Ryuusei felt his breathing become erratic. His chest fluttered with each inhale, and his heart pounded with desperate urgency. It was not only fatigue that hindered his movements or the lack of mastery over his technique that made him hesitate.

No.

It was something else.

It was a sentence.

Death, tired of this game, had first sent the beast, an abomination that devoured everything in its path, a nightmare incarnated in flesh and despair. And now... now, he had sent the Herald.

The Herald of Death.

The confirmation that everything had to end.

His body refused to move. His breathing became erratic.

Not because of exhaustion.

No.

It was fear.

The Herald did not utter a word. He did not issue judgment or notice. He simply moved forward with absolute calmness, the dark sword standing tall in his hands, as if fate was already written, as if Ryuusei was already dead.

And maybe he was.

Some brave people tried to confront him. They didn't last a second. A single movement, a dry slash in the air, and they fell lifeless before they could touch the ground. The Herald's sword cut through more than flesh: it cut off hope.

Ryuusei saw it all. He felt death dance around him and, with the beating drumming in his chest, his legs finally responded. He lunged to the side, feeling the scythe hiss in the air and brushed his hair. Before the Herald could react, he activated his teleportation daggers and reappeared behind him. With a gasp, he swung his warhammers with all his might, aiming at the black armor as night.

And then, the Herald simply turned his head.

Two glowing orbs glittered behind his helm, inhuman, devoid of any emotion. With an almost lazy movement, the Herald reached out an arm and caught Ryuusei in midair.

Then, he threw it with the ease of someone who discards something worthless.

The impact on the ground took his breath away. The world spun in a whirlwind of dust and blood as it rolled across the ground. His body burned with pain he couldn't even measure. He tried to sit up, but his arms were shaking. He coughed, and felt the hot blood on his tongue.

The Herald's footsteps resounded, slow, steady, relentless. Ryuusei tried to get up. His body did not respond.

It wasn't just the wound. It was fear.

Ryuusei's vision blurred. His heart beat irregularly. An icy emptiness pressed against his chest. His hands were soaked in his own blood, and his gaze, once filled with fire, now reflected only a suffocating panic.

I'm going to die.

Not as a hero. Not as a legendary warrior. Not as someone who fought to the end.

No.

I'm going to die.

The Herald stopped. His black sword, standing tall above him, did not descend. He did not end the trial immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if he had just noticed something.

His gaze fell on Ryuusei's weapons.

The hammers of war. The teleportation daggers.

Their orbs sparkled with something... a shadow of recognition. Then, without changing his unchanging expression, he turned his head towards the horizon. The darkness itself seemed to writhe at that point, as if something beyond human understanding was watching from the blackness.

A whisper escaped the Herald's lips. Guttural, ancient words that did not belong to this world.

And then, as calmly as he had come, he lowered his sword.

He turned one last time to Ryuusei, and without even deigning to pronounce a verdict, he sat down a few meters away.

Death was to be informed.

And Ryuusei...

Ryuusei still didn't understand why he was still alive.