The sky above the battlefield was still gray and heavy.
Snow drifted slowly through the cold wind. The ground was white and silent except for the distant sounds of battle echoing far away.
Duke Sant stood on the broken snow-covered earth.
His body was covered in blood.
His ribs were broken. His jaw was loose. Every breath felt like knives stabbing into his chest.
Yet he did not fall.
Slowly, Duke Sant raised his hand and grabbed the left side of his chest.
His fingers pressed tightly against his clothes as if he was trying to pull something out from inside his own body.
His breathing was rough.
"It has been a year…" he muttered quietly.
"…since I reached the peak stage of Grandmaster."
A small tired smile appeared on his face.
"I wonder if I can reach the Ascended stage now."
He slowly closed his eyes.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then—
The world changed.
The wind stopped.
The falling snow seemed to slow down.
