I tore my attention away from Ramel’s clash with the commander, focusing instead on the battle raging around me.

The remnants of my comrades and the Sacred Guardians regrouped, forming a united front against the hellish hounds and their oger reinforcements.

The two-headed hounds were massive—every bit as fearsome as I had feared—but their canine instincts betrayed them. For all their ferocity, they still fought like animals, lunging wildly and snapping at anything within reach.

I dodged their gnashing jaws, keeping well clear of their dual maws. With precise strikes, I dispatched the first two that dared to close the gap, their monstrous forms crumpling under the weight of my blade.

But then, they pulled back.

At first, I thought they were retreating, cowed by our dominating presence. But their calculated movements told a different story.

It wasn’t fear that drove the hounds to pull back—it was strategy. These damned mutts weren’t acting like animals, they were just playing the part!

Before I could act, a shadow fell over the battlefield.

I looked up to see another barrage filling the sky. Arrows, black as night, rained down in deadly arcs, their trajectory sharper and more deliberate than before. Burning debris followed close behind, streaking toward us.

The precision of the attack left me trembling. This wasn’t the wild, reckless bombardment of earlier. This was calculated, meant to cut off our advance and pin us in place.

Even the ogers, brutish as they were, seemed to understand the danger. They scrambled to flee, clearing the area with surprising urgency.

“You’re not getting away this time!” a voice rang out—a lone Holy Knight, breaking formation.

As the Paladins scrambled to raise their shields in defense, this knight charged forward, sword gleaming, oblivious to the impending danger.

I froze for a heartbeat, disbelief gripping me. The Holy Knights were supposed to be with Ramel, reinforcing his position. What in the gods’ name was this fool doing here, rushing headlong into certain death?

The answer didn’t matter. What mattered was that his recklessness was about to cost us dearly.

“NO! FALL BACK!” I roared, reaching out as if my voice alone could stop him.

But it was too late.

The first arrow struck true, piercing the knight’s armor and sending him staggering mid-charge. More followed, a deadly volley that tore through both him and the Sacred Guardians rushing to shield him.

Two Paladins, desperate to intervene, were caught in the next wave. A felfire projectile exploded on impact, obliterating them in a gruesome spray of blood and shattered armor.

In the blink of an eye, over half of my remaining forces lay in ruin.

The reckless knight, mortally wounded, swayed where he stood. For a brief, agonizing moment, he turned back toward me, as if seeking guidance—or forgiveness. Then he toppled over the ledge, vanishing into the rocky waters below.

I had surged forward, instinct driving me to save him as I had others before. My hand was already reaching for the light of healing, ready to mend his wounds.

But then pain—sharp and searing—shot through my back.

I staggered, turning just in time to see one of the scorpion-like demons trying to scuttle back into the shadows. The wretched thing had been lying in wait, its venomous stinger poised for a moment of distraction. And I had given it one.

With a single slash, I ended the scorpion demon before it could escape, its venomous stinger severed along with its wretched life.

But the damage was done.

By the time I turned back toward the fallen knight, his fate was sealed. He was gone—lost to the rocky waters below. Rage surged through me, blinding and all-consuming. Letting out a guttural roar, I charged toward the nearest hound, intent on slaughtering anything that dared cross my path.

But as I took my first step, the world tilted.

It was as if I’d missed a stair, my footing lost in an instant. I toppled forward, crashing face-first into the ground. The dirt bit into my skin, gritty and cold, its taste filling my mouth as I struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

“What… what’s happening…?” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the chaos around me.

“Lord Adrian, get up! They’re going to—ARRRGH!”

A cry of pain cut through the air, followed by a sickening squelch. I couldn’t see what happened, but the sound told me everything I needed to know. Another comrade had fallen.

Chandrabolg, my ever-reliable blade, had slipped from my grasp during the fall.

It landed a few feet away, its brilliant glow dimming with each passing moment. Without its connection to my mana, the Sacred Guardians faltered. One by one, their golden forms dissolved into faint wisps of light, leaving the battlefield darker, colder.

A violent spasm wracked my back, muscles seizing uncontrollably.

Yet, strangely, there was no pain—only an unsettling numbness spreading through my limbs. My mind raced, struggling to make sense of it. Was this paralysis? Had that damned scorpion demon’s venom trapped me in some cruel, immobile trance?

This is absurd. What bullshit is this?

Paladins are immune to poison and disease—our divine aura neutralizes such threats almost instantly. I shouldn’t be lying here, helpless, while the battle rages on around me.

Ah, but it isn’t poison, a dark voice whispered in the recesses of my mind.

The realization hit me like a hammer. I had been stung—not in the thick plate of my armor, but in the one exposed spot, hidden beneath the folds of my cape. It wasn’t poison coursing through me.

It was venom.

“Oh, for the love of—this is a technicality!” I growled, my voice hoarse and dripping with frustration.

I could feel the vibrations of approaching footsteps—ogers and hounds, circling like vultures closing in on a dying beast. My allies, scattered and struggling, fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered.

A warm hand pressed against my back—a Paladin, attempting to heal me.

Before the magic could take hold, a snarling oger lunged in. The blade swung down with brutal precision, severing the healer’s arm in one swift stroke. The dismembered limb landed just within my line of sight, twitching feebly before falling still.

A cry of anguish erupted behind me, unmistakably Samuelle’s voice. He hadn’t even had time to react before the hounds were upon him, their jaws tearing into flesh and armor alike. His gurgled screams echoed in my ears as blood spilled freely, pooling into the dirt.

The spasms grew more violent, my body rebelling against itself.

And then, humiliation compounded the horror. A sharp, involuntary heave wracked my gut, and I felt the mortifying release as my body voided itself.

Seriously? A venom that paralyzes the victim and forces them to shit themselves? Is this really how I’m gonna go?

The ogers, enraged by their losses, had finished massacring my allies. They then turned their fury on me.

Their heavy feet stomped down repeatedly, pounding into my armor and flesh. But all I felt were muted vibrations, my body too numb to register the full extent of their brutality. It was as though the venom had sealed me in a cocoon of apathy, sparing me the pain but not the shame.

Each breath became a desperate battle, rasping and shallow.

My lungs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if the venom had seeped into every corner of my body, stealing not just my strength but my ability to simply exist.

This is absurd, I thought again, humiliation twisting in my gut.

Pathetic. Embarrassing.

I’d had these brutes on the ropes, dominating the battlefield. And now? Now I was lying here, helpless, as they vented their rage on me, as my body betrayed me in the most degrading way possible.

It felt as though a piece of gum I had accidentally swallowed as a toddler could have been plucked from a corner of my body to finally make its escape with how much was coming out. Was I really this backed up, or something? Could this venom be liquidating me from the inside, and forcing me to literally shit my own guts out in this humiliating pose?

My eyes became blurry as I saw a clutter of stone bounced around me and more anguished cries from behind me. I couldn’t turn to look thanks to my state. I wish I couldn’t smell either, because the constant stomping was akin to stepping onto a wet, pudding filled balloon. The squelches it made were enough to make me vomit, but it seems the venom took even that away from me to make its way out the back door.

A minute stretched into eternity.

At first, there was only numbness—dull and distant. Then the pain came.

It wasn’t subtle or creeping; it was sharp, all-encompassing, a crushing force that surged through my body like fire. It felt as though I were being wrung dry, every ounce of strength and dignity squeezed from me like toothpaste from the tube.

“HRRRRRNK—AHHHHHH!”

A guttural scream tore from my throat, the only sound I could manage as agony flooded every nerve in my body.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—the demon commander’s massive club pressing down onto my back. The weight was unimaginable, as if the entire world had collapsed onto me.

My bloodshot eyes strained to focus, catching the hulking figure standing above me. The commander wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed ahead, disinterested, as though crushing me was no more significant than stepping on an insect.

“NAMO, MITRE. IS HERO STILL ALIVE?”

The demon commander’s voice rumbled low, almost conversational, as if he were inquiring about the weather. He wasn’t speaking to me—not directly. It was a question tossed into the air, meant for anyone still standing to answer.

“Y-yes, commander…” an oger stammered, its voice trembling with unease. “We kick and kick, but it… it doesn't fight back. Just… gives natti but merdu in response.”

The words were met with a ripple of snickers from the nearby demons, their cruel amusement palpable.

The laughter spread, low and mocking, as if I were the punchline to some sick joke.

If there was something funny about all this, I wished I could have known. One last laugh might have been a fitting way to go.

“Ah, abhiña, where are my manners?”

The Lion-Oger’s voice dripped with mockery, his words clumsy but deliberate. His glee was sickening, each syllable underscoring the futility of my situation.

“It seems you have lost, dear hero. Lost so spectacularly, so miserably, that even I must pity you.”

With a flick of his claw, Chandrabolg clattered to the ground beside me. The sound of the once-glorious blade striking the stone gravel echoed louder than it should have.

“Go on,” he purred. “Your sword. One last swing, perhaps? Surely even a fallen hero can muster that much.”

I tried.

I willed every ounce of my strength, every shred of mana, to respond. But my body had betrayed me.

Broken, battered, and drowning in my own blood and shit, I couldn’t move. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes, mingling with the dirt and filth beneath me.

I begged silently—for strength, for a miracle, for anything.

But nothing answered me. I was alone in my despair.

“No? Already giving up?” The commander tilted his head, his voice dripping with false pity. “What a shame.”

He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing what little light remained around me. “Perhaps you could have won. If only you’d reached for it—if only you’d had the strength to swing for my throat.”

“But you’re weak,” he sneered, the contempt in his voice cutting deeper than any blade. “All of you. Not a single one could scratch me. Your swords, your spells, your prayers—useless.”

He gestured at the carnage around us, his grin widening. “Your comrades? Their corpses aren’t even worth the dirt they disturbed as they fell.”

The commander’s eyes glinted with malicious satisfaction as he raised his colossal foot, the weight of it enough to crush anything in its path.

With a single, contemptuous motion, his foot descended on Chandrabolg, as if the blade was no more than a mere obstacle to be eradicated. There was no regard for the weapon’s history, no understanding of its significance.

“PATHETIC. USELESS. WARM-BLOODED INGRATES!” The commander bellowed, his voice thundering with contempt as he drove his foot into the sword again and again.

Each strike resounded, the sound of divine metal clanging against the brute force of his stomp. It felt as though the bridge could finally give at any moment, but it was the sword that my eyes froze on. The first few rings were sharp and defiant, but each succeeding blow dulled the tone, the sound growing fainter, more hopeless.

On the twelfth strike, the blade bent under the immense weight of his attack. A final, crushing stomp shattered it entirely.

Chandrabolg—once the symbol of our strength and our kingdom—splintered, the shards scattering across the stone and dirt. The last chime it made as it broke was a hollow echo, the death knell of a hope that had long since faded.

I could only watch, blood pooling beneath me, as my greatsword was reduced to ruin. The tears stung, mingling with the blood and dirt on my face, but I had no strength to wipe them away.

The commander stepped back, a deep, mocking chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Ah, there it is. You wounded me.” He sneered down at the shattered sword that had left a small knick in his foot. “What a nasty little weapon that was. Too bad I had to break it.”

He straightened, taking a deep, exaggerated breath, savoring the destruction. “I’ve broken everything here. All your toys, your little heroes. Crushed them, snapped them, sliced them…”

He leaned closer, his foul breath heavy with triumph. “And I’m sure there’s more to break in your little castle. I’ve heard rumors of a lovely queen there. I’m certain her screams would make the sweetest music when I squeeze the life from her.”

I snapped out of my haze, fury burning through the fog of my suffering. A growl rumbled from my chest—weak, but defiant. I couldn’t speak, my lungs too crushed to produce words, but I could still show him my hatred.

His eyes bulged with sick pleasure as he watched me writhe, clearly amused by my attempts to fight back.

“Mmmm… HMPH!” I grunted, my lips moving in desperate, futile attempts to form words, like a fish gasping for air.

“Oho, still trying to ward me off?” The commander laughed, his eyes flashing with dark delight. He leaned in closer, his shadow swallowing the last remnants of sunlight.

Where once warmth bathed me, now only cold sorrow and isolation remained. His eyes, gleaming with malice, reflected my broken face.

“I think you’ve gotten… “ The commander’s voice softened, a chilling note of finality creeping into his words.

He raised a clawed hand, two fingers curling together in a gesture so simple, yet so ominous.

“A ‘head’ of yourself.”

With that, his fingers flicked.