Deep in the jungle, inside a camp teeming with soldiers, Kaia Salaz, a commander from the Northern Kingdom, sat slouched over a wooden table, drinking with her men. The firelight flickered across their faces, casting long shadows on the tents and the surrounding trees. A dozen meters away, the orc encampment lay coiled in silence, their green and gray forms blending with the undergrowth, waiting for Kaia's command.
Thanks to the prince's careful planning and the aid of skilled mages, the army had slipped through a portal, emerging on the far side of the mountain behind Raiwood. The operation had been painstaking, taking longer than expected, but the results had been worth every risk. In a single day, the city of adventurers had burned, its streets filled with smoke and ash, and now the army was marching back toward the portal, victory heavy in their wake.
By tomorrow, they would be gone, safe, victorious, untouchable.
"Did you see their faces when they realized we were coming?" one soldier slurred, tipping back a cheap mug of beer. Foam dribbled down his chin.
"Before they could even understand what was happening… they were dead," another said, laughing darkly. His teeth glinted in the firelight, and his laughter echoed through the jungle, harsh and mocking.
"Shouldn't we be on watch for reinforcements from the Kingdom of Magic?" a third soldier asked, his voice betraying a flicker of fear.
The first guard beside him leaned back lazily, draping an arm across his shoulders. "Don't worry. It'll take them too long to arrive, and those soldiers nearby are weak anyway. Right, Captain?" His eyes flicked toward Kaia, appraising her like a weapon already in place.
Kaia's thoughts had been elsewhere, and it took her a moment to respond. "Right. We set plenty of traps, and the orcs are here too."
"And don't forget," the drunk second guard added with a sneer, "we've got Lady Kaia herself. An A2 assassin and warrior."
Their laughter carried through the trees, bouncing against tents and undergrowth, chillingly casual given the carnage they had left behind. The scent of smoke, blood, and damp earth mingled with the metallic tang of weapons, creating an atmosphere that was both triumphant and deadly.
…
The orcs watched the human camp from the shadows, their tusked faces twisted with amusement as they observed the soldiers laughing, drinking, and shouting around their fires. The humans looked careless, loud, and blind to everything beyond their mugs.
"Look at those weak humans," one orc sneered. "They're so drunk that even if a lion walked straight at them, they wouldn't notice." He lifted his axe slightly, eyes gleaming. "Maybe we should kill them now."
The orc beside him raised a thick hand and stopped him. "We have orders. We don't touch them."
The first orc growled in frustration, muscles tensing beneath his green skin.
Heavy footsteps approached. A massive orc emerged from the darkness, his presence commanding instant silence. His armor was scarred and dark with old bloodstains, and his eyes were cold and sharp.
Both orcs lowered their heads. "Chieftain Fral."
Fral was the youngest chieftain among the orcs, but no one mistook that for weakness. If anything, his reputation was worse than most. Many said he was the cruelest of them all.
"Golar," Fral said, his voice low and firm. "You're on watch."
Golar, the first orc, straightened and nodded. "Yes, Chieftain." And without another word, he turned and disappeared into the jungle.
After several dozen steps, Golar reached a massive tree where another orc stood guard. They exchanged places in silence. He settled against the roots, axe resting across his knees, eyes scanning the darkness.
An hour passed with nothing unusual.
They didn't expect anyone to arrive so soon, but that didn't mean they could relax. The jungle never slept. From time to time, animals rustled through the bushes. Wolves lived in this region, but even they avoided orcs.
Another half hour crawled by.
Then Golar heard it.
Footsteps.
He lifted his head and sniffed the air.
Human. And blood. His grip tightened on the axe. Maybe a soldier had wandered too far from camp. Maybe a scout. Either way, the result was the same.
The human had to die. Moments later, a man stepped out from between the trees.
Golar blinked in surprise.
The man didn't look like a soldier at all. He wore no armor, no uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a black suit with a long coat hanging neatly from his shoulders. His posture was calm, his pace unhurried, as if he were walking through a peaceful garden instead of an enemy camp.
Golar snarled and shouted for him to stop.
The man didn't even look at him. He kept walking.
As the stranger took another step forward, a sword began to slide from his hand, forming as if pulled from the air itself.
Golar grinned, tusks flashing. If the human wanted to fight, then he would fight.
With a roar, he charged. The ground shook beneath his heavy steps as he raised his axe high and brought it down in a killing arc. The blade tore through the air, aimed straight at the man's skull.
But it stopped. The axe froze a finger's width from the man's face.
Golar's eyes widened. His body refused to move. His muscles locked in place, his breath trapped in his chest. Even his thoughts slowed, as if the world itself had clamped shut around him.
Golar never saw the strike. Darkness swallowed his vision as his world split apart, his massive form collapsing in two pieces onto the forest floor.
…
In the camps, both Kaia and Fral heard the sudden, terrifying shout from the orc guard. Then… silence.
At the human camp, soldiers froze as their captain straightened, her face serious and pale. The usual laughter and chatter died instantly.
Across the clearing, in the orc camp, weapons were raised, axes gleaming in the firelight.
"Captain, it's probably nothing," one soldier muttered, trying to force calm. "These orcs like to shout." Some of the others laughed nervously, but the sound died in their throats.
Then the wind came.
It swept out of the trees, a rolling force that rattled the tents and whipped through the camp. The ground trembled beneath them, small at first, then with increasing violence.
Every soldier stood, eyes wide, hands gripping their weapons.
"What… what is this?" someone whispered. Fear spread like wildfire.
The wind grew stronger. The trembling intensified. Trees snapped and splintered as a figure slowly emerged from the forest, step by step, calm, deliberate, and utterly unstoppable.
A few orcs charged, axes raised, hoping to meet him with brute strength, but they didn't even reach him. Their bodies shattered, turning into pieces mid-step.
The pressure radiating from the man was enough to crush morale instantly. Soldiers who had remained standing before now panicked, fear overtaking training. One by one, they turned and fled.
"Wait! You bastards!" Kaia shouted, but her voice barely carried over the rising roar of terror.
The earth beneath them shuddered violently. The soldiers ignored her warnings, but the ground betrayed them. A pit opened, gaping and jagged, swallowing one man entirely. The earth continued shifting, cracking and twisting near the camp, leaving no clear path to escape.
For a few seconds, soldiers could only stare in disbelief as the ground morphed beneath their feet. Then the slaughter began.
One soldier exploded in a spray of blood and bone. Others were thrown to the ground by the impact. Kaia watched, horror etched on her face, as more soldiers died in grotesque ways, bodies melting, limbs shredded, swords emerging from chests as if the very world itself obeyed the enemy.
The man still advanced calmly, step by step, radiating pressure that made every breath a struggle.
Fral's eyes narrowed. He swung his axe, molten energy enveloping the blade in a blazing fury. With a roar, he slashed at the ground, sending a wave of magma and destruction hurtling toward the intruder.
But an ice wall erupted from nowhere, meeting the molten wave midway. Steam hissed and the lava splintered, stopped in its tracks by the sudden, unyielding barrier.
The battlefield froze in chaos. Soldiers screamed. Orcs fell. Fire, magma, ice, and raw pressure collided as the figure continued to walk forward, calm, unstoppable, and terrifying.
Fral let out a guttural growl and leapt forward, covering a dozen meters in a single bound. He aimed for a direct strike, his axe swinging with brutal intent.
The man did not flinch. He raised his sword, already enveloped in a dark, blood-red aura. In the next second, the blade expanded with impossible speed, stretching like a living thing. and drove straight through Fral's chest.
Fral's roar cut off abruptly. The man swung upward, slicing through him with a force that split him clean in two. The strike was so powerful it ripped through the clouds above, cleaving the sky itself.
Kaia gritted her teeth, fury and fear colliding. She drew a crystal and slashed it across her palm. Instantly, her hair and clothing twisted into shadows, writhing like living smoke. From her back, six shadow-formed hands extended, each wielding a blade of darkness, ready to strike.
She lunged forward with impossible speed, shadows trailing her every movement, but the instant her gaze met the man's, her body froze.
"Mind… control…" she hissed, every muscle straining against the invisible chains.
It couldn't be. An A2 warrior, reduced to nothing by someone else's will? Only one being could do this, the master of illusion, the Phantom Oracle, the S-rank illusionist. And yet, this man… he was something else entirely.
"Who are you?" she demanded, forcing her voice through the thrumming pressure in her skull.
The man stepped closer, hand rising to touch her face. His fingers pressed lightly against her temple. His tone was low, sharp, and terrifyingly calm.
"I'm your death."
The world around her shifted violently. In an instant, she was yanked from the battlefield and slammed against a massive wooden pillar.
In front of her, the people of Raiwood stood in rigid rows, each clutching a stone in their hands, faces pale and rigid.
"What… what is this? Where am I?" Kaia whispered, struggling against the invisible hold.
The first person in the front row hurled their stone. It streaked through the air and slammed into Kaia's face, the impact echoing like a thunderclap.
"Aah—!"
Pain tore through Kaia's body as the first stone struck her face.
Then another stone hit her arm. Then another struck her ribs.
One after another, the stones flew. They slammed into her face, her stomach, her legs. She twisted and strained against the bindings, muscles screaming, but she could not move. Her body was locked in place. All she could do was endure.
The stones did not stop. Bone cracked loudly. Her shoulder bent at an impossible angle. Blood streamed down her face, blinding one eye. Her legs gave out beneath her weight, but the ropes held her upright.
By the time the final stone struck, her body was barely recognizable.
Every bone was shattered. Blood soaked her clothes and pooled at the base of the pillar. The pain should have killed her, but her mind remained cruelly awake, trapped inside a ruined body.
Footsteps approached.
Through blurred vision, she saw someone step forward holding a torch.
"No… cough…" she tried to beg, but only broken sounds escaped her throat.
The torch touched the wood beneath her feet.
Flames burst upward.
Fire climbed her legs, searing through flesh and muscle. She screamed until her voice tore apart. The heat devoured her inch by inch, until at last darkness claimed her.
Her eyes opened. She was standing on the same wooden pillar again.
Her body was whole. In front of her, the people of Raiwood stood in rows, each holding a stone.
"What… what is going on?" she whispered, panic flooding her voice.
The first stone flew. Then another. And another.
When the final stone struck, she hung broken once more, drenched in blood.
"Why…" she whispered.
A man stepped forward, holding a torch.
"You will die as many times as the people you killed," he said coldly.
He threw the torch.
Fire rose again.