Eastern Barbarians Front –
The war drums had fallen silent.
Dust still clung to the air, trailing behind three converging legions. Ten of thousand of Imperial soldiers marched in grim unison—Herald as vanguard, followed by Snow Knight and Arman,
They had regrouped at the edge of the last battlefield, a flat basin stained red by conquest. The banners of the fallen Thulda still burned in scattered pyres, their tribal cries now reduced to cinders on the wind.
This was it. The final campaign. The Karvak Tribe, the last of the great barbarian clans, stood between the Empire and complete dominion over the eastern plains.
Herald rode forward on a black steed, dismounting with mechanical efficiency. His armor clanked heavily as he faced the two commanders.
"Give me your report," Herald commanded, his voice cutting through the murmuring of officers.
Arman stepped forward, gauntlet on his hip. Dust streaked his blood-spattered cape.
"Third Battalion—zero casualties."
Snow Knight followed, calm and crisp.
"Second Battalion suffered twenty-five deaths. Flank resistance was sharper than expected."
Herald nodded, expression unreadable.
The senior commanders stood before the knights, with their soldiers stretching across the horizon like a steel tide.
"Some would call this overkill," Herald continued, eyes scanning the distant hills. "Empire's Knight against some barbarian"
Arman crossed his arms.
He turned, meeting Herald's gaze directly.
"To build a stronghold... for the war to come. Against the Beast Kingdom.This much soldiers are necessary"
Silence hung heavy.
Even the younger knights shifted at the name. Everyone had heard the whispers—the southern beasts, twisted creatures that walked like men, wielding ancient powers and tribal magic beyond reason.
This eastern war was merely the beginning.
Herald nodded grimly. Plans for the siege on the Karvak tribe were unrolled.
Suddenly a light burst on the horizon.
A brilliant flare—red and gold—streaked into the twilight sky.
"Our camp," gasped one of the knights. "That's the emergency flare!"
Then came the smoke. A thick, black column rising from beyond the western ridge.
Herald's eyes narrowed.
"Impossible… No one should be behind us. Unless—"
A realization struck like a blade.
"Karvak tribe… and the Beast King's army," Herald muttered. "Only they could breach from the west so quickly…"
His fist clenched, and he turned to the gathered soldiers.
"Form up! Back to the camp—NOW!"
The earth trembled as orders were shouted and flags waved. Horns blared. Riders mounted. A mass of steel and fire turned back toward the rising smoke.
Whatever waited in the dark near their burning camp—it wasn't just savages anymore.
It was something worse.
Karvak Tribe
"Chief! Someone approaches… from the south. Beast Kingdom."
The young barbarian's voice wavered, unsure whether to sound the alarm or run. From the jagged edge of the camp, all eyes turned.
Out of the heat haze strode a man—tall, hulking, wrapped in a tattered robe streaked with ash. Each step seemed too heavy, too deliberate. His bare feet crushed stones like twigs. His presence alone made the hounds whimper and retreat.
Fangs gleamed behind the shadows of his hood.
Chief Norgai, the iron-blooded warlord of the Karvak, rose from his seat of bones and watched with narrowed eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked, hand drifting toward his axe.
The stranger stopped at the center of the camp. A slow smile split his face as he removed the robe and let it fall.
Thick, scarred arms, clawed fingers, and a chest carved with Beast-script runes were revealed. The air turned heavier.
"Targan."
A single name.
It was enough to drop the camp into silence.
Targan, General of the Beast Kingdom. The Slaughter Fang. The Ravager .A nightmare.
"Impossible…" one elder muttered.
"What does the Beast Kingdom want?" Norgai asked, voice steady but wary.
Targan's tone was dry, as if giving a command too trivial to explain.
"Bring your warriors. Hit the Empire's eastern camps tonight. Their armies are away—too far to stop you."
A bold demand.
Norgai didn't answer at first. He studied the beast-man's amber eyes—there was no plea, nor mercy. Only violence .
"And if we refuse?"
Targan turned to leave, but stopped. Without looking back, he spoke like the crack of a whip:
"Then the Beast Kingdom will forget you. We bleed for no cowards."
A pause. Then, softer—like a growl beneath words.
"Prove your loyalty. Take out the camp."
And just like that, he vanished into the dusk, leaving only his scent and shadow behind.
Norgai stood frozen, staring into the distance.
He knew what this meant.
This wasn't just another battle.
The true war had begun.
A hundred Karvak warriors crept through the darkness like wolves in tall grass, their movements silent, their eyes burning with purpose.
At their lead, Chief Norgai moved with grim resolve. When they neared the outskirts of the Empire's camp, he halted and turned to his men.
"Split. Hold the place. You come with me."
Five of his finest warriors—loyal to the bone—stepped up and followed. Together they moved toward the gates, torches faint in the distance.
At the camp's edge, the border sentries spotted the group and raised an alert. Moments later, Captain Claire, commander of the Fourth Division, arrived. Clad in white and silver armor, her presence was sharp as a drawn blade.
She eyed Norgai suspiciously.
"You," she said coldly. "Why are you here?."
Norgai bowed his head slightly—oddly formal.
"I've come… to accept your offer. Late, yes, but with an offer."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "Offer? What offer?"
"Intel," Norgai answered softly. "On the Beast Kingdom—its army, its generals. But not here. Too many ears."
It was strange, too convenient—but Claire knew that any truth about the Beast Kingdom could shift the tides of war. The guards were alert, her soldiers on watch. She made her decision quickly.
"Fine. Show me."
They moved together—Claire, Norgai, and the five warriors—through moonlit brush to a distant hill, quiet and unguarded.
At the top, Claire turned. Her fingers rested near the hilt of her sword.
"Now, talk."
Norgai hesitated. A shadow passed over his face.
"I'm sorry… I had no other choice."
From behind the slope, a new figure emerged. Towering. Beastly. Fanged.
Targan.
Claire's eyes widened. Her hand drew her sword in an instant.
"What is the meaning of this, Norgai?!"
She stepped back, preparing for battle. Norgai opened his mouth to speak, but Targan silenced him with a raised claw.
A low, twisted whistle escaped Targan's lips—an eerie, mocking tune.
"So this is the Empire's famed White Fang? A Four-Star Aura Master. Good. I've always fightto test one."
Claire narrowed her eyes. Her blade hummed faintly with concentrated aura as she shifted her stance.
Her gaze scanned the surroundings.
Six enemies.
Two monsters.
No way out but through.
"You made a mistake bringing me here," Claire said coldly. "I won't die quietly."
The air grew tense. The grass around her feet began to bend from the pressure of her aura.
She lowered her sword slightly, exhaled—and prepared to unleash hell.