Southern Border, Human Kingdom…
Clip-Clop. Clip-Clop. Clip-Clop.
The heavy sound of hooves echoed across the open plains as hundreds of armored soldiers rode forward in formation.
“SOLDIERS!” Serandor’s voice boomed from atop his spirit horse. “TODAY IS THE DAY WE TAKE DOWN THESE IMBECILES AND RECLAIM THE LAND THEY’VE CURSED WITH THEIR WRONGDOINGS!”
With his bow raised high, he looked ahead toward the Truvale Checkpost. But what he saw made his proud expression stiffen.
The entire outpost was silent. No fires. No guards. No movement. Only a chilling stillness.
The soldiers, however, erupted in celebration the moment they noticed the absence of defenders.
“YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” They roared in unison, their morale surging at the sight of what appeared to be a deserted outpost.
Serandor narrowed his eyes. ’The reports were true… but why? Why would they abandon this checkpoint without a fight?’
His thoughts churned, but his mount did not slow. The rhythmic pounding of hooves continued, pulling him deeper into the quiet checkpost.
—
Behind Serandor’s army, Alfon’s battalion moved in eerie silence. Their disciplined march contrasted with the noisy excitement ahead.
Alfon watched calmly, his eyes sharp.
“Hmm… They’re already that far in. If the humans had laid any traps, they should’ve been triggered by now.”
He paused, voice flat and expression unreadable.
“Looks like humans have truly gone dumb from fucking each other.”
He raised his hand in a casual gesture. The army responded instantly, continuing forward with not a single word uttered.
—
As Serandor passed through the gates of the Truvale Checkpost, he noticed figures lying along the sides of the path—long queues of corpses covered in white clothes.
His instincts flared.
“STOP!” he barked, yanking back on his reins. His spirit horse skidded to a halt, snorting in frustration.
*Creeeeak*
The army halted behind him like a steel wave crashing into a wall.
A general approached, his brow furrowed.
“Sir… is something wrong ? Shouldn’t we charge forward ? The border is open.”
Serandor’s eyes remained locked on the shrouded bodies.
“Something is wrong, Almus” he muttered with a serious expression.
Serandor dismounted swiftly, reached behind his back, and pulled his bow free. Without a word, he notched an invisible arrow, magic crackling at his fingertips.
As he drew the string, a wind arrow formed between his fingers, glowing faintly.
“Udna… Hulo.”
Swish.
The arrow soared forward, not to strike, but to disturb. It released a strong wind current as it flew just above the corpses, tearing away the white sheets that covered them.
The moment the cloth was blown away, Serandor’s face twisted in horror.
“What in the name of the Gods happened here…?” he whispered, slowly stepping closer to one of the corpses.
The body was mutilated beyond recognition. The eyes were gouged out, the stomach ripped open, and the jaw snapped clean off. It wasn’t just murder—it was desecration.
Behind him, the general froze mid-sentence as he caught sight of the same gruesome scene.
“Sir… What is—” He cut off abruptly, stumbling back a step.
“W-What happened to them?” he asked, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Serandor stood back up, his face serious and grim.
“Even monsters wouldn’t commit such brutality, General we need to-” he said. As he turned to address the general—
But stopped cold.
There, standing directly behind the general, was a dark figure.
“General! Behind you!” Serandor shouted, pulling back his bowstring once again. A glowing green arrow sparked to life between his fingers. He aimed it immediately.
But the general didn’t turn around. He didn’t even blink. He just stared forward—eyes wide, frozen.
“General, are you—”
Before Serandor could finish, a thin red line appeared across the general’s throat. A heartbeat later, blood sprayed out as his head slid from his shoulders.
THUD—THUD.
The head hit the dirt. The body collapsed next to it.
“Fucking hell…” Serandor hissed. “Take this!”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Kilma Shoun—Invincible Death!” he chanted as glowing sigils raced down the shaft of his arrow. He loosed it.
Swish.
The arrow sliced through the air at blinding speed, a projectile empowered by advanced magic—designed to pierce through anything.
But the man didn’t move. He simply lifted his hand with even more incredible speed—
*Catch*
He caught the arrow like it was nothing and broke it.
*Stitch*
“…What the fuck?” Serandor muttered, lowering his bow in disbelief.
“WHO ARE YOU?!” he roared. “IDENTIFY YOURSELF!”
Hearing his voice, soldiers rushed over from the flank, dismounting quickly.
“What’s going on?” one of them asked.
“Something’s wrong. Might be an ambush—get ready!” another one barked.
The soldiers fell into formation instantly. Archers drew their bows. Mages began chanting. Healers stood at the ready to heal any injured.
But as they approached and saw the scene clearly, they stopped.
There was no enemy army. No monsters. No ambush.
Just one man. One single man.
Standing calmly in front of Serandor, and beside him, the mutilated corpse of their general.
The archers aimed. The mages activated buffs in order to make the arrows even more powerful. Everyone prepared for a deadly attack.
But, the man didn’t even flinch.
*Badump*
Serandor suddenly felt something as he immediately pulled his string again. This time, a red arrow formed—its glow so intense it cast light across the entire checkpost.
—
Far behind, Alfon’s eyes widened.
“HALT!” he shouted, raising his hand.
The soldiers behind him froze.
’That light… The Arrow of Juliana? Serandor may be reckless, but he wouldn’t unleash that unless he truly felt his life was in danger.’ Alfon stared at the distant glow with a hardened expression.
—
“This is your last chance,” Serandor said, voice cold, bow trembling. “This isn’t just an ordinary arrow. If it touches you—you’re dead. So I’ll ask again. Who are you? What is going on here? Are you even human?”
The man finally moved.
“Do it.”
“…What?” Serandor asked with a serious expression.
“Shoot the arrow. I want to die.” The man replied. His voice was low. Calm. Unbothered.
He raised his head, revealing glowing, milky white eyes and a face partly hidden by an untamed beard. But most terrifying of all… was his smile. A wide, wicked grin stretching unnaturally across his face, it was if his smile was going all the way back to his ears.
Serandor’s hands began to tremble.
’W-Why are my hands shaking? Who the hell is this guy…?’
His instincts screamed at him to fire now—now—but he couldn’t.
The man tilted his head.
“Is it true?”
“W-What?” Serandor asked, still watching his own trembling hands.
“I heard Elven flesh is soft… and tender.”
The man smiled wider, revealing jagged, monstrous teeth.
“KILL HIM!” Serandor roared.
The archers released a storm of arrows.
The man slowly turned toward them. Still smiling.
He opened his arms, welcoming the rain of arrows.
Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
His body was covered in arrows—from skull to leg. Dozens of them. No hesitation. No scream. Just stabbing sounds.
He didn’t fall even though all the enchanted and buffed arrows hitted their mark.
“Ah… Still nothing.” He looked down at the arrows in his body. “Mikael… you still don’t feel anything.”
His hand grabbed a bundle of arrows and yanked them out in one clean motion. The holes hissed, releasing steam as his body regenerated instantly.
The soldiers stared—some frozen, others trembling.
“SOLDIERS, HOLD YOUR GROUND!” Serandor shouted. “PREPARE URNA’S ARROWS! MAGES—SHIELDS, NOW!”
The archers began forming blue-glowing arrows.
> [Name: Urna’s Arrows.]
[Description: A cursed arrow. On impact, it explodes and temporarily disables the target’s ability to use or absorb magic.]
The mages responded, layering magical shields over the formation. A new wave of discipline replaced the fear.
Meanwhile, Mikael simply sat down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. Watching them. Smiling. Enjoying the fear in their eyes.
“SHOOT!” Serandor barked. He still held the Arrow of Juliana, pointed at Mikael’s back—ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
Swish—Swish—Swish—Swish—Swish—Swish
Stab—Stab—Stab—Stab—Stab
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM
A wave of explosions rocked the checkpost. Blue smoke erupted from every detonation, thick and blinding.
—
From the rear, Alfon looked on, stunned.
“What in the hell is going on? Who are they fighting?! That’s not a skirmish… it’s a full-scale barrage! Are they ambushed ?”
He clenched his teeth.
“Dismount! Prepare for combat! We willove on foot from here!”
Step. Step. Step. Step.
His soldiers obeyed immediately, pulling out weapons and chanting spells as they marched forward.
“Bless me, Mother of All… I summon you—Sword of Justice, Oletta!” Alfon raised both hands skyward. A golden blade descended into his grasp, gleaming with divine light.
—
Cough. Cough.
As the smoke slowly cleared from the center of the checkpost, the archers’ eyes widened.
Mikael was still there.
Sitting.
Smiling.
Not a single wound on his body. Not a single drop of blood spilled.
Only his clothes were torn apart from the explosions.
“W-What is wrong with this… h-human?” Serandor stammered, sweat rolling down his face. “Why isn’t he dying?”
Mikael chuckled.
“Hehehehe… Now that the prey knows it can’t escape… it makes the hunt more fun.”
He stood up slowly and began walking toward the formation of elf soldiers.
He reached the mage barrier shielding the archers and stopped in front of a kneeling female elf.
He smiled down at her.
“You look sweet… Hehehe.”
He raised his hand, made a fist brought it down on the magic barrier with full force—then suddenly stopped right before it could’ve landed.
Instead, he extended his middle finger and—
Flick.
Crack.
Hairline fractures splintered across the barrier like glass with just a click of his fingers.
“No… NOOOOOOOOO!” Serandor screamed as his eyes widened in realisation—
And he released the Arrow of Juliana.