

Their voices clashed.

They spurred their horses apart.

Hoofbeats echoed.

The wind’s howl sounded like a war horn.

As it swept between them—

They moved.

"*RRRAAAH!*"

Barzak charged, axe swinging for Herates’ waist.

"*Hah! Well met!*"

Herates blocked with his spear—taking the full force.

Next instant—spears blurred. A storm of thrusts rained on Barzak.

"*HYAH!*"

Barzak roared, Inner Energy exploding. His axe cleaved the weakest point in the storm.

*WHOOSH!*

The spear flew ten meters away.

But Herates wasn’t done.

"*Again! Let’s see how far I can push a true warrior!*"

He drew a short blade, slashing at Barzak’s throat.

No flashy stance. No battle cry.

Just steel flashing—Inner Energy surging through the edge.

A simple strike. Yet it carried S Rank Warrior power.

"*HAHAHA! COME!*"

Barzak leaned back, carving space. Then—

A thunderous roar split the air.

"**TIGER’S WRATH!**"

His black-glowing axe vibrated the air, shattering space itself.

With each swing, the ground cracked beneath his feet.

The colossal blow met the humble blade.

***CLANG!***

The blade’s tip shattered inch by inch. The axe’s edge split wide.

"*Brilliant.*"

They recoiled—weapons flashing again.

***CLANG!***

The blade crumbled to dust. The axe’s edge shattered.

One final clash.

***CLANG.***

Barzak’s axe spun away.

Herates still gripped his broken hilt.

"I won’t die empty-handed."

Blood filled his mouth as he spoke.

He laughed—a silent laugh.

A gaping wound tore his abdomen.

His left arm was gone.

Blood pooled on the saddle.

**Heavenly Righteousness** had lifted him to S Rank.

But skill couldn’t be faked. He’d lost.

He glanced at Barzak—deep gashes split his chest, nearly exposing bone; his arms were mangled ruins.

*Satisfied.*

Pity he wasn’t a true S Rank. The wound in his gut was fatal.

After that clash, he knew Barzak’s rank for certain.

With an S Rank’s monstrous vitality, those wounds would heal in three months.

*Pity.*

***[Tired…]***

Herates’ vision flickered between light and dark. Dizziness swallowed him.

His body went limp.

His loyal horse whinnied—a mournful cry sensing its rider’s fading breath.

As Barzak stepped closer—

The horse reared, hooves lashing at him.

Then backed away, guarding its master.

Seizing an opening, it bolted—vanishing into the distance.

We didn’t pursue.

Herates wouldn’t survive those wounds.

Let his horse carry him away.

Long moments passed.

The battlefield hung heavy with silence.

Leaning on my cane, I walked slowly toward Stanki’s troops.

Truthfully, I feared someone might lunge to kill me.

I could’ve sent another to speak.

But I chose to say it myself.

"*Surrender and live.*"