The masked man finally stopped, and with the hand, he had held the beast-man's wrist a moment ago, he slightly adjusted his mask.

"There!" shouted the voice of a woman through the forest, in the direction where the battle was taking place, "I can see the king's glow!"

The leaves rustled, and the bushes were stomped upon as a group of five appeared from behind the trees. They were a little taken aback on seeing the scene in front of them, consisting of Menace standing over the king of his own team.

"He's already on the ground," commented an armour-less man, sliding out his shiny sword from his sheath, "We'll win as long as we take care of him."

Gripping his sword with both hands, he walked towards the wolf on the ground, who was too shocked to move even a single muscle in his huge, furry body covered in heavy armour.

With a swift movement, the man slid his right leg forward and raised his sword in the air before bringing it down upon the beast-man.

Clang.

His potent swing was effortlessly stopped midair, but nobody in his vicinity had changed their positions. Even Menace was still a few feet away from them.

He concentrated on the object blocking his blade… Only after a few moments did he realise that it was an ethereal dagger, almost translucent, hovering in the air above the beast-man.

With slow and powerful steps, the black-masked man walked towards Lobo. With each step he took, a newfound fear was born in the hearts of the people who had dared to challenge him.

Bending down, he picked up the wolf's giant sword, which lay beside him. The weapon was too rough to be called a sword. A hunk of giant, heavy metal with sharp edges would be a better way to address it.

It was a good weapon. One which could only be used by an extremely strong person who had mastered command over his own muscles. If even a novice were to fight with such a heavy weapon, accidentally delivering lethal blows would be mere child's play.

He ran his fingers on the huge iron blade of the weapon before planting it on the ground between him and the wolf, who was now on his knees.

"Fight," he ordered, turning back and making his way to a stray boulder on the ground before gracefully sitting down on it and quietly observing the scene before him.

A strong, middle-aged woman with paintings all over her dusky face sprinted towards the king, kneeling on the dirt. She had short blonde hair and dark brown eyes.

She wore a green-coloured light armour and a lime green cape with the insignia of a bull on it. Short, metal axes wrapped in brown clothing were firmly held in either of her hands.

Reaching within arm's length of the beast man on the ground, she swung both her hands backwards before launching them at its neck, making a semicircular trajectory.

In the dry forest, the air was stale and humid. Through the thick canopy of trees and branches, the moonlight was barely able to slither through, let alone the cool and fresh breeze.

All throughout the forest, it smelled of lush green leaves and dry, flaky mud, which could somehow enter one's nose, no matter the precautionary measures one could take.

The beast blinked, forcing itself back into the present world. Its ultra-heightened senses allowed itself to feel the blades, flying just a few inches from either side of his armour-less neck.

He knew that he was weak. But against creatures weaker than himself, he showed no mercy. Many may have called it oppressing the weak, but that's how he had climbed up the Tower until now.

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With an almost imperceptible agility, he pinched the blade on his right with his left hand and the axe head on his left with his right hand. His white claws had turned into a dark shade of grey, similar to iron's.

Three of his fingers, with which he pinched the axe heads, were enough to freeze them in place.

A look of disbelief and fear flashed through the eyes of the woman behind him, who held the handles of the metal axes, "Impossible."

Tightly gripping the axe heads, he snatched them from her hands, flinging them away into the woods. Without turning back, he launched his hand behind him before finally holding onto a cylindrical hunk of flesh… the leg of the woman who was too shocked to move.

He flung the woman over his head with a single hand and instantly pulled her down, sending her crashing into the ground.

"Ojika," called out the armour-less man, extending his hand towards his fallen comrade, who was now bleeding on the ground.

His eyes shook with terror as he observed the beast-man get up on its feet before taking out its sword, which had been implanted in the ground in front of it.

Slash.

Slice.

Punch.

Kick.

Using not-so-graceful, rough, but effective techniques, he swiftly took care of the four people who were still up on their feet.

Although it was easier to kill them, he had refrained from doing so, for he did not yet know why the man sitting on the rock had told him to fight when the man himself could have slain them in the blink of an eye.

Clanggg…

His huge sword crashed into the ground as he dropped it in front of the masked man silently staring at him. Soon, he too, dropped on his knees, out of breath after the fight.

The beast-men followed the same rules and thought processes that animals did. In the jungle, if an animal found a being much more potent than itself, then running away would be an instinctive choice.

But in reality, even the animal who ran away knew it was all for nought. It knew that no matter the distances it travelled away from the stronger being, it would always look behind, checking if the stronger being had caught up with it.

That's why surrendering to the stronger being granted it a much easier life. Dying on its own accord was a much better choice as compared to spending days living in fear of death.

Looking down at the muddy ground, the wolf quietly awaited the judgement that Nox would pass. He hoped to live, but he was ready to perish.

"It's already time," Nox mumbled, looking at the trees in the direction where the war had been raging.

Getting up, he stretched his arms and legs before an unintentional yawn escaped him.

"You have shown that you can take care of yourself," he said, looking down at the wolf, "But it'll be over if you're caught."

Pointing at a tree behind him, in the direction away from the battle, "There's a cave a few hundred metres that way. You may find a few monsters in your journey, but I think you'll be able to get past them easily… Wait in that cave until the challenge finishes."

Masterfully and stealthily, he had been spreading his arcane throughout the forest, forming somewhat of a rough map inside his head. Doing this as soon as he entered a new floor had become somewhat of a habit of his.

The beast-man got up and looked at him, respectfully bowing down his head before picking up his sword and sprinting in the direction where the masked man had told him to go with all four of his limbs.

"One of the Goblins, follow him," Menace whispered, reading the wolf's arcane signature, which moved away from him at a phenomenal pace.

The shadow of one of the elite goblins, holding a sword, emerged from his shadow before disappearing into the forest in the same direction the beast-man had run away.

Glancing one last time in the wolf's direction, he turned back, heading for the open fields. His time to play a part in the battle had arrived.

.

.

.

The barren, open field had turned into a graveyard. Lifeless corpses spread across it, some with their limbs still attached and others who weren't as fortunate. The foul smell of blood and death reeked throughout the fields.

Out of the hundred men, less than fifty men and women were alive on either side. Even so, Menace's group were the ones being slaughtered.

After all, their enemies had a leader who masterfully coordinated their attacks. Even though none of them knew him personally, the powerful aura he emitted was enough to make them trust in his decisions.

The blue-haired Asian man, who had been leading the charge, stood over the lifeless corpse of a dwarf, who emitted a slight orange glow, which faded with time. The man shot his hand at the corpse's waist pouch before snatching it away and removing the orange crystal hidden in it.

Out of the twenty stones, he had already been able to get his hands on nineteen. Convincing his own team to give him the crystals for 'safekeeping' was easy, and ordering them to kill his enemies was even easier.

He flicked his wrist, which held the sword, cleaning the crimson liquid stuck on the shiny, silver blade, reducing its shine.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped the orange crystal into the pouch on his waist before looking around the battlefield.

After a few moments, his wandering eyes came to a halt as he stared at the only glowing person on the battlefield, who was still standing.