The flames of the bonfires and torches danced under the starry evening sky, illuminating their banners in the vast camp. Half of the soldiers rested inside their tents, while the other half patrolled the area, wearing armor and chain-mail. Some took the opportunity to sharpen and polish their weapons, from swords and crossbows to spears and halberds. Despite the purpose of their establishment, a great tranquility permeated the air.

A false tranquility.

Not far from them, elusive figures traversed the grasslands of a plain, dragging wheeled cannons with stealthy steps, akin to a feline. They halted when they were within good range of their targets. The men clenched their teeth, drops of sweat caused by the heat and anxiety trickled down their faces in a salty cascade.

After a few minutes, they heard the signal they had been waiting for: the galloping hooves of several dozen horses approaching from behind.

The soldiers in the camp, suspecting what was happening upon hearing the movement, went out to investigate its source, only to be met with an unpleasant surprise.

The artillerymen aimed at the camp and fired their weapons. With a deafening roar, flaming cannonballs shot out like a meteor shower. Entire tents were set ablaze violently. Amid agonizing screams and cries, dozens of soldiers fell to the fire or the deadly impact of the projectiles. The parts of the camp that were spared from being hit were engulfed in panic and confusion. The soldiers who had just emerged from their rest were not prepared to face the nightmare before their eyes.

Meanwhile, the riders abruptly halted and formed a formation that encircled the enemy. The artillerymen withdrew and took refuge behind them. Unlike their victims, they wore lightweight wool and cotton garments, with reinforced leather pieces and helmets adorned with feathers and turbans.

Satisfied with the results of the initial offensive, the leader of the attack smiled and stroked his long black beard.

"Faricums! Crush the infidel invaders!" he ordered his men, unsheathing a curved and elongated saber in front of him. "For the glory of Senshan!"

The cavalry launched into a rapid charge towards the camp, brutally striking the defenseless survivors with their lances and swords. Following in their footsteps, groups of friendly swordsmen ventured on foot and engaged in combat with the few enemies who still refused to die. With their superior mobility and maneuverability, they easily overpowered the clumsier and slower armored warriors.

From the edge of a nearby steep hill, a young man attentively observed the confrontation with his sky-blue eyes. He spoke:

"They fell into our trap."

A serene smile appeared on his handsome face with fair skin, a Greek nose, a thin beard, and mischievous eyebrows. His hair was black, straight, and reached his neck, styled on both sides. A light suit of scarlet and articulated plates covered his entire body except for his head. On the left side of his chest was an elaborate relief in the shape of a red rose.

Taking advantage of his apparent distraction, an enemy soldier attacked him from behind with a curved blade, but only managed to cut a few strands of hair. The swordsman easily evaded the attack and unsheathed his dazzling rapier. He touched his opponent's neck with the tip, instantly leaving him senseless.

The lone swordsman found himself facing six other adversaries armed with sabers, who had come to the aid of their fallen comrade.

"It's about time, I was starting to get bored," he retorted with irony, extending his sword toward them with a challenging and confident smile.

The warriors lunged at him simultaneously, attempting to strike him with vertical and horizontal cuts, which he evaded with graceful movements and bends like a dancer. His sword slid along the blade of one of them until it reached his chest, then he swiftly executed a horizontal spin, striking the throats of two others. Within seconds, three out of the six had been brought down before they could react.

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While his battle continued, the enemy forces below the hill had just destroyed the entire camp. The warriors raised their swords and spears to the sky in victorious cheers.

But...

"Eh?!"

Their celebration was abruptly interrupted as they witnessed something that left them breathless.

"What is this?!"

Like dust carried by the wind, the corpses and wreckage they had left behind vanished without a trace, revealing a pristine plain with small mounds of scattered earth. They had fired their cannons and brandished their swords against a mirage.

Before they could further investigate what had happened, a series of powerful explosions erupted beneath their feet. Most of them perished, swallowed by the earth or consumed by the blue flashes. The troops who believed they had achieved victory ended up suffering a overwhelming defeat in the blink of an eye.

With the same ease with which he had defeated the previous opponents, the swordsman from the hill defeated the remaining three adversaries with precise thrusts and strikes of his sword, like flashes of silver in a storm. Such was his skill that neither his face nor his armor had suffered a scratch during their brief encounter.

In the distance, the leader of the attackers stared in horror and bewilderment at the newly created graveyard of his once numerous units.

"Hilil senshan..." he murmured.

Galloping at full speed until he stopped by his side, a rider arrived, one of the few survivors of the massacre.

"Dibi!" he exclaimed, clearly shaken. "It was all an illusion! The infidels have deceived us with sorcery!"

"What?! Sorcery?!" he responded, agitated.

A long arrow pierced the messenger's chest before he could deliver his discouraging news. The terrified leader searched the surroundings for the rest of his personal guard, only to find their bodies lying on the ground.

He felt a slight prick in his left shoulder. As he lowered his gaze, he found a small dart embedded in it. Quickly, he felt his senses dulling until his vision blurred, and he fell backward from his horse, which fled in terror.

It seems there were no unforeseen events. The operation has been a success, the swordsman judged with delight, observing the events from the hill. Then, he turned his attention to the soldiers he had defeated minutes before. Despite being motionless and fallen, not a drop of blood flowed from their bodies.

Perhaps they will provide us with some useful information if we're not lucky with their leader, he analyzed thoughtfully, glancing at his sword, its tip completely blunt. They were so confident that they didn't see the need to bring their true aces up their sleeves. The reason why the Holy Houses of Elvira have come here. They have no idea what awaits them.

The swordsman triumphantly pointed his sword at his unconscious opponents.

"What were you thinking challenging me? Santario Monteros" he exclaimed with playful arrogance. "The greatest swordsman in all of Elvira!"

After saying it, he burst into laughter, making fun of his own pretentious and childish remarks.

"The greatest swordsman in all of Evirna?"

"Ah?!"

Santario abruptly stopped his laughter upon hearing that voice, which made him jump. Its coldness, smooth yet sharp and elegantly virile, sent shivers down his spine.

A silhouette emerged from the corner of a tree trunk a few meters away. It was literally a dark knight, clad in armor as black as the night itself, barely distinguishable thanks to the moonlight and the stars reflecting off its surface. An intimidating helmet with three straight horns concealed his face completely.

A gust of wind blew in his direction, causing his violet cape to flutter. The tall and athletic knight stood in a majestic posture, facing Santario with a long double-edged sword held in his left hand, as dazzling as his counterpart's.

"You bastard!" Santario shouted.

Sharp edges like razors and a pointed tip like a spear appeared on the swordsman's rapier, which he fiercely directed towards his new and mysterious opponent like a dragon's claw.

"Did you say... you were the greatest swordsman in all of Evirna?" the knight repeated his question calmly and politely.

Santario blinked a couple of times, taken aback by his peculiar demeanor, which was far from that of an enemy warrior in a fight to the death.

"Yes, that's right. Santario Monteros, heir of the House of the Royal Rose," he defensively replied, keeping his guard up. "And it's Elvira, not Evirna."

"I see..."

The knight briefly averted his gaze. He closed his eyes and smiled with closed lips behind his helmet.

"In that case..." He returned his gaze to the swordsman and held his sword with both hands, tilting it challengingly towards him. "You will have the honor of facing Shehor. The greatest swordsman in all of New Eynsof."

Both furrowed their brows, gripping their hilts tightly.

"On guard!"