[ KRENT ]
I staggered back, my hand still gripping the boy's cloak, the same one he had handed me not long ago. When he refused to flee, when he planted his feet instead of running for his life, I almost shouted at him, desperate to force him away from certain death. Any sane man would have run—anyone else would have chosen life over suicidal bravery—but I could not bring myself to drag him from the battlefield. I had already seen enough to know that he wasn't like anyone else. He had done the unthinkable: killed one of the S-rank beasts, not merely injured or slowed it, but killed it outright, a feat even I, a seasoned warrior scarred by countless battles, could not have achieved even with both arms intact.
And as if that were not enough, he was holding off one more, his movements so sharp and decisive that even the beasts faltered under his blade. But what truly shook me, what rooted me to the earth with a chill that reached my marrow, was the moment he released his aura. The pressure slammed into us, heavy and suffocating, the kind of force that cracked the ground beneath my boots. It wasn't wild or clumsy like a reckless novice flaring out of control. No, it was refined, disciplined, crushing. That was not the aura of a beginner—it was something nearing the level of a Swordmaster.
Then a strange black shimmer crawled up his arm, spreading like living fluid. It coated his hand, then his shoulder, until obsidian-black armor began forming over him in layered plates that seemed to breathe with crimson light. It wasn't forged by human, elf, or dwarf hands, nor did it resemble any artifact of beast-mans. It felt older, deadlier, something sacred and forbidden that had slumbered beyond the reach of our world. The armor expanded across his body with an eerie grace, encasing his chest, arms, and legs until only his face, flowing long hair, and the edge of his neck remained exposed. And then the transformation went further. His brown hair shimmered, strand by strand turning white as snow until it gleamed under the ruined sunlight. His eyes followed suit, once calm and calculating, now burning crimson—twin furnaces that did not shine with bloodlust alone, but with something deeper, older, like rage given form. That was the kind of red that could burn cities to ash.
A primal shiver went through me. It was not the chill of fearing death—I had known that often enough to recognize it—but something far stranger, heavier. It was awe. A raw, reverent awe like the kind a man feels when he realizes he stands before something far beyond his understanding. It was the awe of a force of nature made flesh. That small boy, Ray, no older than a child just coming of age, now radiated more power than any man I had ever met upon the battlefield. Even the demons, towering crimson creatures who had mocked us mere moments ago, had gone silent. Their grins faltered, their clawed hands twitched, but they did not charge. They, too, felt it—the shift, the threat, the weapon that had awakened before them. Ray did not roar, did not announce his power, did not even sneer. He merely turned his gaze upon the frozen S-rank beast. His crimson eyes burned with wordless judgment, and the beast's body trembled where it stood.
In the next instant he vanished. A streak of red and black light blurred across the battlefield, faster than sight, faster than thought. One moment he stood before us, the next his sword was already cutting through the beast's armored hide as if it were clay. The sound was sharp, final, and clean.
SCHHHK!
The beast never even screamed. Its core was split in two, and its body collapsed lifeless to the ground, flames extinguished forever. Before I could blink, he was gone again, reappearing in the air above, his sword dripping the last remnants of the beast's life. He hovered there with his snow-white hair flowing, his black-and-crimson armor gleaming like it had been forged from the bones of gods, his red eyes glaring down at the demons who now found themselves the hunted. He did not need words. His presence alone declared the truth. They were next.
The wind howled across the field, carrying the silence of the moment. Then, like predators driven to madness by the scent of something greater, all four demons lunged at him at once, a blur of muscle and magic, claws extended to rend him apart. But Ray was faster. He raised one hand, and flame erupted from nothing, a firestorm conjured without chant or preparation. He hurled it into their path with devastating force, and the resulting explosion tore the skies apart with a thunderous boom. The shockwave rolled across the battlefield, shattering stone, lifting dust in waves, and sending tremors through my legs. Yet even then, the battle was only beginning.
They clashed in the sky above us, claw against steel, spell against spell, each collision echoing like thunder. Ray danced among them with impossible precision, every swing of his blade finding flesh, leaving crimson trails across their monstrous hides. But the demons were relentless, their bodies tough enough to parry steel, their claws sharp enough to gouge through stone. The air shook with their fury, and the sky itself seemed to groan beneath their struggle. Then, two of the demons broke from the melee, raising their arms as Dark magic coiled at their fingertips. A vortex of spiraling wind gathered, twisting with such unnatural violence that even from below I felt its pull. In the chaos, Ray was still locked with the remaining two, unable to withdraw before the vortex was unleashed.
The storm of compressed wind swallowed them whole. The blast roared like a thousand hurricanes, shaking the battlefield until the ground split open in jagged scars. I shielded my face, grit stinging my eyes, until at last the storm subsided. When I looked again, I saw Ray's body crash to the ground with bone-shaking force, dust exploding around him. His armor remained unscorched, but his body trembled, his breaths ragged. Yet even in his fall, the demons had not escaped without loss—one of their own lay twisted and torn, lifeless, sacrificed in their reckless attempt to crush him. Another staggered, burned and bleeding, barely able to stand. Their unity cracked, their snarls filled more with frustration than confidence.
And then Ray rose. Slowly, steadily, like a tide rising to swallow the shore. His aura surged outward, heavier than before, crimson light bleeding into the cracks of the battlefield. He was wounded, yes, but his crimson eyes burned brighter than ever, refusing to yield. In a blur, he vanished once more, reappearing before the three remaining demons with his sword raised high. The clash resumed in a storm of steel and magic, tremors rattling the ground as though the world itself might shatter beneath their struggle. Dust and stone erupted around them, blinding my vision, leaving only sound—the clash of metal, the roar of power, the explosions that split the air.
Then, through the clouded haze, I saw him rise again, levitating above them. His hands blurred, weaving faster than my eyes could follow. Fireballs, ice arrows, water spears, earth spikes, blades of wind—he unleashed them all, without incantation, without pause, weaving the elements together like a master conductor leading a symphony of destruction. My breath caught. "He's using all four elements… and integrator magic," I whispered, barely believing my own words. Such a thing was impossible. No human alive could wield more than one or two elements at best, yet Ray was tearing reality apart with all of them, commanding the primal forces of the world as though they belonged to him alone.
The demons staggered under his onslaught, burned, frozen, impaled, their bodies torn apart again and again. Yet even as their flesh was shredded, they regenerated, reforming in grotesque resilience. But their recovery slowed. Their movements faltered. Their coordination frayed. Ray's attacks grew sharper, his timing cruelly precise, every spell and strike exploiting their hesitation. He overwhelmed them, beat them down until they were nothing more than bloodied shadows of their former terror. And then, with a final flash, he appeared before them mid-air. His blade moved once. Twice. Thrice. Three swift strikes, clean and merciless.
Their heads fell before their bodies even realized they had been cut. No cries, no final roars, just silence. The three corpses drifted downward like broken stars, their monstrous power extinguished in an instant. And above them hovered Ray, his white hair gleaming in the crimson haze, his armor radiating with streaks of light, his crimson eyes still burning with unfathomable fury. The battlefield fell silent once more. No beast stirred. No demon breathed. The war cries had been smothered, and all that remained was awe.
And I, standing amid the ruins, could only stare. Because just like that, the furious battle had ended.