The valley of Whispering Pass had now begun to resemble a slaughterhouse. Instead of snow, sparks from clashing steel were scattered in the air. Grommash's breaths had turned into the heavy rhythm of a furnace bellows, and the sweat pouring from his chest rose as white steam in the freezing cold. Deep bite marks from a Shadow Hound were carved into his shoulder, from where thick red blood was seeping, making the grip of his axe slippery. Yet, his hold had not loosened.
Standing before him, Commander Zaros was as still as a stone statue. His Level 26 magical armor bore several marks from Grommash's axe, yet the 'Umra' energy radiating from his black sword was growing denser with each passing moment.
"You have crossed your limits, Orc," Zaros's voice echoed hollowly from behind his helmet. "Your Level 28 may grant you strength, but it cannot protect you from the darkness—Decay—bestowed by my master."
In response, Grommash let out a terrifying roar and raised his axe high above his head with both hands. The ancient 'Berserker Blood' of orc warriors began boiling through his veins. With all his might, he slammed the axe into the ground. "An Orc never surrenders!"
The moment the axe struck the stone, a massive shockwave erupted, tearing apart the frozen snow around them. Zaros raised his sword to defend, but the force of the attack pushed him several feet backward.
At the same time, the remaining two Shadow Hounds lunged at Grommash's legs. He crushed one hound's ribs with a powerful kick, but the other managed to sink its magical fangs into his thigh. A cry of pain escaped Grommash's mouth, yet he did not yield. With a swift swing of his axe, he cleaved the hound into two pieces.
Zaros seized this opportunity. Moving at lightning speed, he slashed across Grommash's chest. The black energy released from the blade didn't just cut—it began to rot his flesh instantly. Grommash felt the strength in his muscles fading rapidly. This was no ordinary wound; it was Umra's dark power, directly attacking his life force.
Grommash clenched his teeth and slammed his head into Zaros's helmet with a brutal headbutt. The helmet dented slightly, and Zaros staggered. Grommash then drove the blunt end of his axe into Zaros's stomach. A stream of blood escaped Zaros's mouth, yet the coldness in his eyes remained unchanged.
"Enough," Zaros growled. He dragged his sword across his own palm, and from the blade emerged a mix of violet and black flames. "Now witness the true wrath of Umra."
The air suddenly fell still. Grommash noticed that the blood on his axe was no longer drying—it was turning black. Zaros unleashed three rapid strikes. With each blow, Grommash's defense shattered further. He had already wagered everything, but he could feel that even his Level 28 strength was gradually being extinguished by this dark power.
Darkness began to cloud Grommash's vision, but in the distance, he remembered the silhouettes of Lyra and Arin running through the fog. He planted his axe into the ground to keep himself from collapsing. "I… won't… move…" he stammered, though his voice was fading.
The air of Whispering Pass had grown heavy, as if it could no longer bear the weight of Grommash's breaking breaths. His golden Level 28 aura had dimmed into a dull, ash-like gray. The decay from Zaros's blade had already spread through his veins like poison.
"Is that… all?" Zaros's voice cut through the frozen silence like a blade of iron. He spun his sword, forming a sphere of dark magical energy around himself. "You fought well, Orc. As a Level 28 warrior, you nearly broke through my Level 26 defense. But your strength is limited to the body… and my darkness cuts through the soul."
Grommash tried to reply, but only a thick stream of blood came out. He attempted to step forward, but his knees had turned as heavy as stone. Zaros wasted no time. He surged forward and struck the base of Grommash's neck—right at the joint of his spine—with the pommel of his sword.
The strike was so precise and powerful that Grommash's pupils rolled upward. His massive axe slipped from his hands and fell into the snow with a metallic echo that bounced off the mountains. His enormous body tilted backward like a felled ancient tree and crashed onto the frozen ground with a heavy thud.
His body no longer moved—only his broken breaths formed faint white mist in the air. Zaros did not raise his sword to finish him. Instead, he looked down at Grommash's still form with narrowed eyes. "Killing you would be a waste of time. This state of yours is worse than death," he said coldly. To him, Grommash was nothing more than an obstacle that had already been removed.
Zaros turned his gaze toward the narrow path where Arin and Lyra had fled with Kyle. The purple droplets of Kyle's corruption now shone even more clearly on the snow, like a guiding trail in the darkness. Zaros let out a sharp whistle, and his last surviving Shadow Hound limped toward him. One of its eyes was gone, yet its hatred and tracking instinct remained intact.
"Go. The boy is dying. His scent is rotting this entire valley," Zaros commanded.
Without looking back, Zaros kicked Grommash's fallen axe aside and moved forward. He knew the 'vessel' was not far now. As he disappeared into the fog, his shadow stretched longer and more terrifying across the snow. Behind him, only Grommash's fading breaths and distant wolf howls remained in the frozen silence.
Grommash's consciousness slowly faded, but deep within his mind, one thought remained—Kyle. He didn't know whether the boy would survive, but he had fulfilled his duty as a warrior.
Within the blanket of white fog, Arin and Lyra were running like mad. Kyle's body hung over Arin's shoulder, his head drooping downward, his half-open eyes still holding a faint flicker of awareness. He wasn't fully conscious, but the icy winds of Whispering Pass carried sounds to his ears—sounds he never wanted to hear.
Far behind them, he could hear the sharp clang of steel clashing. Each strike sent a pang through his heart. Then he heard the sound that shattered whatever strength he had left—Grommash's roar. It wasn't a roar of victory; it was a cry of pain, the final call of a warrior who had reached his limit.
"No… Grommash…" Kyle screamed within his mind, but only a faint murmur escaped his lips. The dryness and blood in his throat had stolen his voice.
Kyle's fingers trembled in the freezing air. He tried to grip Arin's shoulders—he wanted to go back, to return to that hell where his friend stood alone. But his own body had become his greatest enemy. The corruption near his waist felt like solid stone. The magical decay had gripped his spine, leaving his lower body completely numb.
"How weak… am I…" Kyle shut his eyes tightly. Behind his eyelids, he saw Grommash's face from the day he saved him. And now? That same orc was risking his life for him. Hatred toward himself began to grow. He cursed this 'system' fate that had made him a 'vessel' but not strong enough to protect those he cared about.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the mountains—and then everything fell silent. That silence felt like the echo of death. Kyle's heart sank. He knew what it meant—Grommash had fallen.
Lyra's sobs reached his ears. She was crying but did not stop running. Arin's breaths were sharp and uneven; her legs stumbled in the snow, yet she refused to let Kyle go.
Kyle clenched Arin's cloak with his fingers. His soul writhed in agony. He wanted to scream, "Leave me! Go back to him!" but he didn't even have enough air in his lungs to form a word.
His guilt turned into physical pain. He felt like a burden—a cursed weight because of whom his friends were dying one by one. A warm tear rolled down his eye and froze instantly upon touching the cold air.
At that very moment, deep within Kyle, beneath the purple corruption, something began to awaken. It wasn't a system alert… nor Draken's magic—it was his own hatred.
Hatred for himself.
He clenched his fist so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.
"If I survive today… I will never let anyone fall because of me again."
The fog thickened further, and Kyle once again sank into the darkness of his endless guilt—while behind him, the heavy footsteps of Commander Zaros were now clearly approaching. The hunter was close, and Kyle's helplessness had reached its peak.
Cliffhanger
Silence has fallen over the valley, bearing witness to Grommash's fall. Commander Zaros's black blade now follows Kyle's scent. But amidst this crushing defeat and the grief of losing his own, something new is being born within Kyle.
This is not light—but the pure fire of hatred and revenge.
Will this new resolve turn Kyle into a savior… or into a destructive
monster the world will never forget?
Beyond the fog, death stands waiting.