The battlefield grew quiet.
Smoke still rose.
Ash still fell.
But the fighting had stopped.
At the center of a shattered crater—
Yuwen lay still.
His chest no longer rose.
His grip had loosened.
The General of Wrath—
Was dead.
Lira stood nearby.
Looking down.
"…Oh."
No sadness.
No fear.
Just recognition.
"…Stopped moving."
Kael said nothing.
Because even he—
Felt it.
That presence.
Gone.
Before he was Wrath—he was human.
A boy stood in the rain.
Small.
Thin.
Bleeding.
"…Get up," a man said coldly.
The boy didn't move.
So the man kicked him.
Hard.
"Get. Up."
Slowly—
The boy pushed himself up.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he had to.
He had no name.
Only a purpose.
To fight.
To survive.
To endure.
They called it training.
But it wasn't.
It was breaking.
Bones shattered.
Then healed.
Again.
And again.
If he cried—
He was hit.
If he fell—
He was hit.
If he hesitated—
He learned not to hesitate.
Days became years.
Pain became normal.
Silence became survival.
And something inside him—
Changed.
At first—
It was fear.
Then anger.
Then—
Nothing but anger.
One night—
The man came again.
"Stand," he ordered.
The boy stood.
"Fight."
The boy didn't move.
"…I said fight."
Still—
Nothing.
The man stepped forward.
Raised his hand—
And struck.
This time—
The boy caught it.
Silence.
"…What did you just do?" the man asked.
The boy looked up.
Eyes—
Different.
Not afraid.
Not broken.
Burning.
"…Stop."
The word was quiet.
But final.
The man laughed.
"You think you can—"
He didn't finish.
Because the boy punched.
When it ended—
There was nothing left.
No room.
No walls.
Just destruction.
And a boy—
Standing in the center of it.
Breathing.
For the first time—
Free.
But freedom didn't bring peace.
It brought more.
More enemies.
More fights.
More blood.
Because strength—
Drew conflict.
And he answered.
Every time.
Not for justice.
Not for revenge.
But because—
It felt right.
"…If the world wants to fight me…"
He stood on a mountain of defeated warriors.
"…Then I'll fight it back."
Years passed.
The boy became a man.
The man became a legend.
And the legend—
Caught the attention of something greater.
The sky darkened.
A presence descended.
"…You burn well," a voice said.
The man didn't kneel.
Didn't bow.
"…Who are you?"
The being smiled.
"…A king."
Silence.
"…Then leave," the man said.
The king laughed.
"…No."
Power pressed down.
The ground shattered.
But the man stood.
Unmoving.
Unyielding.
"…Good," the king said.
"…You will serve me."
"…No."
A pause.
Then—
"…Yes."
Not because he agreed.
Because he was forced.
Because even he—
Could not win.
And so—
He became Yuwen.
One of the Seven.
The General of Wrath.
Present
The wind passed over the battlefield.
Carrying ash.
Carrying silence.
Yuwen's body didn't move.
But his face—
Was calm.
Not angry.
Not strained.
Peaceful.
"…He fought until the end," Kael said quietly.
Lira blinked.
"…Fight good."
Kael didn't correct her.
Because for Yuwen—
It was.
Far away—
Something shifted.
Another presence stirred.
Because one of the Seven—
Had fallen.
And unlike before—
This death—
Would not be ignored.
To Be Continued…