The Border Knights rode relentlessly through the southern plains, refusing to slow even as the last light of the afternoon began to fade. Their horses breathed heavily beneath them, foam gathering around their mouths after hours of continuous riding, yet not a single rider dared complain. Beside them rode the Crown Prince's personal guard, their white cloaks stained with dust from the long journey, their expressions growing heavier with every kilometer they traveled.
The relay report echoed endlessly through their minds.
_The battle is still ongoing._
_Lambert is holding the southern border._
No one spoke after hearing those words.
They simply rode harder.
The sun had nearly disappeared beyond the western horizon when the sound finally reached them.
It began as a distant rumble.
Steel colliding against steel.
The deep war cries of thousands of orcs.
Explosions that rolled across the plains like distant thunder.
The lead knight instinctively raised a clenched fist.
The entire column slowed.
"We're close."
Every rider instinctively reached for their weapon.
The Crown Prince lifted his gaze toward the hill standing before them. Beyond it lay the southern frontier.
Beyond it...
The battlefield.
The horses climbed the final slope.
One after another, the Border Knights reached the crest.
Then...
Every rider stopped.
Silence swept through the formation.
The battlefield below no longer resembled the fertile plains described in Imperial records.
The land itself had been torn apart.
The once-green fields had become an endless sea of crimson earth. Deep trenches carved through the plains stretched in every direction, some already filled with the bodies of fallen orcs. Broken siege weapons, shattered shields, discarded axes, snapped spears, and countless corpses covered the ground so densely that patches of grass were no longer visible beneath them.
Smoke drifted lazily through the evening air.
Small fires continued burning across the battlefield, their orange glow mixing with the fading sunlight until the entire plain looked as though it had been swallowed by dusk itself.
Groups of villagers and gnolls hurried across the battlefield, dragging bodies toward newly opened trenches while healers rushed between the wounded without a moment's rest. Even from this distance, the Border Knights could see Gayrum standing near the center of the battlefield, repeatedly opening the earth with magic to make room for the ever-growing piles of corpses.
One of the younger knights unconsciously tightened his grip around the reins.
"...How many..."
His voice trailed off.
No one answered.
No one could.
They had all fought in battles before.
They had all seen war.
But never...
Never on this scale.
A veteran knight slowly removed his helmet.
His expression had become unusually pale.
"...This wasn't a defense."
"This was a massacre."
The Crown Prince remained silent.
His eyes continued searching the battlefield.
Then...
He found him.
Far ahead of every defender.
Far beyond the village walls.
A lone figure walked calmly through what remained of the orc army.
His movements were almost effortless.
Every swing of the halberd carved another opening through the enemy ranks. Armored orcs were thrown aside as though they weighed nothing, while others fell before they even realized they had been struck.
There was no formation around him.
No soldiers protecting his flanks.
No wall of shields.
Only one man...
Walking forward.
The orcs weren't advancing anymore.
They were retreating.
Not because they had been ordered to.
Because they couldn't stop him.
The fading sunlight reflected briefly from the blade of Gale Cutter before another crimson arc swept across the battlefield, consuming another section of the advancing horde in fire.
The Border Knights watched in complete silence.
Every story they had heard throughout their years of service.
Every tale spoken in taverns.
Every legend passed down by older veterans.
None of them had prepared them for what stood before their eyes.
The Crown Prince slowly exhaled.
"So..."
"...we've finally found him."
A veteran Border Knight lowered his head ever so slightly.
"...Lambert."
No one gave another order.
No one urged their horse forward.
For a brief moment...
The entire army simply watched the lone warrior standing between the Empire...
...and an army that should have already conquered its southern frontier.
---
The silence upon the hill lasted only a moment.
The Crown Prince slowly drew his sword, its polished blade reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.
He pointed it toward the battlefield.
"Charge."
The command spread through the ranks almost instantly.
"CHARGE!"
The Border Knights lowered their lances in unison as their warhorses surged forward, thundering down the hillside like an unstoppable wave. Beside them, the Crown Prince's personal guard drew their swords and followed without hesitation, their white cloaks billowing behind them as the two formations descended upon the battlefield.
The ground trembled beneath hundreds of galloping horses.
The surviving defenders looked up in surprise.
"They're here!"
"The Border Knights!"
A cheer erupted from the battered village guards.
Even the exhausted gnolls, still dragging bodies toward the trenches, paused long enough to watch the reinforcements storm across the plains.
The surviving orcs turned at the sound of the approaching cavalry.
For the first time since the battle had begun, uncertainty appeared within their ranks.
They had spent the entire day throwing themselves against one impossible opponent.
Now...
Another army had arrived.
"FOR THE EMPIRE!"
The leading knights crashed into the flank of the orc formation with tremendous force.
Lances shattered against armor.
Warhorses plowed through disorganized ranks.
The tightly packed formation that had somehow endured Lambert's relentless advance finally broke apart under the weight of the cavalry charge.
Behind them, the Crown Prince's personal guard rode straight into the openings created by the Border Knights, cutting down isolated warriors before they could regroup. What had once been an organized invasion rapidly dissolved into scattered pockets of resistance.
The momentum of the battle shifted completely.
Far ahead...
Lambert paused for the first time.
He glanced briefly over his shoulder.
The Imperial banners fluttered against the evening sky.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"...About time."
Without another word, he turned back toward the battlefield.
His eyes settled upon the largest figure still standing among the retreating orcs.
A towering warrior clad in blackened armor.
An enormous greataxe rested upon one shoulder.
Unlike the others...
He had never moved.
He had simply watched.
The Orc King.
His crimson eyes met Lambert's across the battlefield.
Neither warrior spoke.
The chaos surrounding them slowly faded into the background.
They had both reached the same conclusion.
The battle would not end...
Until one of them fell.
---
The thunder of charging cavalry slowly pushed the remaining orcs back, buying the defenders their first real moment to breathe since the battle had begun.
Lambert rested Gale Cutter across his shoulder as he calmly watched the battlefield shift in the Empire's favor. Around him, Border Knights cut through scattered groups of orcs while the Crown Prince's personal guard secured the wounded and reinforced the exhausted defenders.
The sound of hoofbeats approached from behind.
A white horse came to a stop beside Lambert before its rider dismounted in one smooth motion.
The young prince dusted off his cloak and let out a long breath.
"...Do you have any idea how difficult you are to find?"
Lambert glanced at him before looking back toward the battlefield.
"I wasn't hiding."
The prince gave a tired laugh.
"No."
"You were just always somewhere no one expected."
Lambert shrugged.
"I like quiet places."
The prince smiled helplessly.
"I've spent half my childhood hearing stories about you."
"And now that I've finally found you..."
"...it's in the middle of a battlefield."
Lambert didn't answer.
His eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
The prince followed his gaze before speaking again.
"...How is Sir Arthas?"
That question finally drew a reaction.
Lambert's expression softened for only a brief moment.
"Still causing trouble."
The prince chuckled.
"I'm relieved to hear that."
Lambert simply nodded.
"If you're looking for him..."
"...you're a few years too early."
Before the prince could ask what he meant...
Lambert stepped forward.
His gaze settled upon a towering figure standing beyond the remaining orcs.
The massive greataxe resting upon its shoulder reflected the dying light of the evening sun.
The Orc King.
Lambert slowly lowered Gale Cutter from his shoulder.
"...Stay back."
The prince frowned.
"I can fight."
"I know."
Lambert's eyes never left the Orc King.
"...This one isn't yours."
Without another word...
He began walking forward.
The Orc King answered by planting the head of his greataxe into the blood-soaked earth.
The warriors surrounding them instinctively retreated.
Friend and foe alike.
No one needed to say it aloud.
The battle had already been decided.
Only its conclusion remained.
---
The battlefield gradually fell silent as the remaining orcs instinctively retreated, forming a wide circle around the two warriors. Even the Border Knights halted their advance, understanding that interrupting the duel would only create more casualties.
The Orc King slowly rested the head of his massive greataxe upon his shoulder.
Unlike the warriors that had charged without hesitation, his crimson eyes never left Lambert's feet.
His stance.
His breathing.
The way he held Gale Cutter.
He observed everything.
"So..."
The Orc King's deep voice echoed across the battlefield.
"The Hero sends his spear."
Lambert rested Gale Cutter against his shoulder.
"The Hero isn't here."
"I noticed."
The Orc King grinned, exposing rows of bloodstained tusks.
"Good."
"I've been wanting to test the one standing behind him."
Lambert simply smiled.
"You'll be disappointed."
The Orc King suddenly raised one hand.
Without speaking another word, the remaining orcs immediately shifted positions.
Shield bearers moved to the front.
Spearmen spread apart.
Archers climbed the piles of corpses surrounding the battlefield.
The Border Knights frowned.
"He's..."
"...reforming the battlefield."
The Orc King never took his eyes off Lambert.
"Surround him."
The order was calm.
Precise.
Within seconds, dozens of armored orcs advanced from every direction, not to attack recklessly, but to force Lambert into predictable movements.
Lambert quietly exhaled.
"...Still hiding behind your soldiers."
The Orc King laughed.
"A king who dies proving his courage is merely a fool."
"My soldiers exist to create opportunities."
"And I..."
"...never waste opportunities."
The first shield bearer lunged.
Lambert whispered.
"**Lightening.**"
Mana flowed through his body.
The burden of his own weight disappeared almost instantly.
He stepped sideways.
Not backward.
Not forward.
Only a single step.
The spear that should have pierced his chest instead grazed empty air.
His halberd moved.
One swing.
The shield bearer split cleanly from shoulder to waist.
Before the body touched the ground, Lambert twisted the shaft of Gale Cutter.
"**Emburden.**"
The halberd suddenly became impossibly heavy.
Its downward swing crashed into another armored orc with enough force to shatter the steel helmet, crush the skull beneath it, and drive the corpse deep into the blood-soaked earth. The impact continued through the ground itself, sending a violent shock through the surrounding formation as broken bones and fragments of armor erupted into the air.
The Orc King's eyes narrowed.
"Again."
More warriors advanced.
Not together.
One after another.
Each attack forced Lambert to reposition.
Each repositioning slowly guided him toward a narrow opening the Orc King had deliberately created.
The Border Knights noticed it.
"...He's herding him."
The Crown Prince tightened his grip around his sword.
"He planned that..."
The Orc King smiled.
"Now."
Hidden behind the shield wall, six veteran orcs lunged simultaneously.
Their timing was perfect.
Their angles left no room to evade.
Lambert calmly shifted his grip.
"...Predictable."
"**Lightening.**"
This time...
The spell flowed into Gale Cutter.
The massive halberd suddenly felt weightless within his hands.
The weapon blurred.
One rotation.
Two.
Three.
Its blade became a silver storm.
Every spear snapped.
Every shield split apart.
Heads separated cleanly from their bodies before their owners even realized they had died.
Blood erupted into the air.
The spinning halberd continued its motion before Lambert planted one foot firmly into the earth.
"**Emburden.**"
The weight returned instantly.
He brought Gale Cutter down.
The blade struck the ground with a deafening roar.
The earth burst apart beneath the surviving orcs.
Several were launched into the air as shattered stone, broken armor, and mangled bodies scattered across the battlefield.
Silence followed.
The Orc King slowly lowered his greataxe.
For the first time...
He stepped forward himself.
"...Now."
"...You've earned me."
Lambert rolled his shoulders.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"I was wondering how many soldiers you'd hide behind."
The two warriors slowly approached one another.
Neither blinked.
Neither looked away.
The battlefield seemed to hold its breath.
The duel had finally begun.
---
The Orc King slowly lifted his greataxe.
The moment its blade left the earth, the air around him seemed to distort.
A faint crimson haze rose from his body like heat shimmering above a blazing forge. It coiled around his armor and weapon before slowly spilling onto the blood-soaked ground beneath his feet.
Every surviving orc immediately stepped backward.
Even the Border Knights instinctively tightened their grips around their weapons.
No one understood what they were looking at.
They only knew...
Something had changed.
The Orc King rolled his shoulders before resting the greataxe upon one arm.
"Ghor..."
His deep voice echoed across the battlefield.
Then...
He disappeared.
The earth exploded beneath his feet as the massive orc closed the distance in an instant, his greataxe descending toward Lambert's shoulder with enough force to split a warhorse in half.
Lambert did not move.
Not until the very last moment.
"Lightening."
The weight of his body vanished.
He shifted half a step to the side.
The greataxe crashed into the earth where he had been standing only a heartbeat earlier.
The impact shattered stone.
A deep crater erupted beneath the blade as chunks of earth and shattered rock were launched high into the air.
The shockwave alone knocked several nearby orcs from their feet.
Lambert's eyes never left his opponent.
"...Too much."
He answered with a single thrust.
Gale Cutter slipped between two overlapping plates beneath the Orc King's arm, piercing the narrow gap protecting his ribs before withdrawing just as quickly.
Blood spilled from the wound.
Not deep.
Just enough.
The Orc King grunted and immediately twisted his body, sweeping the haft of the greataxe toward Lambert's head.
Lambert ducked beneath it.
The heavy shaft passed close enough to stir his hair.
He answered with the butt of Gale Cutter, striking the Orc King's wrist.
A dull crack echoed across the battlefield.
The king's grip loosened for the briefest moment.
That was all Lambert needed.
"Emburden."
The weight of Gale Cutter multiplied.
Lambert drove the halberd downward.
The blade smashed into the Orc King's shoulder guard with overwhelming force.
Steel buckled inward.
Bone cracked beneath the armor.
The Orc King staggered three steps before regaining his footing.
The crimson haze surrounding his body flared violently.
He smiled.
"Ghra..."
The wound across his shoulder bled freely.
Yet he laughed.
The crimson haze thickened once more.
He charged again.
This time Lambert met him head-on.
Steel collided.
The clash echoed across the battlefield.
The Orc King's strength was monstrous.
Every swing carried enough force to crush armor and break shields apart.
Yet every attack was larger than necessary.
Every strike relied upon overwhelming power.
Lambert's movements were the complete opposite.
He never blocked unless he had to.
He never swung twice when one strike would suffice.
Every dodge consumed the smallest possible movement.
Every counterattack landed upon an exposed joint, an opening beneath the armor, or the exact point where the Orc King's momentum worked against him.
Watching the duel felt less like observing two warriors...
And more like watching a seasoned craftsman dismantle an intricate machine.
The Orc King grew faster.
His crimson haze erupted around him like burning smoke.
His strikes became heavier.
More violent.
More desperate.
Lambert simply adjusted.
One step.
One deflection.
One thrust.
Another wound.
Then another.
Each cut was shallow.
None were fatal.
Yet together...
They slowly robbed the Orc King of his strength.
The battlefield gradually fell silent.
Even Leon had forgotten to breathe.
The Border Knights watched in complete disbelief.
"...He's..."
"...taking him apart."
Not through strength.
Not through magic.
Through experience.
Through precision.
Through countless battles that had taught Lambert exactly where to stand...
...and exactly where to strike.
---
The Orc King stumbled backward, his breathing heavy as blood dripped steadily from the countless wounds covering his body. The crimson haze surrounding him had grown unstable, flickering violently around his armor before gradually beginning to fade.
He tightened his grip around the greataxe.
Then charged once more.
His roar echoed across the battlefield as he raised the weapon high above his head, pouring every remaining ounce of strength into a single decisive strike.
The air trembled.
The Border Knights instinctively held their breath.
Lambert remained still.
His eyes calmly followed the descending blade.
"Lightening."
The burden upon his body vanished.
He stepped forward.
Not away.
Forward.
The greataxe crashed harmlessly behind him, burying itself deep into the shattered earth.
Before the Orc King could recover—
"Emburden."
Gale Cutter became impossibly heavy.
Lambert drove the butt of the halberd into the Orc King's exposed chest.
A deafening crack echoed across the battlefield.
The massive warrior was lifted completely off his feet before crashing several meters away, his greataxe slipping from his grasp as he rolled across the blood-soaked ground.
Silence.
The Orc King slowly pushed himself onto one knee.
Blood poured from beneath his armor.
He reached toward his fallen weapon.
His hand stopped halfway.
His strength had finally abandoned him.
For several long moments...
Neither warrior moved.
Then the Orc King slowly lowered his hand.
"...Ghra..."
His voice was no louder than a whisper.
He gave a slow nod.
Whether it was acceptance...
Respect...
Or simply exhaustion...
No one knew.
Lambert quietly rested Gale Cutter upon his shoulder.
The surviving orcs looked between their fallen king...
...and the lone warrior standing before him.
One by one...
Weapons fell to the ground.
The first shield.
Then an axe.
Then a spear.
Soon...
The sounds of metal striking the earth spread across the battlefield.
No one gave the order.
None was needed.
The battle was over.
For several heartbeats...
No one spoke.
Then somewhere behind the lines...
A villager collapsed to his knees.
"...We..."
His voice trembled.
"...We survived."
Those simple words broke the silence.
A wounded guard laughed.
Another wiped tears from his face.
Several villagers embraced one another without saying a word, while exhausted gnolls simply sat where they stood, too tired to move another step.
Even the Border Knights lowered their weapons.
The Crown Prince slowly released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
The evening wind swept quietly across the battlefield, carrying away the smoke as the last light of the setting sun disappeared beyond the horizon.