Ilyada had a brief glimmer of hope as the two cavalrymen dived onto the battlefield. When she realized who they were, she felt a little bit of courage in her heart: Tharvork and Draknar, the old wolves of Rhazgord's army, come to change the fate of the war. But this hope did not last long. Tharvork's horse, unable to withstand the wounds he had received, collapsed with a loud, strangled groan.

  Draknar stopped his horse without a second thought. Reaching Ilyada and Corvus, Draknar realized that his plans had changed. They now had only one horse to rescue Ilyada and Corvus at once. The attacks of the enemies became more frequent and the battlefield was filled with blood and death.

  Draknar swung his sword to keep the enemies at a distance while he carried Corvus, who had collapsed unconscious on the ground. Corvus' weight was not a burden, but the future of Rhazgord resting on his shoulders. His experienced hands never hesitated to strike down his enemies with his sword as he fended off their attacks at every step.

  Ilyada never stopped fighting, despite her uncle's efforts. Her sword swiftly struck the enemies, leaving a trail of corpses in its wake. But when she heard Draknar's voice, she was forced to act on instinct. She jumped onto the horse's back.

  "Ride!" Draknar shouted, the authority and certainty in his voice leaving no room for argument.

  Ilyada's face showed indecision. She did not want to leave her uncle and Tharvork behind. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes fixed on Draknar's resolute face. Draknar noticed her hesitation and gave the horse a hard slap on the back. The horse whinnied in pain and broke into a trot, driving him swiftly away from the battlefield, leaving Ilyada no chance to question the decision.

  Escape was not easy. Ilyada realized that the enemies ahead of them were trying to block her path. With each step the horse sped faster and faster, while Ilyada gripped her sword tightly, alert to the attacks. Some enemies were knocked down before they could dodge her blows, others were no longer a threat.

  Just when things seemed hopeless, a familiar voice echoed: Kaelyra. With Kaelyra's powerful commands and the cavalry at her side, the enemies were repelled. The horse carrying the unconscious body of Corvus had finally reached a safe spot off the battlefield.

  Draknar was completely surrounded by enemies. As he paused for a moment in the midst of the chaos to catch his breath, his eyes found Tharvork. His old friend was still standing, fighting with the same indomitable will as ever. When Draknar saw that Tharvork could still fight, he made a decision: He would be with his friend in his last moments.

  Draknar began to advance towards Tharvork, knocking down the enemies around him. With each step, his sword cut through the flesh of his enemies, sending sparks flying across armor. A few steps away, his eyes fell on a huge axe lodged in the body of a lifeless soldier on the ground. He recognized this axe immediately: Kragan's axe.

  Without a moment's thought, he put down his sword and grasped the axe. This axe was not just a weapon. It carried an oath, a memory and a soul. As Draknar felt Kragan's legacy in his hands, a wave of power washed over his body. He now represented not only his own life, but the honor of the Kragan.

  As Draknar crushed his enemies with Kragan's axe, he finally reached Tharvork. The two old friends began to fight, back to back, as had been their habit for years. Blood dripped over their armor, their weapons forming a ring of death around them with each swing.

  Tharvork turned to Draknar and gave him a half smile. There was not a trace of fear in his eyes, but pride and determination. They both knew the same thing: This was their last battle, but not one that would tarnish their honor.

  "Save us a place at the table!" roared Draknar, his eyes fixed on the sky. His words were an appeal to Kragan, whom he believed was at the banquet table of the god of war. Tharvork answered the cry with a mighty war cry. Their voices momentarily shook the enemy lines.

  The two warriors moved with a rhythm honed in combat. Draknar's axe broke enemy lines with each swing, and Tharvork's sword filled the gaps left by the axe. The spears that surrounded them narrowed their space, but even in this narrow space they performed their dance of death.

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  Each one was writing his own legend with the bodies of the enemy piled around them. Each moment inside the shrinking circle was woven with years of experience and the strength of friendship. The battlefield blessed their last words, their last blows and their last breaths.

  These two old friends would do their utmost to fulfill their faith in the god of war. Death was near, but on their faces there was only peace and the honor of warriors.

  Meanwhile, Ilyada rode away at a gallop with the surviving Rhazgord cavalry. With every step of her horse, the pounding of hooves on the ground was like a melody of grief echoing in her ears. She stared ahead, averting her eyes from the battlefield even as the wind licked her face like a sharp knife. Because she knew that if she looked back, she would witness her uncle's last moments - she couldn't bear it. Instead, she tried to focus her mind forward, on the responsibilities she carried.

  But if she looked back, she would see this: The circle around Tharvork and Draknar had tightened. Shields and spears were pressing down on the two old wolves. Yet there was not a trace of fear on either of their faces. They looked at each other with pride and peace in their eyes, as if they had made a silent pact. Draknar raised Kragan's massive axe once more, and Tharvork challenged his enemies with a final battle cry.

  And at that moment, inside the shrinking circle, echoing among the surrounding spears and shields, something was heard: laughter. The two old wolves welcomed death as a reward, taking their last breaths in laughter. It was the holiest sacrifice offered to the gods of Rhazgord.

  If Ilyada had been able to look back, she would have watched with tears and pride the legendary last moments of her uncle and Tharvork, but she kept looking forward. For it was because of their sacrifice that she knew she must live and fight on.

  Once they were far enough away from the enemy, Kaelyra stopped the fighting. As soon as Kaelyra stopped the warriors, she jumped off her horse and ran in panic to Corvus. She was used to seeing Corvus always standing upright after previous battles. But now, lying bleeding on the ground, his body looked more helpless than ever before. She bit her lip, tried to control herself, but it was impossible to suppress the fear rising in her heart. Ilyada stood over Corvus, but her expression was more sadness than concern. There was a chance that Corvus could somehow be saved. But not for his uncle and Tharvork.

  Meanwhile, the warriors around them were in a different mood. They straightened their backs and looked at each other like a victorious army. For them, Corvus' wounded state was a symbol of pride, not sadness. He had crushed his enemies, defied an army five times his own, and sealed the battlefield with his blood for the safety of Rhazgord.

  The physicians quickly surrounded Corvus. Their faces were serious, but the light in their eyes was full of hope. His body was covered in cuts, bruises and deep wounds, but the Lightstone energy that lay within him still glowed. His minor abrasions were already beginning to close, but his severe wounds continued to pull him to the brink of death. Although his body was still fighting, he had reached his limit.

  Kaelyra clenched her fists as she watched the medics working frantically. "Please don't die..." she muttered to herself. Ilyada took a step back in silence. To her, Corvus was born to dance with death. But she still couldn't suppress a feeling of discomfort.

  But neither Kaelyra nor Ilyada's gnawing worries changed the mood of the warriors. For them there was only one winner in this battle, and that was the man lying bleeding before them. Normally, after each battle, the warriors would discuss who had killed the most enemies and boast about the numbers. But this time no one said anything. Because no one even had a say next to Corvus.

  The group had to move on. They had dealt heavy blows to the enemy and brought the advance of the Three Kingdoms Alliance to a halt. But this did not mean that the danger was completely over. The sheer number of wounded required the soldiers to move more cautiously.

  Time had been bought for the Rhazgord army to catch up. The enemy's commanders had been killed, they had suffered many casualties and many warriors had fled the battlefield. Moreover, there was a fear that gripped their souls. The possibility of another attack at any moment slowed their advance. Every time they saw the Iskat scouts watching them from afar, a deep fear gripped them.

  The Rhazgord warriors continued to advance, Kaelyra taking the lead. Her voice echoed over the soldiers as she gave commands in her bloodied armor and hardened expression. Everyone was silent, but there was a look of alertness in their eyes, mixed with pride in victory and caution. Even as they retreated, they were alert for a possible attack.

  Meanwhile, on the Black Plains, around twenty black-masked horsemen rode silently forward. Their plan had failed and the weight of defeat was heavy on them. Their movements were quiet but tense, anger and exhaustion mingling in the faces they hid behind their masks. As they left behind the lands where the battles had taken place, they seemed to leave behind a sense of aimlessness. They had not achieved their goal and there was no longer any point in standing with the Three Kingdoms Alliance.