The Amazarak warriors roared with savage excitent. Like unleashed beasts, they charged deeper into the village. Terrified screams erupted—helpless cries swallowed by fire and steel. Hos were torn apart.
Children were dragged from hiding. Mothers clutched their little ones, only to be forcibly separated. There was no honor here, no battle—just butchery.
Kenjirou stood in the center of it all, arms spread wide like a conductor leading a macabre orchestra of destruction.
"This… this is how you make a kingdom kneel! Let the world fear the wrath of Amazarak!"
Behind him, smoke rose like black pillars into the sky. The once-peaceful village was now a smoldering ruin. And Kenjirou—once a summoned hero, once a man chosen by the Saint of the Three Gods—had beco a monster.
anwhile, deep within the heart of the Halfling Kingdom…
A grand hall filled with ancient magic trembled slightly. In its center, King Gurdan, broad-shouldered and wearing ceremonial armor etched with silver runes, took a deep breath.
Celestial light glowed faintly beneath his skin—his body had just accepted the Celestial Being.
He slowly opened his eyes. with Power now reside within his soul.
"It is done." His voice echoed with newfound strength.
"I am now… a Celestial Vessel."
Suddenly—
"Your Majesty!!"
The double doors to the hall swung open, and a panicked commander stumbled in, armor clinking.
"What is it?" Gurdan asked, his tone sharp.
"It's Amazarak, sire. They've attacked! The border villages—Rindel, Forza, and Delcroft—they've all fallen!"
"WHAT?!" Gurdan roared, fists clenching as the light within him flickered dangerously.
"How dare they violate the treaty! They've declared war—on us! On the Halfling Kingdom!!"
The guards in the room tensed. The nobles whispered. The atmosphere was heavy.
"Deploy troops imdiately to reinforce the surrounding towns," Gurdan commanded.
"No one invades our land and walks away unpunished. I want full defensive lines on every road leading from the eastern front."
He turned to another aide.
"Call General Yuison. Tell him to report here at once. I want a full map layout and a war council ready within the hour."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" the commanders replied before rushing off.
Gurdan stared out toward the horizon beyond the open window.
"Amazarak… and whoever leads this foolish charge… I swear, I will personally cut them down."
His eyes narrowed, burning with fury.
"You picked the wrong kingdom to wage war against.
Outside the walls of the Halfling capital…
The morning mist parted as the thunder of war drums echoed across the hills. Rows of armored halfling soldiers stood in perfect formation. Towering above them, the Guskan Riders—elite cavalry mounted on massive, horned warbeasts—snorted steam and pawed at the earth, eager for battle.
Their armor clanked in rhythm, and banners of green and gold fluttered in the wind.
General Tormin, a seasoned warrior with a scar across his left cheek and stern grey eyes, rode atop a massive Guskan, twin axes strapped to his back. He raised his gauntleted fist.
"Halfling warriors!!" he bellowed.
"The enemy thinks we're weak. That we'll fall without a fight."
He turned slowly, his voice growing heavier.
"They've spilled innocent blood. Burned our villages. But they forget—we are the descendants of the Great Forest Wars! Our ancestors drove back giants, demons, and monsters!"
The soldiers roared in agreent.
"Today, we march not just for revenge… but for honor, for family, for the fallen!"
"TROOPS!! ONWARD!!"
The war horns sounded—low and thunderous.
Eighty thousand strong surged forward.
The ground shook as the army advanced eastward—toward the fallen villages. Toward the blood-soaked path left by Amazarak.
Temporary Amazarak Camp – Outskirts of the Border Village
The stench of blood and smoke still lingered in the air. Cries from cages and makeshift tents filled with terrified halfling captives echoed like haunting whispers.
Kenjirou, half-dressed and drenched in twisted satisfaction, leaned lazily against a lavish chair inside the command tent. His expression was that of soone who felt untouchable—invincible. Around him lay the spoils of his atrocities, discarded and broken.
He chuckled to himself, whispering,
"They all fall the sa… pathetic little things."
Just as he reached for another drink, the flap of the tent flew open.
An Amazarak scout stord in, dropping to one knee and panting heavily.
"L-Lord Kenjirou! Scouts report… a large halfling army—eighty thousand troops—is heading this way! Fast!"
Kenjirou's smirk vanished. He stood up abruptly, dark energy pulsing around him.
"What did you just say?"
The scout flinched but repeated,
"The halfling kingdom has deployed their main force. We estimate over 80,000 troops, including Guskan Riders, infantry, and mages. They're expected to clash with our position within two days at most."
Kenjirou's eyes narrowed, then a twisted smile crept across his face again.
"So they've finally decided to fight back... Good."
He stord out of the tent, pieces of his armor floating onto his body through magic as he moved. The Amazarak soldiers in the camp looked up, straightening as their commander appeared.
Kenjirou raised his voice, echoing across the camp:
"PREPARE THE DEFENSIVE LINE!! NOW!!"
"Get every archer ready! Mages to the rear! I want a full frontline ford by dusk!"
"Dig trenches, reinforce the barricades! Position the siege spells! Don't let those hairy little pests take one step past our line!"
The Amazarak troops roared in response, their armor clattering as they scrambled into action.
As the camp ca alive with preparation, Kenjirou clenched his Divine Sword, its edge humming with vile energy.
After that.
Inside one of the commandeered hos near the border village, the walls were stained with shadows of war. Torches flickered dimly, casting a haunting light over everything they touched.
Kenjirou stood by the doorway, shirtless, his body marked with faint streaks of blood and dirt—not from battle, but from the vile acts he committed without remorse. His Divine Sword leaned against the wall, quietly humming with corrupted energy as if feeding off the suffering in the room.
On the bed, a halfling woman, barely covered, curled into herself, sobbing quietly—her voice hoarse from crying, her eyes hollow and empty.
Kenjirou leaned against the doorfra, his shadow looming over her like a curse. He licked his lips, grinning with a dark, sly smirk, his voice dripping with cruelty.
"Now now… don't go sleeping yet."
He stepped forward slowly.
"Round two."
The woman's sobs grew louder, trembling under the weight of what was to co.
From outside, only the cries of halfling won echoed through the night.
Every ho, every village hut that had once held laughter and warmth was now steeped in sorrow. The Amazarak warriors, influenced by Kenjirou's dark aura, followed their leader's path—turning innocent won into victims of their twisted desires.
( End of Chapter )
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