There was no room to breathe in that square.
Men piled over one another, killing without pause.
Yet even in the midst of such chaos, a new crisis erupted.
No one saw how it began—only part of the humble, three-story buildings collapsing under the weight of a massive explosion.
From one of the alleyways, a black cloud swept forth, scattering soot into the air and lighting the twilight night ablaze.
War cries turned into desperate screams from both sides.
Everyone froze, stunned by the destruction. The fighting stopped for a single breath.
Louis, caught in that chaos of armed men, had only one thought when he saw it.
"RUN!" Louis shouted, barking orders to his troops.
His men stared at him in disbelief.
"I said…!" Louis inhaled sharply, unleashing a thunderous roar, "RUN!"
He pointed down one of the alleyways, leading his soldiers toward the city docks—another district of Lower Galandria.
But this wasn't just a retreat.
"Save as many men as you can! Run and prepare the escape. The rest, follow me," Louis commanded with firm resolve.
His plan was to rescue as many of his men trapped between the explosion and the ongoing battle before the situation devolved into a full-on purge.
Worse still, most of the damaged buildings seemed to be on the verge of collapse.
In the midst of his plan, one of the masked men blocked Louis's path.
"Stop! We have to finish off the soldiers!" the man barked, grabbing Louis by the shoulder.
Louis shrugged him off.
"Not my problem," Louis snapped. "My men's safety comes first… We've already lost half our forces in that blast."
Louis raised both arms, signaling his troops to run toward the docks and take cover.
The masked men didn't follow him.
"What do we do now?" muttered one of them as he tried to stop a group of soldiers returning to the fight.
The man with the owl mask—the one who'd stopped Louis—knew they were out of time.
"Kill the general!" he yelled.
The battle in the Lower Galandria square had already been decided. The castle soldiers, once cornered and outmatched, had regained their footing.
After the explosion, Louis's men were scattered in the chaos.
Some were trapped on the far side of the blast. The rest were fleeing to the docks, led by their commander.
What had once been a silver-armored circle of desperate men now returned to form a fearsome army, gunning down the poor devils who lagged behind.
The only ones still holding out were the Rebels—the owl-masked men who summoned energy blades to kill as many soldiers as they could.
But soon, they were simply outnumbered.
The castle's troops surrounded the last remaining Rebels and executed them ruthlessly before they could fight back.
It was over.
In just a couple of hours, the massacre had ended.
The last of the Rebels tried a final, suicidal strike.
He lunged into the crowd of armed soldiers and, using his powers, leapt high—his goal: to kill Zork.
With one of his energy blades, the masked man swung for the orc's neck.
Or so he thought.
The last thing that man would ever see was the arrival of the real Zork—and another of his clones.
"At last, it's over," both Zorks sighed.
"Every time I make this many copies, I can barely think straight. Now that there are fewer of us, I can finally organize my thoughts again."
"General," a breathless soldier rushed to him, "you have to treat your wounds! You're going to bleed out—"
Zork waved him off.
He could barely walk. He looked like a porcupine, riddled with arrows, his body sliced open in several places from Rebel blades.
His clone helped him walk, and together they headed toward the source of the explosion.
Just then, the already-damaged building finally gave way. A cloud of dust rose into the air with the crashing debris.
No soldiers were crushed, but all of them coughed violently.
"I can't believe we won… well done, General," one of them said innocently, wiping dust from his eyes.
"That wasn't my doing, soldier," Zork replied coldly.
While the Crown's troops began to cheer, Zork remained still and somber.
Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
He pulled back his black hood, illuminated only by the fire from the fallen building's ruins.
There he was: Erick.
The castle soldiers drew their swords again.
"Another lowborn from this dump?" scoffed the two Zorks, each raising his axe.
Erick was covered in ash and soot. His hair was a mess, and his beard had grown wild and unkempt.
His noble days seemed so far behind, he was unrecognizable to most.
But despite this, even if no soldier there recognized him, Mako—watching from afar—knew at once who he was.
Only Erick could cause an explosion like that.
"Lowborn?" Erick muttered as he walked forward.
With each step, he removed the hooded cloak, revealing his once-luxurious noble suit.
Now pale, torn, and full of holes.
"That outfit," some soldiers whispered, still wary, "it's noble attire."
"I am Erick Sol, noble of the most powerful House in all of Galandria!" he shouted with rage and indignation.
Zork, upon hearing the name, understood everything.
"So, Erick Sol," both Zorks said at once. "Now I see why that little brat came here. It wasn't for Rebecca…"
He meant Mako.
But Erick didn't seem to care.
He kept walking toward Zork.
The soldiers shouted for him to back off.
Some raised their swords—he stopped once their tips were close enough.
"I assume you're the general?" he asked, glancing at one Zork, then the other. "Or… generals."
"That's right," they both answered.
"Why did you bring such a small army?" Erick asked coldly.
"Small? This is the elite of Galandria's castle forces. We came to shut down the festival," the Zorks replied.
Erick looked around at the soldiers.
He couldn't see their faces—only the firelight and moonlight illuminated them.
Their helmets obscured their expressions.
But he could see the exhaustion.
The battle had been brutal.
"I didn't expect such cowardice," Erick said, turning his gaze to Zork. "I thought you came to cleanse this kingdom's filth."
Zork, who was about to walk away, froze mid-step.
He understood exactly what Erick meant.
"I order you, General, to pursue the fleeing men. The only thing in that direction is the docks. If you hurry, you can finish them off," Erick commanded, devoid of pity for the people of Lower Galandria.
Zork sneered.
"I don't take orders from a second-rate noble," he muttered, glancing sideways.
He turned to prepare his troops for departure.
Erick clearly didn't take that well.
The battle was over, but now the true climax between nobility and the criminal leaders of Lower Galandria was about to unfold.
Under normal circumstances, Erick would have attacked Zork right then and there.
He had the power to wipe them all out.
But he had another plan.
"General Zork," Erick said, swallowing his pride and bloodlust for a moment, "I know who leaked your plans to stop the festival."