A New Mission
It had been three months since Kevin's defeat. The battle had left scars—not just on Ashborn's body, but deep within his soul. He had spent the time in the peaceful town of Grasia, healing, reflecting, and pushing himself beyond his limits in training. Lida had remained close, offering healing and support, while Rick had focused on strengthening his magic and chain manipulation techniques.
But even as their strength grew, so did the looming threat of the final general—Claude, the one they knew the least about.
No one who had faced Claude ever lived to speak of it. No battlefields, no bodies—just whispers of death and vanishing villages. His epithet was enough to chill even the bravest warriors:
"The Phantom Reaper."
One crisp evening, the group was gathered inside the Grasia Adventurer's Guild. Ashborn sat at a corner table, sharpening his sword with quiet intensity. Lida sipped tea while reviewing reports of monster sightings near the capital. Rick leaned against the wall, tossing a silver coin between his fingers.
Then the guild doors burst open. A royal messenger, clad in the blue and gold armor of Eldoria, stepped inside, sweat on his brow and urgency in his voice.
"I bring an urgent message from His Majesty, King Reginald IV. Heroes Ashborn, Lida, and Rick—you are summoned to the Royal Court of Eldoria."
Rick's eyes narrowed. "Finally, some action."
Ashborn stood slowly. "It's time."
He could feel it. This wasn't a call for diplomacy.
This was the first step toward war.
---
Summoned to Eldoria
The journey to Eldoria was long, stretching across forest paths, open plains, and guarded checkpoints. But when the capital city finally came into view, it was a sight to behold.
Towering white walls surrounded a city of gleaming marble buildings and winding cobbled streets. Golden banners bearing the symbol of a lion fluttered in the wind. At its heart stood the royal castle—a majestic structure with spires that seemed to touch the sky, its white stone glistening in the morning sun.
Soldiers escorted them through the city gates and into the throne room where King Reginald IV awaited. He was a tall, imposing figure with a graying beard, clad in regal robes embroidered with silver thread. His sharp gray eyes were full of wisdom—and weariness.
"You are the hero who defeated Kevin?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Ashborn.
"I am," Ashborn replied with a calm, unwavering tone.
The king nodded gravely. "Then you understand the stakes. Claude, the Third Demon General, is not like Kevin. He doesn't challenge armies—he undermines them. We suspect he's already inside Eldoria, sowing chaos, manipulating our own."
Lida's face tensed. "Are you saying… we've already been infiltrated?"
The king's voice dropped. "We believe so. Assassinations, riots, strange disappearances. Every time we investigate, the trail vanishes into thin air."
Rick scoffed. "And you want us to flush him out?"
The king hesitated. Then he gave a slow nod. "Yes. But there's only one way we believe it can be done."
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle.
"We will use Ashborn… as bait."
---
The Assassin's Strike
Ashborn was given a luxurious chamber within the eastern wing of the castle. Guards were posted at every entrance, and detection magic covered the halls. Yet still, Ashborn remained alert. He could feel it—the predator lurking in the dark.
That night, as the city slept under the moonlight, a heavy silence fell over the castle. Ashborn sat on the bed, fully dressed, his sword resting in his lap.
Then it happened.
The air turned cold. The candlelight flickered, then vanished in a hiss. A whisper curled through the shadows.
"You should've stayed hidden, hero."
Ashborn spun, sword raised.
CLANG!
A dagger shimmered out of the dark, colliding with his blade. The attacker landed silently—his body cloaked in tattered black robes, face hidden behind a porcelain mask painted with a single black tear.
Claude.
"You finally show yourself," Ashborn growled.
Claude's head tilted like a curious specter. His voice was smooth, calm… chilling.
"Stronger than Kevin. But you reek of emotion. A flaw, in the end."
Ashborn didn't respond. He lunged forward.
Claude vanished.
The room exploded into chaos—blades clashing, shadows twisting. Claude moved like smoke, his form flickering between solid and incorporeal. His dagger seemed to phase through walls, striking from impossible angles.
Ashborn gritted his teeth, blood sliding down his side where a dagger had grazed him.
"He's not fighting to kill me outright," Ashborn realized. "He's testing me."
Claude reappeared, slashing in a spiral. Ashborn blocked, barely, and spun back. His mind raced.
Then he did something bold—he closed his eyes.
Breathing slowly, he let go of sight.
He focused on sound. On scent. On feel.
A shift in the air—movement to the left.
He turned and struck.
VOID SLASH.
A wave of dark energy exploded forward. Claude hissed, a deep wound now cut across his chest.
"You…!" he spat, retreating.
But Ashborn didn't stop. He pushed forward, sword dancing like a storm. Claude phased—Ashborn anticipated. He dodged, struck, pushed.
One final blow—
Claude collapsed, gasping, his mask cracked.
Ashborn raised his sword to Claude's throat.
"It's over."
Claude… laughed.
His body melted into black mist, vanishing like a nightmare at dawn.
His voice echoed through the shadows.
"I never fight to the death. I fight to win."
And then—he was gone.
Ashborn stood alone, heart pounding, blood dripping onto the marble floor.
The war had truly begun.