I had hoped to awaken to the caress of the morning breeze against my face, accompanied by the cheerful chatter of comrades and the tantalising aroma of campfires roasting meats. Yet once more, my expectations proved too grand. The blare of trumpets pierced my ears, the sky was still shrouded in darkness, and the camp was a tumult of frantic soldiers.

Hurriedly, I donned my gear and ran out of my tent to discern the cause of the commotion. A horse galloped past me, towering at what seemed like three metres tall, reminiscent of the first steeds I encountered upon my abduction. Abruptly, it halted and turned to face me. Its rider was clad in peculiar attire: a cloth wrapped around his head and sand-coloured, flexible armour. His eyes glowed with a fluorescent orange, as if the sun itself was ensnared beneath his head wrap. He brandished a sword similar to mine, yet his was far more curved.

At this moment, I found myself confronting a warrior who appeared more alien to this world than I did. This standoff was fleeting, as more horses charged through, cutting down soldiers at their feet. Were these people Sylvans? It was irrelevant; they were my adversaries.

"Who are you?" I demanded of the enigmatic figure astride his colossal horse. He remained silent. It was clear that if I wished for him to speak, I would have to carve the words out of his mouth by force. Without further exchange, he spurred his horse towards me, one hand gripping the reins, the other wielding his curved blade.

My greatest disadvantage was my height; the opponent towered over me, I was vulnerable. As the horse thundered past, a sword swung down towards me. However, his lack of reach allowed me the ability to sidestep swiftly. His attack was unsuccessful. He turned back, the rider prepared to charge once more. As the enemy galloped towards me a second time, I did not hesitate. Ducking beneath the sweeping blade, I sliced through the horse's legs, sending him catapulting over the mount's head.

I expected him to be injured, but the rider quickly dragged himself to his feet, not prepared to surrender easily. The fall had torn his clothes, revealing skin marked with strange white tattoos, greatly contrasting against a dark skin pigment. This was no Sylvan, but that was irrelevant. The enemy stood, ready to fight.

We charged at each other with ferocious intent, our faces hidden from one another. The skirmish was brief but brutal, our movements a blur of deadly precision. This time, I fully embraced Almon's teachings, my heart pounding as I effortlessly avoided the savage dance aimed at me. The new sword I wielded, sliced through the inferior armour with a chilling ease. My mind raced as I executed each move with drilled precision. My graceful dance, contrasted with his wild movements, created a mesmerising spectacle even to my own eyes. Yet my steps were superior. I severed the faceless warrior's right arm in one movement. In the next, I cut through half his neck. A once dangerous man now stumbled aimlessly, clutching his head as blood spilled like a waterfall. The golden light in his eyes extinguished.

His comrades must have witnessed the events unfold, for now five more of these faceless warriors charged at me, having dismounted their horses. They attacked me one after another, but this proved to be their downfall as my movements only gained more momentum with each kill. Now I stood alone, the ground strewn with the bodies of Cassis soldiers and these enigmatic assailants. My adrenaline refused to subside, so I scanned the battlefield for more opponents, but they had vanished. The camp was in chaos, hundreds of dead soldiers scattered across the ground, yet none of the riders were present. They had either fled or been slain.

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The thought of Imira flashed through my mind—was she safe? I sprinted towards the medical tent as fast as my legs could carry me. The corpses on the ground were indistinguishable from one another, save for one. The one that lay there like a primrose amidst the mud. She lay there, lifeless, a large x carved into her chest by a sword. no spark in her eyes, not a trace. The last expression on her face was one of despair. My knees buckled beneath me. Wherever I went, death seemed to follow, and now it had claimed another soul dear to me. If there truly was a god watching over me he meant only suffering. I truly was cursed.

I sat beside her lifeless body as the camp grew silent. The sun began to rise, casting a faint light on Imira's face, which only grew paler. Soldiers nearby were already digging mass graves. I chose to dig my own for her; she was too beautiful to be laid to rest with the likes of us. I dug until my hands numb, and once she was buried, I returned to the camp.

At the entrance, I was greeted by none other than Almon.

"Done crying?" he said in a tone devoid of emotion. My fist clenched, itching to strike him, but I restrained myself.

"Thanks for the kind words, as always," I replied, brushing past him.

"I know who killed her," Almon called out, stopping me in my tracks. My heart raced at the possibility of revenge.

"Who?" I demanded.

"Draconians," he said with a slight smirk. Draconians. Ascal had mentioned them in the gauntlet, but why would they attack us?

"If you're wondering why they attacked us, it's because the Empire of Cassis outlawed the religious beliefs of Draconia. They think that if the Sylvans win here, they'll regain their influence over Cassis."

"They'd join a war over that?"

"Of course. Those bloodthirsty maniacs would start a fight over less. They're good warriors, I'll give them that, but they don't use their brains enough. Besides, now that they've declared war on us, we get to fight even more." Almon's eyes gleamed with excitement, the same unsettling smile I had seen when we fought in the woods.

"But why would you want the war to continue?"

"Why not? It's the only time swordmasters like us are permitted to fight."

"Swordmasters?" I had overheard the emperor mention the term, but Almon's casual use of it piqued my curiosity.

"You don't know about swordmasters?"

"No."

Almon explained the concept. There were six swordmasters in the world, each wielding immense power and a unique fighting style they called "dances." Emperor Revalor with his Dance of Steel, Almon with his Dance of Death, Ivan Faeleth the Forest Knight with his Dance of Leaves, Fabian the Holy Knight of Credeni with his Dance of the Sky, Hadrian the North God with his Dance of Mountains, and finally, Nomarch the King of Sand with his Dance of Dragons. None of these swordmasters were stronger than each other but they stood above all.

In the midst of our conversation, soldiers began to gather around. The emperor stood at the centre, delivering a grand speech. This was likely a theatrical display to rally the troops after such a catastrophe, but I was intrigued to hear what he had to say, so I listened.

"Today, we faced an undeniable defeat at the hands of not only the Sylvans but also the Draconians. This setback must not halt our progress. Once the enemy before us is vanquished, we shall return to our mothers, wives, and children. Will you stand with me and return victorious?"

The crowd of soldiers responded with an ear-splitting cry: "YES!"

"Will you be defeated by some stupid fucking tree-huggers?" The words, though crude for a noble, fit the emperor perfectly. His ability to resonate with the crowd was a sight to behold.

"NO!" the soldiers roared back, their eyes filled with renewed determination.

"Then we shall march towards their capital city today and show them what it means to start a war with the Empire of Cassis."

The soldiers erupted into a frenzy. The final days of the war were upon us.

"It looks like we attack today," Almon said over my shoulder. "Let's keep that other hand attached, shall we?" He walked off into the sea of soldiers preparing for battle—some sharpening their swords, others engaged in aggressive sparring practice. It was an impressive sight to behold. By the looks of things, only God, or whatever the fuck those Sylvans believed in, could save them now.

To be continued…