— Frey Starlight’s POV —
With every step I took toward them, the same thought echoed in my mind again and again...
My heart was torn between fear and worry—fear for my friends who were dying somewhere far away, and worry about whether I would be too late to help them. At the same time, doubt crept in.
I knew I had to stop these enemies by any means necessary. If I didn’t, they would slaughter every last one of my companions.
Even if my friends somehow won their battles, they’d be far too exhausted to survive against a force .
I approached them from behind, quietly.
Unaware of my presence, they marched forward in formation, dragging behind them massive magical cannons—weapons of mass destruction, prepared solely for our annihilation.
The only sound echoing through the desolate plain was the synchronized rhythm of their footsteps against the ground.
But that wasn’t true.
The loudest sound... was my own heartbeat, pounding like thunder in my chest.
Clutching Balerion, the Black Terror, and Dark Sister, the Demon-Slayer, I gathered my breath and released a stream of hot air from my lungs.
I calmed myself as much as I could.
’Can I really do this?’
I asked myself as I stared at the Dark Sister.
’I’m sure my father could’ve...’
The moment he crossed my mind, I saw his phantom.
My father, who soared in a realm of power beyond comprehension.
The way he looked at me, with those ghostly eyes, I understood what he meant to say.
"You still have a long way to go."
With a crooked smile, I let out a hollow laugh, realizing I was still at the very beginning.
But I had to do this.
If not me... then who will?
With unwavering determination, I summoned all the dark aura swirling inside me.
My body tensed, fully primed for battle.
Then I marched forward.
"This isn’t 1 vs 1000... it’s 1 vs 1, a thousand times over!"
Today, the world would know the name Frey Starlight.
The battle was about to begin—an absolute suicide mission.
Elsewhere, inside the Empire...
Millicent sat cross-legged atop the snowfield, eyes closed. A few moments later, a deep frown formed across her face.
"What the hell is going through his mind?!"
The others around her instantly noticed her reaction. After all, she was the only one who could observe what was happening in that distant land.
Sir Alon, sitting before her and gathering his aura in preparation, asked calmly.
Millicent hesitated for a second before answering.
She had been tracking Frey Starlight’s movements on the map this whole time—and now she realized something troubling.
"Frey Starlight is about to collide with the enemy..."
Her tone grew serious as she added the part that made her most uneasy.
"But... there are far too many of them. So many that I can’t even count—at the very least, they number in the hundreds..."
The atmosphere immediately shifted. None of them could fathom what that young man was thinking.
The Ultras army, composed of elite blood warriors, was marching with perfect discipline—adorned in black armor engraved with red markings and carrying deadly weapons that spoke of their readiness for war.
They belonged to Lord Mirgo’s army, stationed in the southern Nokron region.
Step by step, they advanced, targeting the lives of the Elite Class.
At the rear of the formation, one soldier moved steadily—neither tired nor weary.
He was lost in thought.
How would this mission end?
When would he return home?
What were the higher-ups truly planning with this war that had now fully ignited?
Being one of the elites, he had found himself dragged into some of the most important events of all.
Soldiers like him often died early in brutal wars.
But he wasn’t worried—not really.
He was positioned at the rear, far from the real danger.
If the enemy wanted to reach him, they’d have to kill all 1000 soldiers ahead of him first.
That was why... he felt perfectly safe.
"I wonder when this will all be over..."
From beneath his dark helmet, he gazed up at the sky with a blank expression.
And when he finally looked down—
He was startled to see someone standing behind him.
But he was the last man in the formation. That shouldn’t have been possible...
As he focused, he saw a young man .. barely eighteen, with white hair and dark, shadowed eyes.
Clutching two dark swords, the soldier instantly realized the young man standing before him wasn’t an ally.
His hand darted to his weapon, instinctively trying to draw it—
But he barely touched the hilt before he collapsed.
"Huh...? Did I lose already?"
The thought barely formed before he noticed .. His body was still standing... but headless.
It was only then that he understood.
With a single strike, Frey Starlight claimed his first kill.
His ambush sent a ripple through the nearby troops, and within seconds, dozens of swords were drawn as they rushed at him from every direction.
With blinding speed, Frey’s hands moved like the brushstrokes of a mad painter.
And the battlefield—Ultras territory—became his canvas.
But this artist had only one color to use: red.
With a single slash, he cleaved two more soldiers in half, advancing forward.
The oppressive pressure of his aura began to alert the rest of the army.
Frey parried the oncoming blades with surgical precision .. every swing of his swords brought another man down.
And just as the realization struck ...
A warhorn roared across the battlefield like a demonic scream, freezing the entire army in place.
But Frey didn’t hear it.
His focus was absolute. His senses had drowned out everything irrelevant.
In his world, there was no horn. No sky. No earth.
Surrounded from all sides, a tide of soldiers crashed toward him, conjuring elemental attacks and striking with deadly coordination.
Frey cut through them like a storm.
His slashes were wild—decapitating some, splitting others straight down the middle, carving torsos apart without pause.
The warmth of their blood soaked his hands.
The stench of iron filled his lungs.
There was no turning back now.
"Enemy! There’s an intruder at the rear!"
"Reform ranks! It’s just one man—take him down!"
Panic spread through the formation. Meanwhile, from the front lines, the elite warriors of the Ultras snarled in annoyance.
"What’s all this noise? Are they struggling with a single brat?"
The voice came from one of the Ultras’ SS- ranked elites. He frowned at the growing chaos, worried Empyrean Lawrence—marching ahead without a care—might grow irritated.
None of them realized...
A catastrophe had already begun.
— Frey Starlight’s POV —
There are things you only feel once you throw yourself into the heart of battle.
Emotions you’ll never know... until the blood starts to fly.
The adrenaline that dragged my body forward.
The filth of enemy blood clinging to my skin.
The fatigue burning through my arms with every swing.
I exhaled violently, hot steam erupting from my lungs.
I was moving like a madman, tearing through the battlefield with reckless abandon.
Celestial projectiles constantly formed above, pelting me with every kind of long-range magic.
On the ground, swordsmen and spearmen chased me relentlessly.
With every swing, I sent another man straight to hell.
"I have to kill them all in one strike."
If I didn’t, and one survived for a second blow, I’d be swarmed and slaughtered on the spot.
Blood splattered. Flesh flew.
"I can’t let them surround me."
I kept running—swinging, dodging, slashing—sending wave after wave of dark blades toward my enemies.
By now, I’d killed more than I could count.
Dodging explosions and flames.
Evading spears and blades.
Butchering them, one by one.
And before I knew it, I was covered in blood and grime, from my white hair to the soles of my feet.