"They've started fighting!" Rynar raised an eyebrow as he watched the surging waves of battle aura erupting in the distance.
"Looks like Omsk's going berserk over there... Isn't he worried he'll scare the orcs off?" Caslow grinned wryly, watching Omsk hurling one devastating attack after another. That guy was practically screaming at the orcs, Hey! There's a Tier-Six powerhouse right here!
...
Drip-drip...
Tiny beads of blood slid down Omsk's armor, falling one by one onto the damp ground below.
Splurt!
As his iron boot stomped down, the blood that had seeped into the muddy soil gushed back up, soaking the ground beneath his feet.
Judging by the mountain of corpses around him, it was clear just how many warg riders Omsk had slaughtered. Hundreds of direwolves and mangled orc bodies lay strewn around him, spreading outward in a massive circle through the forest. Even the towering trees—many thick enough to need two men to wrap around—had been snapped like twigs by Omsk's rampaging battle aura. Their broken trunks littered the ground. Somehow, he'd single-handedly cleared out an entire stretch of the dense woods, turning it into a battlefield.
Creak-creak...
A hair-raising grinding sound echoed from the darkness, followed by a wave of rot so foul it made the stomach churn.
"Damn you! Did you really think no one could bring you to justice?"
A chilling, raspy voice cut through the night like a broken bellows, sending a cold shiver down the spine.
"Quit skulking and show yourself!" Omsk spun his blade and brought it down in a powerful vertical slash. His blazing battle aura shot like a firestorm into the shadows.
Boom!
A pitch-black shield flared to life and blocked the strike. The collision of powers unleashed a shockwave that tore up the earth and uprooted every tree in the vicinity...
"A Nazgûl?" Omsk's eyes narrowed in surprise.
...
"Tier-Six!" Caslow jerked his head up, unease flashing in his eyes.
"Orcs have Tier-Six fighters?" Rynar stared at the massive energy burst in disbelief. According to what he knew of the story, the orcs only had one Tier-Six powerhouse—Azog! Even his son Bolg was just a Tier-Five warlord. If Gundabad Fortress had another Tier-Six, there's no way they wouldn't have shown up during the Battle of the Five Armies!
"Maybe... it's not an orc," Caslow muttered, eyes glinting coldly. His grip on his sword tightened. If he didn't have to protect Rynar, he'd already be dashing off to face it himself.
"A Nazgûl! There's a rumor one of them haunts Gundabad Fortress! That place is steeped in death and wailing... No living soul dares go near!" Barin spoke solemnly, his tone rhythmic and grave.
"Well... guess it's not just a rumor anymore," Caslow cracked his stiff neck with a dry laugh.
"You mean it really is a Nazgûl?" Rynar's face turned pale.
"It's obvious. Only a death-sworn creature like them could cause a scene like that," Caslow replied calmly, watching the mountainside tremble with an expression caught between awe and resignation.
"Then... can Omsk win?" Rynar asked anxiously. Omsk was his only Tier-Six hero—just the thought of him getting injured made Rynar's heart twist with dread.
"Depends which one it is..." Caslow shook his head. If it turned out to be the Witch-king of Angmar himself, he was already planning an escape route with Rynar. As for the remaining soldiers... well, they'd have to fend for themselves.
"Let's wait. We'll find out soon enough." Caslow sighed, subtly repositioning his dragonflute so it was within arm's reach.
...
"Pathetic! Is dodging the only thing you know how to do?" Omsk scoffed after another swing of his blade hit nothing but air.
"Heh... how could a mortal of flesh and blood comprehend my greatness? Submit to the judgment of the Fourth Calamity—Death Surge!"
The Nazgûl suddenly emerged from the shadows and tore at the air with both hands. Reality itself seemed to warp—space cracked open beside Omsk, releasing a torrent of dark energy and spectral force, all of it rushing toward his body.
"Blessing of the Light!"
Omsk slammed his fist into the ground, releasing a surge of radiant battle aura from his core. The darkness parted like a curtain before the sun, and for a moment, it was as if a burning sun had risen in the dead of night.
"Your tricks won't work on me!" Omsk stood tall again, eyes blazing with murderous intent.
"Oh? I am the great Fourth Nazgûl—Amorasor! You cannot fathom my might, nor endure our terror!"
Flames of ghostly light flickered wildly in Amorasor's hollow sockets, betraying his inner turmoil.
"Hah! Self-important and rotten to the core. You're just another deluded rat hiding in the dark. I've slain dozens like you. Wanna bet you'll end up just like them?" Omsk's greatsword leveled directly at Amorasor.
"Honestly, you're not even as tough as Khamûl. Welp... this little warm-up's been fun, but I'm done playing now."
Omsk had already figured out Amorasor's attack pattern and finally bared his bloodthirsty fangs.
"In the name of the Champion—CHARGE!"
Summoning his Abyssal Warhorse, Omsk swapped his greatsword for a lance and surged forward like lightning, his weapon aimed straight at Amorasor's heart.
CRACK!
The sickening sound of bone snapping echoed through the woods—his spear had punched clean through Amorasor's ribs.
"Be purified, foul shadow!"
With no expression on his face, Omsk flooded the weapon with blazing holy battle aura, the radiance pouring into Amorasor's body like a tidal wave.
SCREEECH!
The Nazgûl shrieked in agony, his scream echoing far into the silent night like a damned soul under the sun's wrath...
...
"Is Omsk slaughtering pigs over there?" Rynar shivered at the eerie sound.
"No. He just landed a critical hit on that Nazgûl!" Caslow's lips curled into a proud smile.
"So he's winning? Amazing! That's my Zaltarion Tier-Six hero!" Rynar beamed with joy.
...
"You! Damn you!"
Amorasor slashed away the spear lodged in his side and vanished into the shadows. Moments later, he emerged from a different patch of darkness.
"Your power's rooted in darkness, huh? Can't believe you actually survived that hit. Hmph... even used the night to soak up some of the damage. Gotta admit, that's a classic Nazgûl move," Omsk said, voice dripping with mockery.
"You worm! I'll kill you! I'll mount your skull on my nightmare's chestplate!" Amorasor spat, seething with rage.
"Oh, please. Trash talk's easy. Got anything new?" Omsk tilted his head, watching the Nazgûl's childish outburst with boredom.
"You'll regret this, outsider! One day, I'll bury you myself! Your pride and your radiant kingdom will fall together, drowned in eternal shadow!"
But in truth, Amorasor was already planning his escape. The ambush had left him seriously injured, and even with the cover of night, he couldn't overpower this strange human hero—someone who wielded both light and dark as if born to them. If he didn't flee now, sunrise would seal his fate.
"Running, are you?" Omsk blinked, then immediately gave chase on his warhorse, hoping to lock him into battle again. But Nazgûl weren't exactly the type to play fair... Amorasor's voice lingered in the wind:
"Cherish your fleeting moments... for when my master returns... you'll all die. All of you! Wail! Hide! Despair!"
"...What the hell was that? Is Sauron seriously recruiting these nutjobs? This guy's got the skills of a third-rate scrub and the ego of a god. Who gave him the audacity to act like this?"
Omsk was left speechless. Truly, the audacity of mediocrity knew no bounds.