The battlefield was drowning in blood.
Gaius wrenched his sword free from the Bellum warlord's throat, the dying man crumpling in a heap, eyes wide with disbelief even in death. The scent of iron and smoke clung to the air, thick and suffocating, the screams of the wounded blending with the thunder of war drums.
There was no time to think.
A shadow moved in his periphery. Instinct screamed before thought could catch up, and Gaius twisted, raising his blade just in time to deflect the downward swing of a serrated axe. The impact jarred his arms, sending a painful vibration through his bones.
The Bellum warrior snarled, a beast of a man, his face painted in war-blood, his bare arms rippling with brutal muscle. His Qi burned red, like embers in the night, thick with raw, primal intent. His lips curled into a grin, teeth sharp as a predator's.
"Another Imperium dog," the warrior spat, voice guttural. "Let's see if your bones crack as easily as the others."
He moved fast. Too fast for a man his size.
The axe came again, a horizontal slash meant to cleave Gaius in half. He shifted backward, feeling the wind of the swing whistle past his ribs, before stepping in with the grace of a blade dancer. His sword found the warrior's exposed ribs—a perfect strike.
But it didn't bite deep.
The Bellum warrior laughed, Qi surging, skin hardening like tempered steel. A Blood Titan's Blessing. His body had been reforged through countless battles, making him a living fortress of flesh and rage.
Gaius didn't hesitate.
He moved, faster this time. Speed over power. Precision over brute force.
A feint left, a flick of the wrist, a sudden shift—his sword nicked the warrior's thigh, the faintest of cuts.
The Bellum warrior grinned. "Pathetic."
Then he stepped forward.
His leg buckled.
A frown replaced the grin, confusion flickering in his wild eyes. He looked down at his wound, barely more than a scratch—until he saw the blackened veins creeping outward from the cut.
Realization dawned too late.
Gaius had coated his blade in the battlefield's filth—blood, oil, decay. A death sentence for a warrior who relied too much on Qi reinforcement and not enough on his own endurance.
The Bellum warrior snarled, lunging despite the poison creeping through his system.
Gaius was faster.
He ducked low, blade flashing upward—this time, he did not aim for flesh.
The steel met the warrior's exposed throat.
A wet gurgle. A spray of crimson. A body hitting the dirt.
Gaius didn't stop to watch him die.
He turned, scanning the battlefield with sharp, calculating eyes. The counterattack had stalled. They had pushed into the Bellum front lines, but now the enemy was digging in, rallying, pushing back with renewed ferocity.
The Imperium forces were being pushed back, one trench at a time.
Gaius' grip on his sword tightened. They were losing.
Aulus was still alive—he could see him a few meters ahead, locked in combat with a towering beastman, his war-spear flashing in practiced arcs. Cassius Redfang, the half-beast mercenary, fought like a demon nearby, his claws tearing through the enemy like they were paper.
But it wasn't enough.
The Bellum warriors did not break.
They fought with the fury of men who had no fear of death, each death only fueling the bloodlust of their brethren. The ground itself trembled as the war cries of their shamans rose into the night, blood-rituals amplifying their warriors' strength, filling the air with the scent of burnt offerings.
Gaius knew what came next.
He had studied Bellum tactics at the Academy.
This was the "Storm of the Slain"—their second wave.
A thunderous war horn bellowed across the battlefield, deep and resonant. A signal. A command.
The ground shook beneath their feet.
From beyond the trenches, new warriors emerged.
Not foot soldiers. Not expendable war thralls.
These were the Warchiefs.
Towering figures, each draped in the skulls of fallen Imperium commanders, their bodies marked with runes of the old gods, weapons drenched in the blood of a hundred battles.
And leading them—
A Blood Titan.
A monster of a man, standing nearly three meters tall, his entire body wreathed in crimson Qi. His bare chest was scarred, ancient markings carved into his flesh, his eyes glowing with unholy light.
He raised his colossal greataxe, and when he swung—
The world split apart.
The impact shattered the trench walls, sending soldiers flying like ragdolls, the shockwave ripping through stone and steel alike.
Gaius barely managed to throw himself aside before the force hit, rolling across the dirt, feeling the heat of shattered metal scorching his back. He came up in a crouch, eyes locking onto the Blood Titan as he took his first slow, thunderous step forward.
No Qi reinforcement. No technique.
Just raw, overwhelming power.
The Imperium line broke.
Men screamed, dying in droves. Swords snapped like twigs. Shields shattered. Gunfire barely slowed them down.
Gaius saw Aulus go down beneath a collapsing trench wall.
He saw Cassius dragged into a brutal melee, claw to blade.
He saw the frontline collapse, inch by inch.
And for the first time in years, he felt something close to despair.
They had miscalculated. They had underestimated the true strength of the Bellum Empire.
They were going to die here.
The Blood Titan turned toward him.
His massive greataxe, drenched in blood, rose into the air once more.
Gaius knew he couldn't block it. He couldn't parry. He couldn't dodge.
This was death.
And then—
The sky split apart.
A whistle. A shriek. A cascade of light and fire.
Something descended from above, a golden meteor crashing into the battlefield.
For a moment, everything froze.
Then the explosion ripped through the Bellum frontlines, a shockwave of golden Qi obliterating warriors in a blinding arc. The sheer force of it sent bodies flying, tearing through even the Blood Titan's reinforced flesh.
From the flames, they emerged.
Not common soldiers. Not war-weary veterans.
These were the Scions of the Noble Houses.
Elite cultivators, draped in black-and-gold armor, their Qi shining like celestial fire.
At their head—
A woman stepped forward, her sword wreathed in radiant energy, her eyes burning with contempt as she surveyed the battlefield.
She was flawless, her every movement graceful yet brimming with lethal intent. The insignia of House Aurelius gleamed upon her chestplate.
She raised a single hand, and the battlefield shifted.
The ground rippled with Qi, golden threads weaving into existence beneath the feet of every Imperium soldier. Strength flooded their bodies, wounds sealing, fatigue vanishing as if it had never existed.
And with her presence came a single truth.
The Imperial Nobility had arrived.
The tide of battle was about to change.