King Erlant's Dream · The Nightmare Begins
The Human King, Erlant, sat alone on the stone bed behind his throne, having shed his armor and scepter. Weariness mixed with a vague unease.
He had sensed it all evening—something was not right tonight.
He closed his eyes. Sleep crept in like a chill mist.
Suddenly, the king's dream plunged into darkness. Space twisted, the temperature plummeted.
Just as his awareness blurred, a black shadow lunged from behind the curtains!
"Ssshh—!!"
The Shadowless One glided low like a black serpent. Her arms transformed into bladed claws, slicing the air and leaving crimson sparks!
King Erlant instinctively rolled—but one claw still tore through his shoulder guard, blood splashing out.
He roared and slashed his sword horizontally—
CRACK!!
Steel clashed against blood-forged blades with an explosive screech!
The assassin twisted midair, transforming into a piercing needle, and dove from above!
"Slash!!"
The king stomped the ground—tiles cracked under his foot.
With a swing like thunder, his sword cleaved upward—
BOOM!
The blood-needle burst into mist—he struck nothing but air!
But in the next heartbeat, the Shadowless One burst from the shadows again—
This time, her arm stabbed straight into his ribcage!
"Gahhh!!"
The king groaned, eyes bloodshot.
He grabbed her arm and punched—
THUD!!
She was flung several meters back. Half her mask shattered, revealing a cold, eyebrowless face, eyes glowing with eerie red light.
"You… you're no mere assassin… you're forged from the dream itself!" the king gasped.
The Shadowless One smiled—then split into dozens of needle-like shadows rushing toward him!
—This wasn't an assassin.
It was the manifestation of his primal fear, born of dreams!
After a brutal clash, Erlant collapsed to the floor, panting hard…
Only to find the world shimmer—
He was suddenly "back in bed"!
"…What… still not awake?"
The door slammed open—Karanda rushed in.
"Your Majesty, are you all right?!"
"I… I just…" the king hesitated.
"You just killed things that never existed." Karanda's face twisted into a crooked smile.
"Just like me."
In the next instant—Karanda's arms exploded open, revealing mantis-like blood blades protruding from beneath his skin!
"What?! You're not—"
"I once was. But now… can you even tell anymore?"
BOOM!!
Karanda lunged, bone blade stabbing for the king's throat!
Erlant blocked on instinct, but was pushed back—blood trails scraped across his armor!
Karanda rammed him into the wall—marble cracked, debris flew!
"You're still dreaming, King.
So tell me—how do you win?"
"I don't care if it's a dream—I'll still kill you!!" the king bellowed.
He swung his blade with deadly precision—slashing, sweeping, thrusting, breaking—all pure killing intent!
Karanda danced like a demon. His movements weren't human—like a twisted beast.
One fought like a dragon with a sword—
The other like a possessed mutant!
Stone tiles shattered beneath their feet. They crashed through colonnades into the great hall—the fight raged on.
Finally, the king roared:
"Heaven-splitter! Earth-cleaver!!"
Flames burst from his sword in a wave—engulfing Karanda and smashing him into a statue!
"Huff… Huff…"
He exhaled.
But then—he noticed…
The ceiling was peeling.
The floor had turned to swamp…
"…A dream within a dream…"
The Real Awakening · The Akkan King Arrives
This time, he truly woke.
He staggered out the door—barefoot, drenched in sweat, wounds still bleeding.
Before him stood Tural Thorne, King of the Akkans.
"You're finally awake," said Tural coldly.
And in that moment, Erlant knew—
He was still not safe.
Before he could act, a thunderous explosion echoed outside!
On the Ember Hills · Phantom Siege
Kilometers away, on the blazing hills, the human Illusionist floated midair, ritual sigils orbiting like stars.
Velox, the Akkan Sharpshooter, stood in the storm. His right arm, fused into a blood-glowing cannon; his left, clutching a bone axe.
"You cannot break my spell, Akkan," the Illusionist sneered.
Velox's golden eyes narrowed. His cannon flared—
BOOM!! BOOM BOOM!!
Three rounds of bloodfire slammed into the shield before the Illusionist. The ground erupted into a deep crater!
The Illusionist flashed to the side, summoning dozens of phantom beasts to swarm.
But Velox was already upon him—
His axe struck with brutal force!
CRACK!! One beast exploded in fire!
"Tch. Annoying."
Velox flipped into the air, cannon aimed at the spell core—
"Break for me!!"
KABOOM!! The arcane array fractured!
The Illusionist screamed, conjuring seven mirrored shields.
Velox vanished—
"Invisibility."
He reappeared behind the caster, driving his blade into the left shoulder.
The figure disintegrated—a decoy.
"Heh… you'll never find the real me."
"I don't have to," Velox smirked.
He smashed the ground—
A reverse blastwave shattered the illusion matrix, revealing the real Illusionist hidden below!
"Impossible!!"
"You're overconfident, human."
Velox zipped forward—an elbow strike sent the caster flying, followed by a thunderous axe slash—
WHAM!!
The earth cracked. Fire erupted.
The Illusionist spat blood—his spine twisted.
He couldn't rise again.
Reinforcements Arrive · Final Judgment
Human soldiers surged in.
"That's the Akkan sharpshooter! Protect the king!!"
The Illusionist grinned:
"Your king… will die by his hand."
The soldiers raised their weapons—ready to fire—
"Hold."
Garios, the human mage, entered with King Erlant beside him.
"You've bewitched minds. Spun three layers of dream. You have committed grave sin."
"Seal."
A glyph lit on the Illusionist's neck—his mana veins ruptured. Power shattered.
Eyes wide, he gasped:
"How… did you break… my defense…"
King Erlant raised his sword:
"I awoke three times from your dream.
All for this moment."
The Aftermath · Between Kings
The sky dimmed to grey-blue. Wind swept through broken towers and tattered curtains.
Half‑shattered palace doors creaked open.
Inside the Bone Spire Hall, chaos lay thick—blood, broken stones, the smell of death and power lingering in the air.
At the center:
The corpse of a black‑cloaked assassin, chest torn open by a bone axe, blood trailing into a crimson fissure.
The camera slowly pans upward—
Karanda stands beside the body, axe in hand, gaze calm as iron.
Before him, atop the dais, stands the Akkan King, Tural Thorne.
Between them:
Silence.
No words spoken—yet everything was said.
The wind blew through broken windows, lifting Karanda's cloak, brushing through Tural's silver hair.
Tural stared down with a look unfathomable—half doubt, half warning.
Karanda returned the gaze—no fear, no joy, only the cold resolve of a soldier honed by endless war.
Behind them: shattered walls, bloodied columns.
The atmosphere: like a blade pressed to the throat.
And as their eyes met, an unspoken duel had already begun—
Who's the true pawn in this game?
Who truly holds loyalty?
And who is the enemy of the enemy?