As the Rhazgord army crested the last hill in front of them, the Galir capital of Greuth loomed before them in all its glory. But this was not what they expected to see.

  Smoke billowed from all corners of the city, and heavy damage to the stone walls made it clear that Greuth had been captured after a long and difficult siege. But the most striking detail was the flags flying from the city walls that were still standing. These flags did not belong to Galir. The flags of Brihmond waved proudly in the wind.

  Brihmond was a powerful state, just beyond Galir, Behem and Laxon. Although they called themselves an “Empire ”, they were not yet as big as a real empire. But they were not as small as a kingdom either.

  If you wanted to go from Rhazgord to the Kingdom of Adler as Belisarius is doing now, or to any other part of the continent, you would have to pass through Brihmond territory whichever way you chose. That is why relations between Rhazgord and Brihmond have always been strong. Rhazgord mercenaries used Brihmond territory to access job offers from other parts of the continent. Therefore, there had been a crossing agreement between the two sides for many years. What's more, when a demon attack on Brihmond's capital Seburg took place a few years ago, the Rhazgord army came to the rescue unreservedly. This further strengthened the ties between the two countries.

  Now, however, the flags of Brihmond were flying on the walls of Greuth, an unexpected development. Valerius spurred his horse as soon as he saw this sight. With his sudden movement, the head of the huge beast called the army of Rhazgord was thrust forward. And when the head moved, the body had to follow at the same speed.

  Arriving on the outskirts of the city, the Rhazgord army was in full battle formation. Although Brihmond was a friendly country, Valerius would not let his guard down until he knew the truth. With the arrival of the Rhazgord army, movement began on the walls of Greuth. Soon, the city gates slowly opened.

  .

  First, the head of a beast that looked like the army of Rhazgord appeared. Then its body glided through the city gates and settled in front of the walls. This monster looked bigger than the Rhazgord army and carried the flags of Brihmond.

  As the two huge armies stared at each other in silence, Valerius waited patiently to see what this great force would do. His wait was not long. The leader of the Brihmond army, accompanied by a few warriors, rode on horseback towards the Rhazgord army.

  Valerius took Corvus and some of his most trusted warriors to meet the approaching column. The two great armies met in the center of the battlefield, stretching as far as the eye could see. The leader of the Brihmond army quietly dismounted. The warriors behind him dismounted simultaneously as soon as his feet touched the ground.

  Valerius, Corvus and the warriors with him dismounted in the same way and came face to face with the man before them. With an affectionate smile, the leader of the Brihmond army approached Valerius and extended his hand. As he did so, he said "Hello ” in Rhazgord, accented but clear.

  The questioning look in Valerius' eyes was still there. But he had seen this man many times. He knew him well. And without hesitation, he shook the outstretched hand with his huge ones.

  "Hello ” was the only word the leader of the Brihmond army knew in Rhazgord. So in came the translator, who spoke Rhazgord with an incredibly bad accent. The translator began to speak in an overly dramatic tone, puffing out his chest:

  “ My lord, Millan Mirones, supreme commander of the armies of Brihmond, Ironbringer, enemy of tyrants, friend of the oppressed, and last but not least, crown prince of the great Brihmond Empire, salutes Valerius Tiamat, the honorable and great warrior of the Rhazgord, and his honorable soldiers.”

  Valerius narrowed his eyes slightly. He did not understand a significant part of this pompous and extravagant salute. The titles and exaggerated adjectives sandwiched between sentences seemed to him an unnecessary waste of time. Turning his eyes to Corvus, he gave him a brief glance. He didn't want to hear any more of this disgusting and incomprehensible accent, so he asked Corvus to speak in Adler Language.

  Valerius' voice was as clear and firm as ever. Corvus spoke in the same tone.

  “Why are you here?”

  Valerius' directness caused a slight discomfort on Millan Mirones' face. However, he recovered quickly and continued unperturbed.

  "If you don't mind, let's discuss these matters in a better place. In the city of Greuth, if you wish, or in your camp when you have set up your camp."

  Corvus translated his uncle's response to this offer in the same or even more angry tone as his uncle.

  “Why are you here!?”

  Millan Mirones could no longer ignore this question. He knew that Valerius Tiamat's patience was not to be tested. And this was a known fact on every battlefield.

  With a single gesture, Millan Mirones summoned one of the men behind him. The Brihmond warrior stepped forward, carrying a bag dripping with blood. Without hesitation, he threw it at Corvus' feet. The contents of the bag fell to the ground with a harsh thud and rolled to Corvus' feet.

  It was a head. And this head belonged to the King of Galir. His bloodied face stared into the void with dull eyes. Millan Mirones was silent for a moment, as if gauging Valerius' reaction. Then he spoke in a calm but impressive voice.

  "We have not forgotten that you came to our aid three years ago and fought with us against the demons. That is why we could not remain unresponsive to the treacherous attack on you by the kingdoms of Galir, Behem and Laxon. We wish we could have destroyed these three worthless states instead of you. However, with your superior skills, you beat us to it."

  Valerius looked at the head on the ground for a moment. His stern expression did not change. With a cold, emotionless face, he said something short but sharp. But Corvus did not translate it. Because his eyes were on the man who had just brought the bag. The Brihmond warrior had returned to his post and disappeared among the soldiers in front of him. But Corvus followed him with his eyes. Something was wrong. When Valerius realized that Corvus was not translating, he was about to turn to him and nudge him to repeat his words when Corvus' voice was heard. Corvus' voice echoed harsh and angry, like a knife cutting through the air.

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  “Move.”

  This single word was a command that penetrated to the very bones of his interlocutor. When the intervening soldier, feeling the weight of Corvus' pure rage in his bones, involuntarily shifted a step to the right, Corvus' vision cleared completely. Before him stood the warrior who had brought the bloody sack.

  His face was hidden in the shadow of his helmet, but his eyes and the sword hanging from his belt said it all. Corvus understood everything at that moment. This man was the leader of the Black Masks, soaked in the blood of Kragan, Tharvork and Draknar, who had given him a brush with death in the battle on the Black Plains, who had started this whole war. This could not have been a coincidence. Every fiber, every cell of Corvus was sure of it.

  The rage inside him began to rise like an uncontrollable flame. The energy emanating from his body radiated around him as the oppressive aura typical of the Tiamat lineage. Focused first on his enemy, the intense energy soon descended upon everyone around him, choking the air. Cold sweat trickled down the forehead of the man Corvus was staring at, while the warriors around them clenched their fists unconsciously. Even the distant soldiers of the two armies instinctively sensed that something had changed and gripped their weapons, ready for battle.

  This abnormal situation brought the tension to its peak. Everyone gathered here were experienced warriors at the highest echelons of battle. At Corvus's age, it was almost impossible to master this level of Lightstone energy. But he was breathing like a predator, ready to tear his opponent to pieces, with a burning desire to kill. This threatening movement alarmed the Brihmond soldiers. They drew their swords to protect Millan Mirones. But as quickly as they moved, the Rhazgord warriors responded just as quickly. Shields were brought forward, axes gripped tightly, the battle was about to explode in an instant.

  When Corvus decided to fully unleash the fire within him, there was no turning back. With his energy at its peak, he charged forward, locked on a single target. As soon as he was off his feet, he felt huge hands gripping his wrists like an iron vice. Valerius had caught him in mid-air with all his strength, pinning him in place.

  Corvus wriggled like a chained predator, trying to break free from Valerius' arms, but in vain. Valerius stood before him like a mountain, unmoving like a rock that intimidated him. But Corvus' gaze was still locked on one point. He could not afford to lose sight of his enemy.

  The desire for revenge coursed through his veins like blood. His whole body trembled, his breathing became erratic, and he foamed at the mouth. He was so angry that he had even forgotten how to speak in Adler. Between the sharp, harsh sounds of the Rhazgord tongue, a single sentence echoed, beginning as a delirious whisper, but gradually turning into a battle cry.

  "I'll take your fucking life!"

  Valerius' capture of Corvus relieved some of the tension. If he really wanted war, he would not have stopped Corvus from attacking. But seeing Corvus in such a frenzied state for the first time was surprising even for him. No matter how angry he was, it was unusual for Corvus to lose his temper in such a frenzied way. Valerius knew he wouldn't do such a thing without good reason, but he couldn't understand what had happened. Who had Corvus looked at that had made him so furious? His breathing was ragged, his eyes bloodshot. The more he realized that he could not get past Valerius, the more his anger did not diminish, but only sharpened.

  “It's him! It's the leader of those Black Mask sons of bitches!”

  Corvus' voice, trembling with rage, caused Valerius to loosen his grip for a moment, but still he did not let him go. He followed Corvus' gaze, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. But where Corvus' eyes were focused, there stood an ordinary Brihmond soldier. The energy of the battlefield suddenly changed as he tried to understand if this man was indeed the leader of the Black Masks. Corvus's aura, uncontrolled and wild, was crushed in an instant. His aura was overwhelmed by a much larger, sharper and more directed force.

  Spreading like a crimson mist, Valerius' energy dominated the battlefield in a single instant. But unlike Corvus, this pressure was not uncontrolled. Anyone who knew what Tiamat power was realized that this energy was not unleashed in anger, but was meticulously directed. Only the soldiers of Brihmond and Corvus were the targets of the pressure. The Rhazgord warriors did not feel the weight, but the Brihmond army lined up against them felt as if they were being crushed under a giant mountain. Even the rearmost soldiers felt the pressure of an invisible hand at their throats, while the Brihmond warriors standing directly in front of Valerius were the real victims of this burden.

  Corvus fell to his knees. His breathing became ragged, his arms heavy as stone. He felt as if tons of weight had been dropped on his chest. He tried to lunge forward but could not move. His own aura was soon overwhelmed by Valerius'. He realized that no matter how strong he was, he could not stand up to Valerius' authority. In contrast, the warriors of Brihmond were subjected to the same pressure, but they struggled to stand, supported by their swords. Still, none of their faces remained expressionless. Contracted muscles, trembling fingers, betrayed that many of them were shaking in their knees at the force.

  Millan Mirones, however, seemed unaffected.

  When Valerius turned his eyes to him, the pressure in the air intensified. The crimson light in his gaze flared into flames, a huge fire seemed to burn in the place of his pupils. The entire battlefield was dominated by his furious aura. But Millan Mirones still did not retreat a single step. When their eyes met, it was as if two titanic forces were facing each other in the center of the square. Valerius' controlled but terrible rage on the one hand, and Millan Mirones' cool and indifferent stance on the other. The silence concealed the invisible battle between the two.

  The shadows on Millan's face were not enough to hide his anger. Valerius' words echoed through the translator. The translator, barely able to stand, translated with a trembling voice, adding to the tension in the air.

  “Millan, do you have soldiers lurking behind black masks and shadows, plotting dirty plans in my country?!”

  Millan answered quickly, shaking his head from side to side. Not for a moment did his eyes leave Valerius' glowing red flames. Pointing to Corvus, still struggling on the ground, he tried to keep his voice as calm and even as possible.

  "The young man must have misunderstood something. Brihmond soldiers do not lurk in the shadows and plot against their friends, Valerius."

  The aura in the air was heavy, like a gloomy fog. The two men locked gazes that said more than words. Valerius' overwhelming presence, which had suddenly filled the entire space, receded just as quickly. He was gone like a shadow, but the weight he had left was still weighing down on Millan's back.

  He turned away without a word. Corvus, who thought he had seized the opportunity, wanted to charge forward once more, trying to get to his feet, still full of ambition. But Valerius grabbed him with one arm as easily as if he were lifting a child from a cradle. Despite Corvus' resistance, he threw him over his shoulder and began to march towards his army.

  “We will camp here for a few days to rest.”

  These were the last words Valerius spoke to Millan that day. There was command in his voice, but there was also a sense of indifference. What had happened was a closed matter for him.

  As Millan watched Valerius' back, the nails of his clenched fists dug into his flesh, blood seeped between his fingers. He swallowed his anger, but his body could not hide it. The general of the Brihmond army was like a man who had torn himself apart to withstand Valerius' aura.

  Finally, once he was sure that the Rhazgord leader was truly gone, Millan turned and began to walk slowly towards the city of Galir. Soon after, his massive army poured through the gates of the city, marching silently behind him.

  The sky was an ominous gray in the silence that remained as the Rhazgord army once again set up camp.