The first wave landed.

  Arka saw their forms clearly now. Shade Walkers.

  They were nightmares made manifest. Possessing no legs, their bodies floated a span above the ground. Their forms were draped in torn black rags that fluttered slowly, as if blown by a wind of death imperceptible to humans. The fabric was darker than night, absorbing surrounding light, creating a cold aura of despair.

  Behind deep hoods, there were no faces. Only a slowly rotating empty void, a mini black hole ready to suck souls.

  But the most horrifying were their hands.

  Protruding from torn sleeves were "hands" not made of flesh. They were bundles of long, dry, brittle bones bound together. Like bundles of charred dead twigs, with sharp ends clawing at the air, seeking the warmth of life to destroy.

  "Disgusting," Arka thought.

  And then, the wave of humans collided with them.

  BOOM! CRASH! CRACK!

  The Sagara temple courtyard turned into a chaotic war zone.

  Karpharah weapons didn't just cut shadow flesh. The cold metal reacted violently upon contact with Void essence.

  Every slash was an explosion.

  Arka saw Wang Leiyin swing his greatsword, cleaving a Shade Walker in two. BOOM! The monster exploded in orange sparks and black smoke, throwing gravel in all directions.

  On the other side, Lenn Dyora thrust her rapier with lightning speed. ZAP! ZAP! Every thrust produced a stinging blue energy pop, making the monsters convulse before disintegrating into ash.

  The shock effect was tremendous. Concussive explosions followed one after another ceaselessly, deafening the ears. The stone ground of the temple yard cracked and flew into the air. Colorful lights from energy reactions—orange, blue, white—blinked wildly amidst the fog of battle dust, creating silhouettes of warriors savagely mowing down their enemies.

  And amidst that storm of explosions, Arka Sagara danced.

  He didn't stop. He didn't slow down.

  A Shade Walker floated fast toward him, its dry twig hand outstretched to grab Arka’s neck.

  Arka simply tilted his head slightly.

  Swipe.

  Left hand moved. Karpharah blade cut the twig hand clean off.

  SLASH!

  Right hand followed. Thrusting straight into the void behind the monster's hood.

  KABOOOOM!

  A bright purple explosion erupted again, swallowing the monster whole.

  Before the monster's ash touched the ground, Arka had already spun. He leaped over the shoulder of a cornered Fort Rivermarsh knight, then executed a spin-slash in mid-air.

  Two Shade Walkers were decapitated at once.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Two more purple explosions.

  Arka landed, rolled, and immediately stabbed backward without looking. Hit again.

  He was a vortex of destruction. Where there was a purple flash, there was enemy death. Arka kept moving, kept slashing, kept killing, turning his own front yard into a mass grave for shadows.

  STAB!

  Arka buried his right sword into the chest of the Shade Walker in front of him.

  BOOM!

  A purple explosion erupted, throwing Arka’s body back a step. The creature shattered into fading black light shards.

  Arka wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, then looked back.

  There, he witnessed a parade of slaughter.

  The temple courtyard was no longer a holy place. It was a fireworks festival of death. Colorful explosions erupted everywhere, shadow bodies fell, knight war cries mixed with monster hisses. The ground was full of holes, dust, and residual magical energy.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Beautiful. And brutal.

  However, amidst that chaos, Arka’s eyes caught something odd in the distance.

  Up there. On the high temple terrace, far from the reach of blood splatters.

  Arka narrowed his eyes, piercing the battle smoke.

  He saw his Grandfather, Rajendra Sagara.

  The old man stood calm as a stone pillar. One hand extended forward, holding someone's shoulder.

  William.

  Arka could see William’s expression even from this distance.

  The young noble's face was crimson red, neck veins bulging out. His eyes stared wild-eyed at the battlefield below, full of painful longing to join the fight.

  William’s hand gripped the hilt of his Greatsword—the signature large sword of House Ironseat—so tight his knuckles turned white. The sword trembled, ready to be drawn, ready to slash, ready to spill blood.

  But he couldn't move.

  Rajendra’s hand on his shoulder looked relaxed, but Arka knew, his grandfather's grip was heavier than a mountain. William, with all his physical strength, was held immobile there. Pinned in the safe zone.

  Arka lowered his sword slightly, breath hunting. He tilted his head, curiosity bursting amidst adrenaline.

  "What is Grandpa saying to William?" Arka wondered.

  He saw Rajendra’s lips moving slowly, calmly, yet full of authority.

  Arka couldn't hear it, but he could imagine it.

  Maybe something about destiny? Or politics?

  Arka saw those broad shoulders finally surrender.

  On the upper terrace, William bowed his face deeply. Not bowing out of fear, but bowing out of bitter obedience.

  William’s fingers, previously white from gripping the Greatsword hilt, slowly relaxed. His tense arm muscles relaxed again. He released his killing intent, letting the greatsword remain asleep in its scabbard.

  William gave a salute—stiff, formal, and brief—to Rajendra.

  Then, without looking back at the slaughter field below, the Young Noble turned on his heel. He walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the safe temple corridor.

  "Huh?" Arka gaped amidst the rain of dust.

  "He left? Seriously left?"

  Arka’s curiosity peaked. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to activate his Aksesa Sense. He tried sending his hearing focus across those hundreds of meters, wanting to catch the remnant echo of his Grandfather's voice.

  What is the reason? Why was a sword that strong sent home?

  But too late.

  BLARRRR!

  A massive explosion from Lenn Dyora’s direction disrupted his concentration. Spiritual shockwaves cut his hearing line. The conversation on the terrace was gone, swallowed by wind and the din of war.

  Arka clicked his tongue, opening his eyes again.

  "Tch. Whatever," he snorted.

  He shrugged, throwing his curiosity onto the trash pile in his brain. The political affairs of old men and spoiled nobles were not his business. His business was here, in this mud and blood.

  Besides, if William left, it meant the remaining "toys" in this yard were all his.

  Arka looked up again at the torn sky.

  Still many. Still thousands of black shadows falling down like meteor rain.

  Arka grinned wide, spreading both arms holding the twin Karpharah swords glowing purple.

  "OY!"

  His scream challenged the sky.

  "DON'T RUN AWAY YET! THE PARTY JUST STARTED!"

  Arka ran again, leaping to welcome his ghost guests with lethal sword swings.

  The following is the continuation of the scene from Arka Sagara's POV (in battle memory).

  The climax of the temple yard battle. The final king appears, and Arka witnesses why his Grandfather is feared.

  Two hours.

  The Sagara temple yard was shapeless. Stone ground shattered, craters everywhere. Arka’s breath hunted, lungs felt hot like filled with glass powder. Sweat mixed with dust dripped from his chin.

  Thousands of small Shade Walkers were destroyed. Annihilated into residual particles evaporating in the air.

  But, the nightmare wasn't over.

  In the center of the exhausted knights' encirclement, one remained.

  "Huge indeed..." Arka hissed, wiping blood from his temple.

  It was the Alpha. Three times the size of the others. Its black rags tattered, revealing a body made of turbulent dense smoke.

  And it had Five Hands.

  Two at normal shoulder position, two protruding from the waist, and one... one giant hand growing disgustingly right from the center of its chest. The twig hands were long, sharply crooked, and clawing the air aggressively.

  Suddenly, the hand on its chest opened wide.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

  The monster screamed.

  Arka dropped one sword, hands reflexively pressing ears hard.

  But useless.

  It wasn't a physical sound. It was a spiritual shockwave.

  It felt like razor blades scraped directly on the brain surface. Arka groaned in pain, vision blurring. He saw several Fort Rivermarsh soldiers in the front row instantly collapse, fresh blood flowing from their noses and ears. The scream sliced the soul.

  "Damn it..." Arka cursed, trying to stay standing though his knees trembled.

  Wang Leiyin and Lenn Dyora seemed struggling to maintain formation. They staggered back, their mental defenses cracking battered by that hellish sound frequency.

  That was when, a white shadow passed calmly.

  Rajendra Sagara.

  Grandpa descended to the front row. He didn't run. He walked casually as if inspecting a flower garden, his robe fluttering gently challenging the wind of the monster's scream.

  That old face was flat. Emotionless. Fearless.

  Rajendra’s right hand reached into his wide robe sleeve.

  "Noisy," Rajendra muttered softly.

  With a lithe and fast wrist movement, he threw something into the air.

  Swish! Swish! Swish!

  Dozens of yellow rectangular papers shot out.

  Paper Talismans.

  The papers didn't fall blown by wind. They flew straight and sharp like mind-controlled throwing knives, glowing with blinding cinnabar red ink.

  The five-handed monster tried to swat them with its twig hands.

  Too late.

  Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

  Dozens of those yellow talisman papers stuck squarely all over its black smoke body. On all five hands, on its robe, and one right on its blank face.

  "Seal," Rajendra said briefly.

  The mantras on the yellow papers shone bright gold.

  ZING!

  Instantly, the soul-slicing scream was cut off.

  The monster's body went rigid. Its five hands locked in the air, trembling violently trying to move but held by an invisible weight crushing it. The papers worked like peg nails deadening the shadow's motor nerves.

  Arka stared in awe from behind.

  "Damn..." Arka murmured, a proud smile blooming on his tired face. "That old man is really cheating."