“…What are you looking at?”

    Feeling an inexplicable unease at Joshua’s silent staring into empty space, Orhan raised his head to look at the sky.

    – KWAOOOOO!

    And then he saw it.

    Something like a comet plummeting toward the city, carving a crimson trail of flames across the empty sky.

    “That’s…!”

    Orhan’s face hardened. Blood-red karma flames burning with intense rage and killing intent. He knew all too well who those flames belonged to.

    Haschal. His daughter, whom he thought would be in the east by now, was falling at lightning speed. As if she had been waiting for this very moment when his power was greatly depleted.

    “You deceived me, Ludwig…!”

    Orhan gritted his teeth in dismay. Haschal’s appearance at this moment meant that Ludwig’s confident threats were all blatant lies, a deception to trick him into wasting his strength.

    ‘This vicious bastard…! Over ten thousand allies, Champion-level knights, and tens of thousands of Danes. Was he throwing all of that away as bait?!’

    Orhan realized his judgment had been too lenient. It was an incredibly cruel strategy.

    He knew Ludwig was a cold and ruthless man, but he never imagined he would sacrifice tens of thousands of lives without hesitation just to set a trap.

    His grinding teeth cracked under the pressure of the spreading sense of defeat.

    A trap made of lies designed to disturb his composure, reinforced with countless allied corpses. Its effect was all too excellent.

    Orhan had consumed his karma power generously to quickly destroy two heroes and retreat, while Haschal would be at near-perfect condition. It was a fight with slim chances of victory.

    ‘Then, at the very least, you…!’

    Orhan picked up a spear lying on the ground and aimed it at a corner of the inner fortress. The immense power concentrated at the spear’s tip vibrated through the air.

    “What… are you… doing…”

    Seeing Orhan grab a spear instead of swiftly cutting his throat, Joshua reflexively turned his gaze toward where Orhan was aiming.

    And immediately after, Joshua widened his eyes and desperately reached out to stop Orhan, having instantly recognized where the spear was pointed.

    “Stop…!”

    “Don’t interfere!”

    Orhan kicked away Joshua’s one remaining arm and launched the spear loaded with massive karma like a projectile. Toward where Ludwig would be hiding, watching him.

    ‘These imperial bastards, their attacks faltered slightly whenever I had my back to that spot. As if they feared the impact of their attacks reaching there!’

    That’s why Orhan hurled his spear in that direction.

    There was only one reason the Empire’s heroes would hesitate to attack: he was certain someone they absolutely couldn’t lose was positioned there.

    ‘I’ll take you with me as a companion, Ludwig!’

    As Kagan, his duty demanded he eliminate a grave threat to the steppes, and as Imelia’s husband, his desire whispered to never forgive the source of all this misery.

    For the first time in nearly a decade, Orhan felt a certain joy that his duty and desire spoke with the same voice.

    “LUDWIIIIIIG!”

    The moment the spear with its devastating force left Orhan’s fingertips—

    – KUUUUUNG!

    A beat too late, the crimson comet crashed into the ground.

    —-

    A fiery storm swept through with an earthquake. The karma flames that had enveloped and emanated from her burst out from the impact, swirling around like a whirlwind.

    “Kugh…!”

    Orhan, Hatan, and Heinrich reflexively covered their faces and lowered their bodies against the rushing heat wave.

    The superheated air struck their bodies like a pushing force. The three men were gradually pushed back as they narrowed their eyes to stare at the comet’s impact center.

    Crimson flames scattered like petals in disarray.

    At the center of the fading karma flames, a black-haired woman they all knew well was kneeling with one knee, crouched down.

    The Sword of the Starry Sky, Haschal Median Aishan-Gioro.

    The Patricidal Wolf, Aishan-Gioro Haschal.

    The Empire’s strongest knight and the steppe’s worst traitor rose to her feet, pulling her left hand from the ground she had dug into.

    Her eyes burned like will-o’-wisps.

    A killing intent as massive as a mountain and as ferocious as a beast pressed heavily on the atmosphere.

    “So you’ve appeared. Aishan’s disgrace, the traitor Haschaaaaaal—!!”

    Barama Hatan, the Champion of Aishan, bared his fangs with bulging eyes and spewed his rage.

    A historic patricide who forgot the kindness that raised her, clung to the Empire, cut off her father’s arm, and frustrated his ambitions.

    To Hatan, she was a being too disgusting to even look at.

    Perhaps annoyed by his shouting, Haschal, who had been silently surveying the horrifically scattered imperial heroes, turned her head toward Hatan like a ghost.

    “I’ll tear your crotch apart and feed it to—”

    The next moment,

    Haschal was already standing behind him.

    Holding a blue-silver longsword that no one could tell when she had drawn.

    A movement faster than the blink of an eye. From Hatan’s perspective, the enemy before him had simply vanished.

    “Corpses shouldn’t talk.”

    Hearing Haschal’s voice from behind, Hatan turned his body around in panic and disbelief.

    Just his body, that is.

    “…Huh?”

    Hatan let out a confused groan.

    Despite rotating his body halfway using his legs as an axis, his field of vision remained unchanged.

    His body was clearly facing Haschal, but his head above the neck was still looking at the impact site where she had landed. An incomprehensible situation. His face contorted with bewilderment.

    “What is thi—”

    His doubt-filled utterance was cut off before completion.

    His head, cleanly severed and resting on his neck, was now sliding off due to the sudden rotation and subsequent twitch.

    ‘My head…?!’

    From the corner of his falling vision, Hatan finally realized his situation as he saw his own headless body spurting a fountain of blood and staggering.

    The fact that his neck had been sliced through in an instant by a strike he couldn’t even perceive, let alone react to.

    ‘Impossible. How can she be this fast…?’

    With that disbelieving thought, his consciousness sank into darkness. His lifeless head rolled pathetically on the ground.

    This all happened less than three seconds after Haschal’s landing in the inner fortress.

    —-

    ‘She’s gotten even faster.’

    Orhan watched his Champion fall, decapitated, with a quiet groan.

    “Defying Fate,” they called it. Even with his senses, he could barely catch a faint afterimage of the technique—attempting to block or deflect it was beyond consideration.

    ‘…I can’t win anymore.’

    Orhan realized it. Even if his energy had been at full capacity, facing the current Haschal would have ended in defeat after a fierce battle.

    The ultra-high-speed technique that would bring instant death unless Unyielding Flesh was constantly activated, and the crimson lightning strike that could break through even Unyielding Flesh.

    The superhuman techniques Haschal had demonstrated twice proved that the fruit of Imelia and his creation had finally surpassed her father.

    Orhan let out a deep sigh.

    A wave of indescribable emotions stirred in his chest.

    Relief and worry, frustration and satisfaction. Pride and gloom. The chain of contradictory emotions filled his mind with terrible confusion.

    Orhan couldn’t decide which of his numerous responsibilities he should choose.

    Himself as the Kagan of the Great Plains.

    Himself as Imelia’s husband.

    A conqueror seeking to destroy the Empire.

    A father dreaming of his wife’s revenge and his daughter’s well-being.

    Responsibilities in stark opposition to each other. Choosing one meant inevitably losing the other.

    Therefore, unable to decide either way, he kept postponing his choice until…

    Finally, he faced this unavoidable moment.

    There was no chance of victory, and none of his objectives could be achieved.

    His daughter was becoming an unmanageable monster, the Great Plains couldn’t overcome the Empire strengthened by Haschal, and Imelia’s revenge was not his to take.

    Orhan had to admit it.

    The fact that he had failed.

    ‘Even so… I can’t die meekly like this.’

    Orhan firmly gripped the blade of Yekrindo and summoned all the karma power he had left. Even if he gave up on winning, that didn’t mean he would quietly offer his neck.

    Desperately racking his brain, Orhan tried to figure out what was possible for him in the current situation, what would be his best course of action.

    ‘I’ve inflicted massive damage on the Empire, but… this battle is our defeat. At best, fighting to the utmost would only result in mutual destruction. Once I’m dead, no one will be able to stop Haschal. Then, what I must do now is….’

    Orhan’s eyes turned toward a corner of the inner fortress. The pile of collapsed bricks, struck by his spear thrown almost simultaneously with Haschal’s fall.

    Was Ludwig, who should have been there, killed by the falling rocks? It was impossible to know without checking.

    After staring at the collapsed rubble for a moment, Orhan finally made his decision.

    ‘Yes, if defeat is inevitable anyway… I must leave a scar on the Empire. One that will prevent them from eyeing the steppes for decades to come. A massive scar that will never heal…!’

    That was the final choice he made.


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