Raven walked forward. All around him were corpses.

Broken armor. Frozen faces. The ground was dark and hard under his feet.

But he did not stop until he was only fifty meters away from the wall.

Most of his battalion had died to the green gas.

Raven was still alive, but he was not unharmed.

Even as a fifth-star warrior, the poison had eaten into him.

His skin looked sickly, tinted green. His lips were dry. His breathing was rough and uneven.

His eyes burned badly. Everything looked blurred, like the world was covered in a thin fog.

Still, he kept walking. His steps were slow. His body swayed left and right. More than once, it looked like he might fall.

But he didn't.

Up on the wall, the soldiers finally noticed him clearly.

At first, there was silence.

Then confusion.

Then laughter.

"Hey! Look at that!" one soldier shouted, pointing down. "There's one survivor!"

Another leaned over the wall and laughed.

"And he's walking toward us instead of running away! Has the gas melted his brain?"

Laughter spread fast.

"Hahaha! Is he surrendering?"

"Maybe he wants to beg for mercy!"

"He can barely walk. One arrow and he's done!"

The wall filled with mocking voices. Soldiers slapped each other on the back, enjoying the joke.

To them, Raven looked pitiful. A half-dead man stumbling through a graveyard.

None of them noticed his hands.

They were clenched so tight that blood ran from his palms.

Raven stopped walking.

He stood there, fifty meters from the wall, alone in the open field.

His head was lowered. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed.

Slowly… very slowly… he lifted his head.

His eyes were no longer empty.

They were calm.

Too calm.

The laughter on the wall continued, loud and careless, echoing over the dead land.

And Raven smiled.

It was small. Weak. But it was not the smile of a man who had given up.

It was the smile of someone who had nothing left to lose.

The one-eyed old man noticed it.

While the other soldiers were still laughing and pointing, his smile faded.

He stepped forward to the edge of the wall, his single eye locked onto Raven. Something about that smile… it felt wrong.

Raven slowly lifted his head and looked straight at him.

His lips curved up, showing a mocking smile.

"Trampling's plan to use that gas was really good," Raven said in a rough voice.

"You killed around thirty-five thousand soldiers of the Empire. It was… impressive."

The laughter on the wall slowly died.

The old man frowned. His aura shifted, heavy and sharp.

"State your reason for coming here," he said coldly. "Before I kill you."

Raven smiled wider.

"I want to join the Trampling Kingdom," he said.

"Those Empire trash… even though I was at the peak of fifth star, they treated me like a normal soldier. I nearly died. If I wasn't slightly behind, I would be lying dead there too."

He spread his arms slightly, as if showing his poisoned body.

"So I thought," he continued, "why should I die for people who don't value me?"

The one-eyed old man's expression turned icy.

He stayed silent for a moment, thinking. 'Taking in an enemy soldier was risky. Very risky.'

But Raven was strong. Peak fifth star. Even injured, he was useful.

And the old man knew the truth.

His own strength as a swordmaster had been forced up by methods he didn't fully trust.

Fighting this man right now? He wasn't confident.

Finally, he spoke.

"You can join," he said. "But you will not be given any rank."

Raven nodded slowly.

The old man opened his mouth to continue. "You will follow orders and—"

"But I have a condition," Raven said, cutting him off.

The old man's eye narrowed. "Speak."

Raven looked down at his green-tinted skin, then back up at the wall.

"I was affected by that gas," he said calmly. "So tell me…"

"Is there an antidote?"

The old man's frown deepened.

'So he is affected by the gas… that's why he looks like that.'

He didn't say his thoughts out loud. He stayed silent, thinking for a moment. Then he spoke.

"There is no antidote," he said flatly. "If you rest for one month, your body will slowly recover with your cultivation."

"Oh… is that so?" Raven said.

A mocking smile spread across his face.

His gaze changed. It turned cold. Sharp.

For a split second, the old man felt a shiver crawl down his spine. His instincts screamed danger.

"Give me a bow," he said quickly.

A soldier nearby rushed forward, pulled the bow off his shoulder, and handed it over with an arrow.

The old man grabbed the bow, pulled the string tight, and aimed straight at Raven's chest.

His single eye did not blink.

"I will count to three," he said. "Before three, put your hands behind your head and kneel."

Raven's smile only grew wider.

The old man frowned harder. His heart beat faster.

"One."

Raven did not move.

"Two."

Slowly, Raven moved both hands behind his back.

Seeing this, the old man relaxed just a little.

His grip on the bow stayed firm as he waited for the final count. He expected Raven to kneel.

Raven did not kneel.

Instead, his smile stretched even wider.

This time, there was pain in it. His chest rose sharply as he took a deep breath.

Snap.

He snapped his fingers.

At the exact moment the old man said, "Three—"

Two green cannonballs appeared in Raven's hands behind his back.

The old man clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"You didn't kneel," he said. "But at least your hands are behind your—"

His words stopped.

His eye was still fixed on Raven's face.

He hadn't noticed the cannonballs yet.

And Raven was still smiling.

As the old man was about to release the bowstring, Raven spoke. Tramplins!!

His voice cut through the air, clear and sharp.

Because of that, every soldier's attention stayed on his face. In this place, his calm expression felt strange. Wrong.

No one looked at his back. No one noticed the cannonballs.

Raven's body was slightly muscular, and with his armor on, the round shapes were hard to see.

The old man's patience ran out.

"I am giving you one last chance," he said, his voice tight with anger. "Kneel. Or I fire."

Raven's smile grew even wider.

This time, there was no fake respect in his tone. No acting.

"You son of a bitch Tramplins!" Raven shouted. "Tell Ravan that my lord, Duke Vined, will come and take his head!"

He spat on the ground.

For a split second, the soldiers froze in shock.

Then rage exploded.

"You dare!"

"Commander, kill him!"

"You bastard!"

"I'll rip your tongue out!"

Curses flew from the wall like arrows. Faces twisted with anger. Hands gripped weapons.

Raven spat again and laughed, his voice rough and wild.

"You trash," he said. "Today is the day—"

Chik.

The sound was sharp and clean.

An arrow shot forward and slammed into Raven's leg.

Blood burst out.

The arrow pierced through his armor and sank deep into his flesh. Mana tried to stop it, but it failed.

The old man had coated the arrow with wind element, making it cut through defense like paper.

Yet Raven did not scream.

He did not fall.

He did not even bend his knee.

His body shook for a brief moment, then went still.

Slowly, Raven lifted his head.

His grin spread wider than ever, teeth stained with blood.

"You think," he shouted, voice full of madness, "I would betray my motherland for trash like you?"

The soldiers on the wall felt their hearts sink.

Something was very wrong.

"Don't fuck around, you motherfucker," a soldier shouted from the wall.

His face twisted into an ugly sneer, and it only made him look worse.

"You asked about the antidote, didn't you? Now that you know we don't have one, you're in despair. You want to die like an honorable knight."

Another soldier laughed. "Yeah, that's right. He's acting brave because he knows he's already dead."

"Commander!" someone yelled. "I say we capture him and torture him to death!"

"Yes! Turn him into a slave for those soldiers with weird tastes!"

"Hey! Why are you looking at me when you say that?!"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

The soldiers burst into laughter again.

"Shut up."

The one-eyed old man raised his voice. He looked calm on the outside, but inside, something felt very wrong.

His instincts would not quiet down.

"Archers," he shouted. "Pull your strings."

The laughter stopped at once. Soldiers moved into position.

Bows were raised. Strings were pulled tight.

Raven stood there quietly.

He nodded once.

"Today," he said softly, "is the day you die."

Then he moved.

He pulled his hands out from behind his back.

For a brief moment, the soldiers frowned, confused.

Then their eyes widened.

"This—this is—" one soldier stuttered. "Those are toxic cannonballs!"

Panic exploded.

"FIRE!!" the one-eyed old man screamed, his voice filled with fear.

Arrows flew through the air like rain.

At the same time, Raven laughed.

A loud, broken, manic laugh.

"Hahahahaha!"

He twisted his body, ignoring the pain in his leg, and threw with his right hand.

Then his left.

The green cannonballs flew forward, cutting through the storm of arrows.

"Glory to my motherland!" Raven roared.

"Glory to Duke Vined of Zenithara!"

BOOM!!!!!

The battlefield vanished in green fire and sound.

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