The battlefield was quiet now.
Smoke still lingered in the air, the ground still cracked from the clash of two monstrous forces. Soldiers who had been frozen in awe minutes ago were now rushing forward. Their boots pounded against the rocky soil as they scrambled toward their fallen king.
"Your Majesty!" a soldier shouted, kneeling beside Draguel.
Glassord, Draguel's brother, appeared seconds later, his cape fluttering in the wind, worry written all over his face. "Brother! Are you alright?"
Draguel was laying on his back, breathing hard, bruised, battered, but alive. His lips curled into a small, exhausted smile. "I'm fine… Just… Help me up."
The generals gathered around as healing magic surged through his body. A bright golden light began to mend his wounds. His skin stitched itself back together, bones cracked into place, and energy slowly returned to his limbs. He groaned but stood up, proud and tall again.
But then he saw him.
Yujiro Hanma. The Ogre. The man who had done the impossible.
Yujiro was walking away, slow, steady, not even looking back.
"Yujiro!" Draguel's voice boomed.
Yujiro stopped. He didn't say a word, just turned around casually like he wasn't the man who had just defeated a titan. His red eyes met Draguel's.
Draguel approached him, his footsteps calm. The wind brushed past his long hair and cape. He stopped in front of Yujiro and extended his hand.
"You have earned my respect, Yujiro Hanma," he said sincerely. "Would you like to come to my kingdom… this time not as an intruder, but as a friend?"
Yujiro looked at the hand for a second. Then, slowly, that signature smirk appeared on his face. "Heh… Sure. Why not?"
He shook Draguel's hand.
The soldiers around them couldn't believe what they were witnessing.
Back in Draguel's Castle
The black marble floors gleamed under the crystal chandeliers. The tall windows showed the night sky sparkling with stars. The great dining hall was filled with laughter, food, and a strange but powerful energy of mutual respect.
Draguel sat at the head of the table, wearing royal black and silver robes now, his golden crown placed casually on the side. Next to him sat Yujiro, still bare-chested, arms crossed, his back straight as ever. On either side were the high generals, and of course, Glassord.
The long feast table was covered with dishes from across the realm — roasted wyvern meat, golden truffle soup, molten cheese over dragonfruit, and goblets of crimson wine aged for centuries.
"Ha! I still can't believe you beat our king!" General Orak bellowed, slamming his fist on the table in amazement.
"Me neither…" muttered another general. "He didn't use magic. Not even a skill… Just fists."
"Who even is this guy?" one of the younger officers whispered.
Glassord leaned in, arms folded. "His name is Yujiro Hanma. Remember it. He's a warrior unlike any we've ever seen."
Yujiro just smirked and took a bite out of a massive leg of meat.
Draguel laughed. "You know, at first, I thought you were just some arrogant human. But now... I'm starting to think you're something else."
"I get that a lot," Yujiro said casually.
"Tell me," Draguel leaned forward, placing his cup down. "Have you ever heard of the Demon Lords?"
Yujiro raised an eyebrow. "I've heard of them."
Draguel grinned. "You'd like Guy Crimson. He's sharp, brutal, and terrifying. Velzard too, she is a true dragon and the strongest currently— icy cold and deadly."
Yujiro chuckled, wiping his mouth. "I've met them already."
The entire room froze.
Draguel blinked. "Wait… what?"
"I've met Guy and Velzard."
Glassord leaned in. "You've met them? When? How?!"
Yujiro leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. "Let's just say… I had a little sparring session with them."
Draguel's eyes widened. "You FOUGHT them?!"
Yujiro smirked. "What do you think?"
The generals gasped. Forks dropped. One soldier choked on his drink.
"No way…" a general muttered. "You fought both Guy and Velzard and… lived?!"
Yujiro grinned wider. "I did more than live."
Draguel burst into laughter, clapping his hands. "Unbelievable! I knew there was something special about you! A human standing toe to toe with Demon Lords… HA!"
One of the generals still couldn't wrap his head around it. "But… but how?! Guy Crimson is—he's a monster! And Velzard is one of the strongest true dragon to ever live!"
Yujiro looked him dead in the eye. "I don't care what they are. In the end… they bleed like anyone else."
The table was silent again, but this time… it was reverent.
Later That Night
The fire crackled in the massive fireplace of the lounge. Yujiro and Draguel stood near it, sipping their drinks. The feast was over, and the generals had gone to rest.
"You surprised me, Yujiro," Draguel said. "Not just with your strength. But with your mind too. You read me like a book."
"You fought with honor," Yujiro said. "That's rare."
Draguel nodded. "I can't wait for you to meet the others. Milim, Leon… you'll have a field day."
Yujiro smirked again. "I've got time."
Draguel stared into the fire for a moment. "Do you believe… that strength is everything?"
Yujiro didn't hesitate. "No. But without strength, nothing else matters."
Draguel smiled. "Well said."
And so, a titan and an ogre who once clashed in fury now stood side by side as warriors. Not as enemies.
But as friends.
The night was winding down. The fire crackled low in the massive hearth, casting warm shadows across the lounge walls. Draguel leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine as he looked at Yujiro, who was leaning against the window with arms crossed, watching the stars outside.
"You know," Draguel said thoughtfully, "I've been thinking. Would you be willing to stay here in Damargania for a while? Maybe teach my soldiers a bit of what you know. Your fighting style—it's... raw. Pure. Something they've never seen before."
Yujiro looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "You want me to train your army?"
Draguel nodded. "Exactly. They rely too much on magicules. Too soft. I want them to know what true strength feels like. The kind that doesn't come from spells or skills."
Yujiro smirked. "Sure, why not? I'm not in a rush. And I know the perfect martial art to teach them."
Glassord, standing nearby, tilted his head. "And what's it called?"
"Krav Maga," Yujiro said calmly.
"Krav... Maga?" Draguel repeated, unfamiliar with the name.
Yujiro walked to the center of the room, now fully catching everyone's attention. "It's not like your pretty, flashy styles. Krav Maga is brutal. It's real. It was designed for survival—close-quarters combat. Fast, efficient, deadly. You don't fight for honor. You fight to walk away alive."
Glassord frowned, intrigued. "Explain the science behind it."
Yujiro stepped forward and started explaining, his voice serious, calm.
"Krav Maga targets the human body's weak points—eyes, throat, groin, knees. You break the structure. Elbows, knees, chokes. It's not about blocking every hit, it's about overwhelming your opponent before they can react. It's based on natural instincts. You train to react fast and end the fight faster."
He paused and added, "There's no kata, no formality. Just instinct, speed, aggression, and precision. You don't train to fight longer—you train to end it in one move."
The room was silent.
Draguel nodded slowly. "Exactly what they need."
Morning broke over Damargania.
Hundreds of elite soldiers stood in rows in the castle's training grounds. Normally, they'd warm up using magic-based enhancements, but today, all magic was forbidden.
Yujiro stood in front of them wearing his usual red pants and calm smirk. He paced slowly, his voice booming over the crowd.
"No magic. No skills. Just your body. That's all you get."
The soldiers looked at each other, confused and unsure. One brave soul raised a hand. "But sir, how do we defend ourselves against someone using actual magic?"
Yujiro walked up to him, stared him down, then without warning, swept the soldier's leg and pinned him to the ground with a stomp.
"You learn," he said.
The following weeks were harsh. Grueling. Yujiro pushed them beyond their limits. Draguel had to reassure his commanders that Yujiro wasn't trying to kill anyone—though it often looked that way.
Every morning began with bare-fisted conditioning. Punching wooden posts. Running with boulders tied to their backs. Endless drills.
Then came technique. Eye gouges. Throat strikes. Disarming attacks. Chokeholds. Joint locks. Fast takedowns. And sparring—so much sparring.
"No flashy moves," Yujiro would yell. "You aren't here to look pretty. You're here to survive a war."
One evening, as the soldiers limped off the field, Draguel and Glassord stood beside Yujiro, watching them crawl toward the baths.
Glassord whistled. "You've broken more ribs in one week than we've had in a year of combat training."
"They're getting better," Yujiro said flatly.
Draguel smirked. "You're not wrong. I've seen the difference already. Their footwork's sharper. Their reflexes—faster."
Yujiro nodded. "Still soft, but they're learning."
Later that night, at the campfire outside the training field, the soldiers were gathered, bandaged, bruised, and exhausted.
"I swear he's not even human," one muttered, rubbing his bruised ribs.
"He dodged my sword strike with his eyes closed," another groaned.
"I think he punched the soul out of me today," someone else added.
Yet, as the months went by… something changed.
They did get better.
Their posture improved. Reactions became quicker. They learned to move without relying on magic. Their bodies hardened. Their strikes became cleaner. Each soldier, even the cocky elites, started showing respect—not out of fear, but out of admiration.
Sometimes, Draguel himself would step onto the field.
"Come on, Hanma," he'd grin. "Let's see if I've improved."
The ground would shake when they fought. It wasn't like their first battle—this time, Draguel was learning. He still lost, but he landed more hits than before.
Even Glassord joined in.
"You won't break me like the others," he warned before stepping into the ring.
Yujiro smiled. "We'll see."
Their duels were brutal. Fists collided with bone. Dust clouds filled the sky. But after every spar, the three men sat side by side, sharing drinks and stories.
"I never thought I'd enjoy getting tossed around so much," Glassord muttered with a grin, holding an ice pack to his jaw.
Yujiro just chuckled.
Three Months Later
The Damarganian army was reborn.
Their armor shone as always, but now it was the discipline behind the armor that mattered.
They moved like predators. Their movements were precise, their focus unmatched. Even without magicules, they could take down most enemies in seconds.
Draguel watched them march through the courtyard and turned to Yujiro.
"You've done more than I imagined."
Yujiro cracked his knuckles. "They did the work. I just taught them how to survive."
"Stay longer," Glassord suggested. "We can use a man like you."
Yujiro looked out over the mountains. "Maybe. But when I go… you'll remember what I left behind."
And so, the name Yujiro Hanma became legend in Damargania—not just as the man who defeated the king, but as the one who turned an army of magic-reliant warriors into true fighters.
All with nothing more than fists, instinct…
…and Krav Maga.