B3 - Chapter 39: Monster

The sky almost split open as the Spirit's thunderous voice boomed across the silent clearing: "This concludes the battle. Winner: Kingdom of Kastal. The Warfare Rift will close in thirty minutes."

Seth stood in the center of the massacre, chest rising and falling as his core continued pulsing. The red haze of Beastmaster Rage slowly began to recede, leaving behind only exhaustion, anger, and a cold emptiness clawing at his chest.

His gaze drifted across the battlefield.

Bodies littered the clearing in heaps of blood, ash, and shattered armor.

All of the devastation.

All of the deaths.

And all because their two rulers coveted a handful of ancient Legacies.

Seth's eyes eventually found Eddin again.

The Guardian's lifeless stare remained fixed toward the distant sky, like those of the surrounding corpses.

Something twisted violently inside Seth's chest. His jaw clenched hard enough for pain to pulse his face. He knew people were meant to die in war. He had repeated that truth to himself countless times over the past weeks.

But seeing Eddin lying there still made him want to scream.

It made him want to march straight to Kastal's capital, carve his way through the palace gates, and rip off the King's head for throwing away lives so carelessly.

But rage alone wouldn't change anything.

The truth was simple: he wasn't strong enough yet.

So all he could do was continue fighting. Continue saving as many people as he could until the Champions of Chaos eventually killed the bastard.

Seth dropped to one knee beside a corpse and tore an Endless Pouch free from the dead soldier's belt before moving on toward the next body.

While he crouched down, his eyes landed on the Spirit hovering in the sky.

Was this truly all he could do? Save a handful of lives at a time. Fight endless skirmishes while people like the NEVAK watched from afar and creatures like the Spirit treated their suffering like some twisted game to wager on?

'Seth,' Colossus' voice rumbled softly through Link. 'Are you alright?'

"Yeah," Seth replied while ripping another embroidered pouch from the corpse of a fallen imperial Elementalist. "I'm fine."

The lie left a foul taste in his mouth.

Nearby, Nightmare stood motionless amidst the carnage, his red eyes fixed on Eddin and the countless Kastal dead scattered across the clearing. More than a dozen corpses belonged to their immediate squad alone, and the drifting piles of ash littering the ruined forest in the distance likely concealed many more.

How many managed to escape? Seth wondered in silence. A dozen? Less?

"Please tell me we'll avenge them," Nightmare growled, his lips curling back from his bloodstained fangs as he continued to stare at the pile of corpses.

"We will," Seth answered.

His voice had come out cold. And flat.

He tore the final Endless Pouch free and secured it to the growing bundle of loot hanging from his hand before once more lifting his gaze toward the Spirit hovering in the sky.

There was no point staying for the final fifteen minutes.

Looking through the charred wasteland for scraps suddenly felt hollow. Even the hidden stash of pouches he had buried earlier in the Rift no longer seemed worth retrieving.

None of it mattered anymore.

Seth reached into his pouch and pulled out one of Marcus' Green Iris potions. He uncorked it and swallowed the bitter liquid, then retrieved an Escape Scroll.

Without a word, he poured aether into the parchment, and white light swallowed him whole.

Seth appeared in the middle of the neutral zone, the sudden transition wrenching him back into reality beneath a blinding sun. The armies of both nations stretched on each side of the plain, while the swirling portals of the Warfare Rifts churned between them. Standing at the center were the two NEVAK officers, watching the unfolding events with stoic expressions.

A ragged sob came from Seth's left.

His head snapped toward the sound, and he found Henry on his knees.

The squad leader's bloodstained hands covered his face while his shoulders shook violently beneath his shattered armor. Selena stood beside him, trembling alongside the two other hollow-eyed survivors who had escaped the massacre. Sergeant Tirus and Captain Michaelson loomed nearby with grim expressions, a deep heaviness in their gaze.

Then Henry broke.

"He's f-fucking dead," he choked out, his voice raw and cracking apart as he looked at Sergeant Tirus. "They're all fucking dead! Why did you send us in there? Why did the King start this damn war?"

Silence spread across the battlefield.

The murmurs and movement across both armies gradually faded as soldiers turned toward the center of the plain. For a moment, it almost seemed as though their attention had settled on the sobbing Warrior nearby.

Then it became clear their gazes had locked on Seth. On the blood still dripping from his hands, from the edge of his hood.

Selena slowly turned her head. And her eyes found him.

"Seth…"

Her voice came out low, barely carrying across the distance between them.

Henry slowly lowered his hands and lifted his head. His bloodshot eyes met Seth's, and a sharp pain twisted through Seth's chest at the sight.

The squad leader barely looked like the man Seth knew.

Horror, grief, guilt, and shame had carved him hollow from the inside out. His armor hung broken across his battered body, and the invisible weight crushing his shoulders looked far too heavy for any one soldier to bear alone.

"Seth…" Henry whispered. Lines of tears had cut through the soot covering his face. "I tried so hard. I tried to save them… to save him…" His breathing hitched. "I just… I couldn't do anything."

No words of comfort came from Seth.

His jaw only clenched harder until the pressure became almost unbearable.

Then a glowing wall of aetheric light appeared above the portal beside him and began to engrave the air itself.

[SUMMARY]

[Battle #55 Kastal Kingdom vs. Bridan Empire]

BRIDAN EMPIRE: 2 SURVIVORS | 0 CAPTURED

KINGDOM OF KASTAL: 11 SURVIVORS | 0 CAPTURED

Eleven survivors.Eleven out of the entire deployment.

Seth stared at the number in silence.

Was this truly the best he could do?

Saving ten people every two weeks or so, while nearly two hundred others died around him?

His core pounded inside his chest.

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Yet this time, the sensation felt completely different. The chained pool of energy that had once rested beside it was gone, entirely consumed. It now burned deep within the Legacy itself like endless wood feeding a raging furnace.

But Seth barely cared.

What would any of that change?

He had stood there and promised people he would keep them alive while others were working to overthrow the King. He had truly believed he could make a difference.

Believed he could become some kind of hero.

And nearly two hundred people had paid for that arrogance with their lives.

Eddin was dead.

Most of their squad was dead.

Their corpses would probably lie rotting in the ash of the Rift for weeks before the battlefield swallowed them completely.

In the distance, the contribution list began to hum as the aether shifted across its surface, recalculating the numbers to reflect the results of the battle.

BRIDAN EMPIRE:

1. Morsh – 7150 points [Deceased]

2. Jaz of Ryswell – 6575 points

3. Celess of Solaria - 6550 points

4. Kaelen - 2150 points

5. Elysha of Spyre - 1850 points

KINGDOM OF KASTAL:

1. Seth – 18 650 points

2. Marine Vancaws – 1150 points

3. Elena Surani – 1050 points

4. Jaxar Linster - 850 points

5. Damon Ryehill - 650 points

The Marshal was probably ecstatic right now, and so would be the people who had gambled on Seth back in Asethka.

Seth tore his gaze away from the glowing contribution list and looked toward the Empire's army.

The reaction there was as expected. The endless ranks of soldiers had gone completely rigid.

Thousands stood frozen in place, their eyes darting frantically between the glowing numbers next to the NEVAK officers and Seth himself. Shock rippled visibly through the massive formation.

The contribution tally made the truth impossible to deny.

Seth had not only killed Morsh—he had personally slaughtered nearly half of the entire force deployed against him inside the Rift.

Deep within the sea of steel and crimson banners, the Empress slowly rose from her throne for the first time since the Warfare Rift had opened.

The movement alone sent another ripple through the surrounding army.

Her face had gone pale. Her shoulders had stiffened.

Seth knew he could likely break the soldiers' morale even more with a few words. He could openly mock Morsh's death. Tell the Empress to send someone stronger next time if she wanted to give him some real entertainment.

The words nearly rose to his lips. But a colder realization smothered them before they could escape.

Would threats alone truly allow him to achieve his goal?

Would the Empire genuinely fear Kastal when they knew he wouldn't participate in another battle for at least a week or two?

There were limits to what one soldier could accomplish alone.

Limits.

The word echoed through Seth's mind like a mocking curse.

His fists clenched until the metal of his gauntlets bit into his palms hard enough for fresh blood to drip.

Those limits were why he had failed to save his squad.

Those limits were why Eddin's corpse lay in that clearing.

Was there truly no Path that allowed him to do more? No way to make a greater difference inside this corrupted system?

Seth remained where he was as another detachment of fifty soldiers from each nation began marching toward the center of the plain, converging on a newly formed portal.

His gaze settled on the approaching imperial squad.

Some of the soldiers glanced toward him nervously, but none of them stopped marching. Their strides remained steady. Confident. And unafraid.

They knew the next unit going up against them would not contain someone like Seth. The coming battle was already decided.

Seth's core burst inside his chest.

The turbulent energy flooded through his body and amplified that outrage within him.

They dared to advance like that. To walk with such confident strides while on their way to butcher more of his people.

Seth loosened his grip and let the heavy bundle of looted Endless Pouches fall into the dirt at his feet.

Then, without sparing a glance back, he began walking—not toward Kastal's army, but straight for the shimmering portal of the new Warfare Rift.

The reaction across the plain was immediate.

A collective breath seemed to catch within the Empire's forces, followed by a ripple that spread from the reserve lines to the marching detachment.

Seth wasn't going to waste time threatening them.

Actions spoke louder than words.

Entering in another Rift like this, meant he wouldn't have another potion from Marcus to conceal his eyes when he emerged again. But the thought barely even crossed his mind.

People had been destined to find out sooner or later.

And hiding his origin was no longer a priority.

No Imperial soldier should ever again step into a Rift believing they were safe. Not while he still breathed.

And if the Empire believed he had been merciless before, they hadn't seen a damn thing.

Asher stared at the man advancing toward the shimmering frame of the new Rift portal.

Blood dripped steadily from the his clenched gauntlets, splashing into the grey soot beneath each slow, deliberate step. His armor was coated in layers of drying crimson that clearly belonged to dozens of different men, yet he seemed completely unbothered.

Asher's gaze flicked once more toward the numbers glowing across the contribution list.

That was undoubtedly Seth.

The man who had killed Morsh. The one who had single-handedly butchered nearly a hundred imperial soldiers during that last battle.

Contribution points didn't lie.

Each enemy killed or captured soldier granted one hundred points, split among every person who had participated directly or indirectly through healing. Even assuming that man had earned all of Morsh's seven thousand points by killing the assassin alone, added to the two thousand he had already possessed before that last battle, it still left nearly nine thousand points unaccounted for.

And since that squad hadn't fought before, no one aside from Morsh had any contribution to steal. That could only mean one thing.

This man had killed at least ninety of their people. All by himself.

The thought sent ice spreading through Asher's veins.

Why is he going back in? Shouldn't he take a break? Isn't he injured after something like that?

A wave of tension rippled through the other imperial soldiers marching beside Asher.

The disciplined rhythm of heavy boots began to falter, replaced by nervous shifts of armor, rattling scabbards, and the shallow breathing of men and women advancing toward what suddenly felt like an execution ground.

If that person could butcher nearly a hundred soldiers and Morsh alone, facing the fifty of them would be nothing for him.

And they all knew it.

"Calm yourselves!" Landor shouted from the front row, though the forced bravado in his voice sounded painfully strained. "The bastard has clearly gone mad. There's no way he isn't exhausted after all that fighting. We'll kill him in seconds."

"Yeah," Jarek added with a grin next to Asher. The large man loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword. "But be aware, his contribution points are going to me."

A few soldiers forced hollow laughs. Most didn't.

The suffocating fear gripping the formation refused to ease. Every breath felt heavy inside Asher's chest as his gaze remained locked on the approaching man.

Blood still dripped from his fingertips.

Each of his steps carried the quiet fierceness of a beast returning to its hunting ground. Then the man slowly tilted his head, and his gaze locked directly onto the imperial unit.

Asher's stomach dropped.

He couldn't see a single trace of exhaustion or even humanity inside those piercing green eyes.

That was not the gaze of a man approaching his limits. It was the stare of a predator willingly walking into another hunt.

Another slaughter.

Without slowing or looking back even once, the one called Seth stepped directly into the swirling light of the portal, and his bloodstained silhouette vanished.

Asher tightened his grip around his spear despite himself.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn around and walk away from this battlefield while he still could. But desertion meant imprisonment. Execution, if he was unlucky.

Yet as the portal churned before him, Asher couldn't stop one horrifying thought from surfacing.

Is this truly any better?

"Move!" Landor barked from the front of the formation. "Let's go kill that bastard!"

The soldiers around Asher began advancing again.

And before he could force himself to make a decision, his own feet were already following the march toward the portal.

Monster.

That was the only word in Asher's mind.

His trembling boots slipped against the blood-soaked mud as he tried to force himself upright with his spear. Corpses were sprawled everywhere around him, the bodies having turned the valley into a carpet of torn flesh and shattered armor.

And standing atop the hill ahead was the maddened beast responsible for it all.

Dark jagged blades jutted from the man's forearms, blood running down their edges in crimson streams. His hood was soaked through, yet the wet fabric still failed to hide the terrifying sight of his golden eyes.

If anything, the new unnatural color only made his stare more frightening.

And less human.

Asher's muscles screamed in agony as he tried to move.

Every instinct inside him begged him to turn and run for the tree line. If he could somehow break past that monster's distortion field and activate an Escape Scroll, he might survive.

But deep down, Asher already knew the truth.

That wasn't going to happen.

To his left, the direwolf tore through the remaining survivors alongside two identical doppelgängers, the three beasts ripping apart fleeing soldiers with unrestrained brutality.

On the opposite side of the valley, the giant three-tailed scorpion prowled through the battlefield like an unbreakable fortress of stone and aether while physically cutting off every escape route and forcing the survivors back into the slaughter.

And as if that wasn't enough, whenever one of their men somehow managed to wound either the beasts or their crazed master, that damned otter of light came back. Blue radiance would flare, flesh would knit together in seconds, and any hope of turning the momentum would vanish before it could even sprout.

Asher looked around the valley again.

The devastation barely felt real anymore. How much time had even passed since they entered this hell? Half a day? Less?

That monster had butchered most of their unit as if they were freshly awakened Wielders.

No one could call this a battle.

For a fleeting instant, Asher swore the Spirit hovering in the sky had smiled.

It was laughing at their pathetic attempts to fight back.

Did even a single one of us manage to escape?

The moment that crushing distortion field had spread across the valley, everyone had realized the truth: this monster had never intended to let anyone leave the Rift alive.

The Empress had stood proudly upon her throne and spoken of glory, sacrifice, and some greater divine cause behind the war.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't the one drowning in blood and mud while waiting to be killed.

Asher leaned heavily against his spear and forced himself to look back at the demon standing atop the hill.

The man still didn't look fatigued. If anything, the fierce aura radiating from him only felt stronger now.

Will he simply do it again once he gets out of here? Enter another Rift. Slaughter another squad. Then another.

Asher's gaze locked onto the light burning within those golden eyes. That was not the expression of someone fighting to survive.

They had enraged a beast, and now it was going to butcher them all, simply to send a message to the Empress Freydis.

A message written in the blood of her people.

Lives would be lost by the thousands, blood would flood the land, and she would have absolutely no one to blame but herself.