“Attacking from below and using the height difference was clever. Knowing how to turn disadvantages into advantages is important.”

  Corvus was calmly sharing his thoughts on the recent training fight with his younger brother Volmir, who sat across from him in the empty building. His voice was neither raised nor hushed; it carried a purely instructive tone. Volmir no longer simply listened in silence like he used to—he was now taking notes in a dark brown leather-bound notebook. This habit was the result of his intense days at the academy. He was no longer merely a warrior-in-training but a student who had developed his own discipline for learning.

  “Once you begin using the Lightstone, the physical limitations of the human body, such as height and weight, will largely disappear. But remember, the person in front of you might also be using the Lightstone. So never underestimate your opponent’s advantages. Always observe, analyze, and keep your mind open.”

  This final warning from Corvus reflected the weight of war. Volmir nodded slightly and continued his notes. For him, his brother’s words were not just warnings but teachings. Corvus watched his brother closely for a moment. The last time they had seen each other, a cold wind had blown between them, harsh words had been exchanged. But now, in Volmir’s eyes, there was only a thirst for learning and a burning determination. That old tension seemed to have given way to a will that had begun to mature.

  After a brief silence, the two began to share what had happened to them in recent weeks. Corvus didn’t recount everything that had happened in the city of Rax, but the grand meeting and the city’s structure particularly captured Volmir’s interest. The young boy listened with admiration, occasionally asking questions or drifting into thought. On the other hand, Volmir also spoke of the major changes in his own life. Although he couldn’t openly demonstrate his new fighting style due to the rules of the military camp, he was no longer easily defeated by opponents who appeared weaker than him. His instructors had started calling him a late-blooming flower—patient, quiet, but dazzling in the end.

  His situation at the academy was entirely different. As Baral had said, in the eyes of many scholars, Volmir had already become one of the brightest students. Though he had only recently mastered the Adler language, he was far ahead of his peers in grasping mathematically complex problems. He wasn’t just memorizing; he was internalizing what he learned and questioning it. For an eleven-year-old, this level of analytical thinking was rare—but Volmir was different. Beneath his silence worked a constantly active mind.

  Their conversation came to an end as Corvus slowly rose to his feet. His simple black leather armor creaked softly. He had spent too much time here; it was time to depart. His destination was Sorbaj. As they walked together toward the library entrance, they noticed Ellsa sitting on the stone steps. She was trying to organize a chaotic pile of scrolls in her lap, aligning the edges of the pages and carefully ensuring the writing wasn’t smudged. When she saw Corvus and Volmir approaching from the courtyard rather than the library, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Though she gave Corvus a sharp look, she didn’t dare say anything aloud in the face of his commanding presence.

  “I’ll set out before nightfall.” said Corvus, not taking his eyes off Ellsa. His voice was as clear as that of a commander who had made his decision.

  “After finishing things here, I want you to come to Sorbaj.” he added. Ellsa hesitated for a moment, as if she hadn’t been expecting this invitation. Although Sorbaj was the capital, it wasn’t like Bahoz where Corvus had full control. He didn’t have large estates there, and his economic dominance was limited.

  Then Corvus turned to his brother and asked:

  “Will you come?”

  Volmir’s gaze drifted to the leather-bound notebook at Corvus’s belt. He paused for a brief moment. The information written in that notebook was extremely important to him. But he wasn’t ready yet. Here, within the safe walls of the academy, he needed to work a bit more on Lightstone energy.

  “It’s better if I stay a few more weeks.” he said, softly but firmly.

  Corvus nodded slowly. He respected his brother’s decision.

  “Then go continue your studies. But don’t forget—tell no one!” he said. This time, his voice was firmer, his emphasis sharper. There was a weight of secrecy in his words.

  Volmir immediately sensed the seriousness in his brother’s tone. The calmness on his face was replaced by a resolute expression. He knew he could not share what he had learned with anyone—that it was now his responsibility to bear the weight of this knowledge. Though his shoulders sagged slightly, his eyes still burned bright. He bowed his head gently and saluted his brother once more. Then, with heavy steps, he walked across the cold stone courtyard toward the stairs. As sunlight filtered through the high windows, the shadows between the steps stretched and shrank. With each step, Volmir left behind not just the stone’s silence but the silence of brotherhood as well.

  Corvus and Ellsa passed beyond the courtyard and after a short walk, arrived at Baral’s inn. This inn, adorned with marble, was more striking than the surrounding buildings. When Corvus entered, he learned that Baral had already set out for the city of Rax. They climbed the stairs to upper floor of the inn. Inside Baral’s study were scrolls lined up on shelves, various city maps, and open documents. Corvus turned to Ellsa and asked her to take special care of the academy and to look for new ways to increase the number of students. Ellsa nodded, clearly aware of the seriousness of the task. Corvus stood in silence for a while, then checked his sword and left without saying a word. He departed the inn to head to Rasur’s Manor.

  When he arrived at the manor, Zarqa and Baldrek were waiting for him. The three of them reviewed the final preparations before setting off for Sorbaj. Reports, documents, maps… everything was ready. Without delay, they mounted their horses and set out. Along the road, they left the night behind and greeted the morning. As the sun slowly rose on the horizon, mist rose like steam from the roots of the trees lining the road. By the time the sun reached its peak, they had passed muddy roads and arrived at Sorbaj’s walls.

  Sorbaj was as chaotic as ever. Shouts from the market squares, the whispers of beggars in the alleys, and the clanging of metal echoing through the backstreets only added to the city’s disorder. As Corvus entered through the main gate made of thick logs, several armored warriors approached. Their black leather armor and the sealed daggers at their belts marked them as guards in charge of monitoring entries and exits. When one of the guards came closer, Corvus noticed his eyes—burning with a fiery red unique to the Tiamat tribe. The two recognized each other.

  “The Wandering Warriors have arrived, Corvus.” said the warrior, his voice both cautionary and uneasy. “They’re challenging every single warrior of our tribe. The fights are said to begin when the sun sets.”

  Corvus’s expression instantly hardened. His brows furrowed. Though he had never personally encountered the Wandering Warriors, he knew this fanatical group very well. These warriors, who worshipped Rhazkar with blind devotion, had left their tribes and belonged to no regular army or command—they were rogue swordbearers. Roaming the lands of Rhazgord, they challenged everyone they met, stirring chaos wherever they went. Bloodshed was their religious rite. With so many problems already on his plate, Corvus had no desire to deal with yet another one caused by these unbalanced men. But as the leader of the Tiamat Guardians, it was his duty to resolve this matter.

  Although Baldrek and Zarqa wanted to come with him, Corvus stated that this was a tribal matter and sent them back to their homes. Baldrek headed towards his father’s forge, while Zarqa disappeared into the dark alleys and returned to the underground headquarters of the Rhazgord Intelligence Organization.

  Soon after, Corvus reached the Red Mansion, located at the foot of Mount Rhaz. A tense and unwavering silence reigned there. The stone walls of the Red Mansion were carved from the red rocks of the mountain, and guards stood watch in front of it. In this area, close to the entrance of Mount Rhaz, at least forty Tiamat Guards were lined up. Opposite them stood twelve warriors, their bodies covered in mystical symbols. These were the Wandering Warriors. Their bodies were covered in glowing red runes and armor made from animal hides. Each came from a different tribe, but in all their eyes burned the same madness and belief. They wanted to worship on Mount Rhaz, refusing to recognize the decision that had been made.

  Corvus quickly tightened his horse’s reins and pushed forward decisively through the guards. The Tiamat warriors relaxed slightly upon seeing their leader. He dismounted swiftly, the echo of the hooves on the ground heightening the tension. A guard immediately took Corvus’s horse and led it to the stables. The faint Lightstone energy radiating from Corvus’s body was an expression of his anger. Summoning his most senior guard, he was quickly briefed on the situation.

  Just as he fully grasped what was happening, a gap opened in the human wall formed by the Tiamat Guards. One of the Wandering Warriors, with a furious kick, hurled a guard backward and broke through the crowd. Corvus’s eyes flared. This was unacceptable. He drew both his swords, and the clash of steel echoed like a scream in the air. He stepped forward to face the massive warrior who had kicked the guard.

  The man before him stood at least two meters tall. Every inch of his skin was wrapped in glowing runes, and the sword strapped to his back seemed thirsty for blood. He looked at Corvus and spoke with a mocking grin:

  “Step aside, Tiamat brat! I will go to the house of God and worship Him! Stand in my way and I'll sacrifice you to Rhazkar!”

  Corvus slightly raised his head and stared into the giant warrior’s eyes. Despite the difference in height, he did not take a single step back and extended his sword toward the man’s throat. There was no fear in either of their eyes. His voice echoed like a roaring mountain:

  “I am Corvus Tiamat! As the leader of the Tiamat Guards, the duty to protect Mount Rhaz was assigned to me and my warriors by the Tribal Federation! According to the decision made at the last meeting, entry and exit to Mount Rhaz are temporarily forbidden!”

  With those words, the Tiamat Guards reached for their axes. Blades slid from their sheaths, slicing the air with a tension as sharp as a knife. Without breaking eye contact with the giant warrior, Corvus delivered his final statement in a firm voice:

  “Anyone who disobeys this order will be executed… by me, Corvus Tiamat!”

  With those words, the tension reached its peak. The pressure in the air became almost tangible. The Tiamat Guards had not drawn their axes out of weakness; on the contrary, each of them was an elite warrior who had survived dozens of battles and had been trained with Lightstone. But to use that power, they needed only one thing: an order.

  Now Corvus was here—standing firm and issuing a clear warning. There was no need to wait any longer. In that moment, a dense wave of Lightstone energy spread out from the Tiamat Guards, filling the area paved with red stones. The air suddenly grew heavy, full of vibrations, and visibility dropped to almost nothing. These tremors were like the heartbeat of a world on the brink of war. The smallest spark now would be enough for blood to be spilled.

  In fact, this was exactly what Corvus desired. Nearly all of the Wandering Warriors had once served in the Rhazgord Army during their youth; they were skilled soldiers. Many still carried Lightstone energy within their bodies. But what truly made them dangerous was not just that power—it was the wild instincts honed by years spent in mountains, plains, and borderlands, their ruthless reflexes, and their ever-sharpening battle experience. Corvus wanted to end this tension before blood was spilled between them and the Tiamats. That way, the Tiamats wouldn’t lose strength.

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  Before he could take a step, the massive stone doors of the Crimson Pavilion opened with a deep groan.

  “Let them pass!”

  Corvus didn’t even need to turn his head to recognize the voice. It was familiar. The speaker was Sanguinar Sakhaar Tiamat, the most powerful figure in Rhazgord. His words sliced through the tension like a blade glowing in the dark. The Tiamat Guards slowly lowered their weapons without waiting for Corvus’s order. The tension dissolved into the cold mountain air. The Wandering Warriors gave a respectful salute to Sanguinar and silently began climbing the red cliffs of Rhaz. Their footsteps were almost inaudible. The hymns whispered from their lips belonged to an ancient faith carried by the wind—ominous but primeval.

  Without taking his eyes off the wanderers, Corvus walked toward his father. He bowed with firm steps but a composed stance, lowering his head in respect.

  “I have completed my mission in Rax and returned, sir.” he said. Sanguinar’s eyes remained on the warriors climbing the mountain. A brief silence reigned among their fading silhouettes.

  “The last ones to harm the monks would be these fanatics.” Sakhaar said, with a tone that held both appreciation and a slight warning.

  “Troublesome as they are, they are loyal.”

  Corvus’s gaze returned to the red rocks. The Wandering Warriors had already disappeared. Though his father’s words made sense, his mind wasn’t completely at ease. Quietly, he summoned a few guards and ordered them to follow the wanderers from a distance. It was an instinctive precaution. Sakhaar and Corvus were now alone in front of the Red Mansion.

  Without wasting time, Corvus began reporting what had happened in Adler. His words were clear, orderly, and strategically sequenced. Sakhaar listened with interest, and a faint shadow of satisfaction appeared on his face. When Corvus finished speaking, he opened his bag and handed over a detailed written report. Sakhaar skimmed the documents quickly, then closed them with a deep breath. But in his son’s eyes, there were still unsaid thoughts and repressed ideas. Time, however, was running out. The sky had taken on a purple hue, and footsteps could once again be heard from the mountain’s peaks. The Wandering Warriors were returning; the fight was about to begin.

  “Save what’s on your mind for later.” said Sakhaar, pointing toward the men coming down the mountain. Then his eyes turned back to his son once more. He had noticed the changes Corvus had undergone recently. His power and charisma had grown at an almost incomprehensible pace. He didn’t know how, but this transformation hadn’t escaped Sakhaar’s attention.

  “How many can you take down?” he asked, his voice containing both curiosity and a testing tone. Corvus was initially surprised by his father’s direct question but hid his reaction and answered with firm posture.

  “If I don’t use Lightstone energy—half of them.” he said, his voice becoming increasingly resolute. “But if I use the energy, I could cut them all down in a few moves.” His words were not a threat; they were a declaration of a dark truth. Sakhaar knew his son’s words were not empty. The resolve in Corvus’s eyes vouched for their truth.

  “Then prove it!” said Sakhaar in an authoritative tone. It was now clear who would be the first Tiamat to respond to the challenge of the Wandering Warriors.

  Before long, a crowd began to gather in the square of Sorbaj. News of the duel had spread across Rhazgord like smoke carried by the wind. Everyone who wanted to witness the confrontation between the Tiamats and the Wandering Warriors was there. Even the chieftains of the great tribes living in Sorbaj had flocked to the square. Notable names from clans like Nabuk and Ogon had taken their places in the field. But most importantly, Sakhaar himself was among the spectators. Although the Wandering Warriors had declared their challenge to all the Tiamats, they had no right to challenge Sakhaar directly. That right would only become valid within three days after the Tribal Council convened.

  The crowd soon formed a wide circle around the square. All eyes were turned to the center. Even though not all members of the Tiamats were present, dozens of glowing red eyes were watching the wandering warriors intently from the shadows behind Sanguinar. Those red eyes never left the warriors who had dared to challenge the great tribes. Before stepping into the center of the square, Sanguinar turned to the monks. As soon as he received their approval, he stepped heavily into the circle.

  “I am Sakhaar Tiamat! If no one wishes to be the judge of these duels, then I shall be the judge myself!”

  No one objected to this decision. Though Sakhaar was a Tiamat, he was a leader deeply devoted to tradition. He was known for his sense of justice, and there was not the slightest doubt that he would show favoritism during the sacred duels. His words carried the weight of a verdict for both Tiamats and the Wandering Warriors. The silence that rose from the crowd showed everyone accepted his decision. After sweeping his gaze across the crowd, Sakhaar continued in a firm tone:

  “The Wandering Warriors have issued a death challenge to all the warriors of the Tiamat Tribe. Let those who wish to fight step forward from both sides!”

  With these words, movement began around the edge of the arena. Warriors walking heavily on the rock floor began to enter the circle. The crowd held its breath in anticipation of the coming clashes. The tension within the silence grew with each step. From the Tiamat side, only Corvus had arrived.

  The wandering warrior facing Corvus was large and muscular. His face was covered in wind-chapped skin and scars. Slowly, he pulled the massive sword from his back and planted it into the ground. His eyes had expected to see a seasoned fighter like Valerius instead of a young Tiamat. For now, he decided to make do with the boy standing before him.

  Without a word, Corvus drew his twin swords from his back. Cold steel gleamed. He approached his opponent with steady, balanced steps. Sakhaar stepped forward and stood between the two fighters. He turned first to the wandering warrior.

  “Have you consumed Lightstone?”

  The warrior shook his head side to side in a short but clear motion, indicating no. Then, the same question—though the answer was already known—was directed at Corvus. Corvus turned his eyes to his father and nodded.

  “To ensure the fairness of this fight!” Sakhaar declared loudly, “Corvus Tiamat is hereby forbidden from using Lightstone energy. If he does, I shall personally carry out his execution. Now! Spill blood for Rhazkar!”

  With these words, Sakhaar quickly stepped out from between them. With a sudden shout, the crowd roared. Both warriors moved almost simultaneously. The ground trembled. When Corvus’s twin swords and the massive sword of the Wandering Warrior clashed for the first time, the sound resembled more a volcanic eruption than a clash of metal. The crowd instinctively stepped back.

  Corvus jumped back immediately after the first blow. Although he wasn’t using Lightstone energy directly, his muscles and reflexes—honed over years—were at a superhuman level. The power in his arms fused with the focus in his mind. The image of a training match with Volmir flickered through his thoughts.

  With a sudden motion, Corvus crouched low. He bent down to his waist, dropped his left knee close to the ground, and swiftly slid to the side. The wandering warrior raised his heavy sword high and brought it down with full force. But this was the mistake Corvus had been waiting for. Corvus dodged at the last moment and jumped. As the sword hit the ground, sparks scattered from the crimson stones. At the same moment, Corvus was in the air—he bent his body like a bow and flipped midair.

  His landing hit the blind spot of his opponent. While the enemy’s sword was still grounded, Corvus’s twin swords slashed upward in an X-shaped motion. The intersecting blades struck the warrior’s torso. His armor was torn, his flesh sliced from top to bottom. As the man fell to his knees, his entire body was covered in deep red blood.

  Corvus took a heavy breath. Lowering the sword in his left hand, he raised the one in his right. He looked into the warrior’s eyes—in them was not fear, but faith and respect. A trembling prayer escaped the bloodied lips. Corvus waited for the prayer to finish. Then, with a single strike, he ended it. He did not avert his gaze for even a moment.

  The first duel had ended with just a few moves. After the body was buried in the sands, a deep silence took hold in the square. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Then came the murmurs—filled with both awe and belief. As the heat in his eyes had yet to fade, a chant echoed around Corvus, overpowering everything.

  “Corvus of Tiamats! The Lion of Rhaz!”

  Corvus planted his twin swords into the ground. The crimson earth, already soaked in blood from the first duel, had turned into a dull mud beneath his feet. His eyes scanned the wandering warriors praying for their fallen comrade who had joined the gods. His stance was upright; unwavering and resolute.

  “Next!” he roared. The fury in his voice echoed back from every corner of the square.

  Four more warriors came at Corvus in succession. Each had a unique style, a unique fury. Some charged directly at him in the center, others circled silently, seeking an opening. But none succeeded. Corvus defeated some with sheer power; others, he trapped with mind games and pushed until their breath gave out. The duels did not drag on. Each was short, decisive, and deadly. Even without Lightstone energy, Corvus’s movements had a deadly precision combined with a superhuman grace.

  But the next duel would be entirely different.

  The new opponent stepped into the center with heavy strides. He was unlike the others—his body radiated with Lightstone energy, and his steps carried a crushing might. With his arrival, Corvus’s restrictions were lifted. His body, as if tired of containing the energy within, suddenly sprang into action. His muscles swelled, a misty glow rose from his shoulders. The fatigue of the previous battles visibly vanished, and the small cuts began to close with a smoky shimmer.

  The moment the signal to begin was given, the ground shook.

  This time, the fight resembled none of the previous ones. Instead of launching forward like an arrow, Corvus chose to retreat, reading his opponent’s attacks. He moved with lightning speed, gliding across the battlefield like a ghost. His opponent’s axe tore through the air with every swing; but Corvus evaded each blow with barely a breath to spare. The axe swings were heavy yet steady—backed by years of experience. But Corvus patiently waited for openings, memorizing every new tear in his armor.

  The duel continued in this harsh balance for several minutes. Corvus received only a few minor wounds, while his opponent's chest and shoulders were covered in scars. Each blow heralded the collapse that echoed beneath his opponent's armour.

  Corvus’s eyes shifted to the Wandering Warriors at the edge. In them was impatience and defiance. Dragging out this fight could be a chance to showcase his power—but he had no tolerance for wasted time. He took a deep breath. Suddenly, the Lightstone energy emanating from his body intensified. The ground seemed to tremble in response. The seasoned warriors around him narrowed their eyes and flinched. They were surprised by the energy that came out of nothing.

  Corvus struck like lightning.

  The opponent swung his axe, expecting a clash. But Corvus’s blades seemed to pass right through it. In reality, what happened was sharper and more terrifying—the swords had sliced through the axe like paper, and without slowing down, had reached the warrior’s throat. This strike, combined with the sharpness of the Lightstone power, ended everything in the blink of an eye. As the warrior’s head fell from his body, the crowd’s roar rose once more.

  This victory was achieved not just through swordsmanship or battle experience. It was the embodiment of raw Lightstone power fused with deadly resolve.

  Corvus walked past the lifeless body of his sixth opponent with heavy steps. The blood splattered up to his shoulders clung to him like armor. Drops of blood from his twin swords hit the crimson ground like the last breath of a sacrifice. His gaze fixed on the warriors still waiting their turn at the other end of the circle. He raised the tip of his left sword and pointed forward—a silent challenge, a gesture marking an inevitable end.

  At that very moment, the eyes of the Tiamats gathered behind Corvus glowed. Each of them shared his blood, his past. They rose like a wall in the night. Their armor was terrifying, but the threat emanating from their bodies was far more real. In the darkness, only their eyes were visible; within them burned the flame of ancient Tiamat oaths, broken bones, and victories won. Those eyes glowed crimson red—merging with Corvus’s blood-soaked silhouette, turning the arena into a nightmare.

  The Tiamats were silent. They neither shouted nor moved. They were simply there—like ghosts standing in the dark. As the torchlight cast flickering shadows on the stone buildings behind them, the steam rising from Corvus’ body drifted upward into the cold night, as if it reached the old gods who breathed with him.

  Corvus didn’t change his stance. He stood tall. Every wound on his body was for his tribe, who walked with him and stood behind him like a mountain. Blood, sweat, and fury… all had merged within his flesh. His twin swords slowly dropped to his sides, but his eyes remained locked on the square. It was as if time had frozen. Even the wind had hushed, listening only to the might of the moment.

  Then, a voice rose from among the Tiamats. It belonged to Kaelyra. She had raised her axe. And with her, the other Tiamats raised theirs as well. Their message was not just to the Wandering Warriors. It was to all of Rhazgord.

  “Corvus of Tiamats! Who shall be the next Sanguinar!”

  Standing like a beast towering among the other Tiamats, Drakar stepped forward. He was determined to turn his grandson's actions into a show of strength for his tribe. His roar was ear-splitting.

  “Tremble before the Wrath of the Tiamats!”

  And at that moment, Corvus turned his head to the Tiamats for a brief second. In their eyes, he saw himself—his history, his tribe, the struggle, and the legacy. Then he turned back. His eyes locked onto the warriors in front of him. His voice struck the arena like a bolt of lightning, and the people trembled:

  “Next!”

  Darkness recoiled at his voice. Behind Corvus stood not just group of people but Tiamats, a belief, and a vow.