3. Daha 1324 of the solar calendar, the border highlands of Axia and Rout

The midday sun illuminated a grassy hill bathed in red. Screams echoed from the hill and fresh blood drenched the ridge. With every grain of sand in the hourglass, life left here.

The bodies of the deceased piled up before being trampled by their comrades or enemies. Reflections of lights from metals blinded the warriors, red currents tripped their legs and the dying cried out for help. They thus hastened the death of their comrades.

This spectacle stretched across the entire summit to the highest point. There, two men clashed. Swords whistled in the wind and the sounds of the clash echoed around. No one dared to approach them.

Auburn hair, brown eyes, taller build, muscular but not too bulky, tattered green cloak on which a black eagle's head gleams in a yellow field. Battle-damaged armor and a longsword on which the veins of vitality, like nature, running through them, sometimes glisten emerald. Even so, there is no injury on the man.

His opponent is an equally young, eighteen-year-old green-eyed man. Waist-length black hair and an ankle-length burgundy cloak flutter flawlessly in the wind. Light black armor underneath. He has an angelic face broken by a short red line above his chin. Belt with silver buckle. Rather thin to slightly emaciated, sinewy body. In his hand he holds a thirty-three-inch single-bladed sword with a twenty-six-inch blade. Veins also run through his armor, cloak, and armor, but they glow gray, desolate, like death itself.

Another clash is heard. They exchange moves a few times before pulling away from each other. It stands still. They are silent and look into each other's eyes. Browns are filled with hatred, anger, sadness and determination. Green eyes show regret, indifference, understanding, but also infinite determination.

Brown-Eyes yells and charges. He takes three steps to reach the opponent and executes an oblique strike. He blocks it with the tip of the blade, deflects it, spins it with his sword and returns the attack. The other retreats, spins around and blocks the attack before deflecting it and moving into the attack again. The clash of swords fades into the tumult of the battlefield as they once again plunge into a deadly dance of sweat, blood, steel and mystical power. Gray light collides with green and they limit each other.

Two eagle knights watch each other's backs until an arrow is lodged in the neck of one of them. The other is soon speared in the kidney from behind and dies with his eyes wide.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, a massive man with a beautiful spear is being besieged, on which veins occasionally flash a reddish color. He lunges at the nearest enemy. He is too slow and before he can block it with his sword the spear pierces his crest with a white sword in a red field and the veins concentrating on the point melt the ring armor down to his stomach.

Blood does not flow from the wound. It is all black and smells like burnt meat. He pulls out his spear just in time to block the incoming attack. Unfortunately for him, it is not the only one. As an elite warrior practicing magical powers, he is able to block three enemy attacks. Finally, the ax sinks into his calf and lodges in his bone. The man collapses in pain until three swords sink into his chest and a mace shatters his head.

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This is how seconds, minutes, hours pass before the sun began to bend towards the horizon. The sky turned red and the last slivers of light illuminated the thousands of dead. There was almost no one left and those who survived dragged themselves up the hill trying to find the remnants of strength in themselves and return to the camp.

Even the battle at the top was coming to an end. The two men, drenched in sweat and blood, were slowly ending their fight to the death. With their last breaths, swords clashed and tried to deliver the final blow. They stopped, their swords wedged together. The brown-eyed man's armor no longer glowed. It barely held on. The torn remaining half of the cloak fluttered in the wind and blood trickled through the gaps in the armor.

Green-eyed wasn't much better off. He too already had his cloak torn in several places. A long, straight scar stretched across his chest plate, giving the feeling that it might disintegrate at any time.

The winner is determined by an arrow that sticks above the ankle. A sad smile blooms on the black haired youth's lips. His opponent's leg breaks and he loses his balance. His sword is pushed away and the gray glinting blade drives into his body. The lung is punctured through. The heart beats with its last strength. A trickle of blood drips from the corner of his mouth.

He leans on his sword stuck in the ground. On his knees with his chest pierced. His killer ten feet away, too far out of his reach. He coughs and the pool of blood gets even bigger. He lifts his head one last time and speaks, "So it ends here, Our journey together." He laughs before having another coughing fit. His voice is full of deep regret, sadness, betrayal, unfulfilled dreams, but no longer contains anger, only deathly calm as he faces the coming death: "Can I ask you something?"

When the other nods, he continues: "Let me build a grave here. But before I die, tell me why? Why did she have to break up with you, why did you take her from me, we were friends. You know how I… you know how I felt about her, but you still took her with you. That day I swore to kill you, but now look at me. I'm a dying wreck. I hope she can at least be happy with you." His laughter echoes through the battlefield, the opponent is silent. In his eyes there is madness, hatred from his own incompetence and, above all, grief over an unhappy love.

The green-eyed one steps forward, pulling the sword from his opponent's body before charging forward at a normally imperceptible speed. They stare into each other's eyes the whole time before the brown-eyed one closes them.

Stops ten steps behind the opponent.. With his left hand behind his back, his right swings a sword, from which a fresh red liquid lands on the ground. He stands still for a few seconds before the body starts to fall behind him. Green-Eyes speaks for the first time, "By God Arthur Crane." His soft voice fades into the wind. He tucks his sword into his belt and slowly leaves the battlefield.

At dawn, on the top of one of the border hills between Axia and Ruto, there is a stuck sword and a dead body next to it. Full of ink wounds. But one still hasn't dried, the one on the neck. There is a long clean cut, the one that ended his life.

The young girl watches him, her eyes glistening with sadness, "So he finally did it, he killed you too." She sighs, "If you could just give her up, your life could be beautiful, but you'll only hurt us all with your death." Some more the body observes for a while before being interrupted by the commander of her guard: "My lady, we should get back or your father might start to worry about you."

"Yes, we will go. Pharth, have the body buried here and a tombstone carved over it.'

"Certainly my lady." A man dressed in a beautiful cloak with an insignia matching the coat of arms of the deceased answered. The girl gives him one last look before turning and leaving with her entourage.