Rogg stood at the edge of a small cliff, his eyes locked on the chaos unraveling below. Screams, the clash of weapons, and the snarling of wild beasts filled the air like a storm of fury. From above, he watched as the Migase tribe fought tooth and nail to defend their village from the brutal onslaught of the Balevad forces.
His body was tense—not with fear, but with a rage that surged through his chest like fire. He gripped his spear tightly, then turned to Yara, who stood a few paces behind.
"Yara, listen to me carefully," Rogg said, his voice calm but sharp. "Stay here. No matter what happens, don't come down. Watch them. Study how they fight. Find their weakness. They're using beasts—don't do anything reckless."
Yara held her breath. "Rogg, this is too dangerous. You don't have to—"
"I do," Rogg interrupted, his eyes piercing into hers. "I can't just stand here and watch them get slaughtered."
Yara bit her lip, lowering her head. Then, in a quiet but steady voice, she said, "If you're going... come back alive."
Rogg nodded. "I will." He gave a faint smile, then turned and descended the slope.
The Balevad warriors were not just soldiers—they were hunters and conquerors. They didn't just wield swords and spears—they brought beasts into battle: wolves, tigers, even a chained bear. They turned these creatures into living weapons, tearing through their enemies like wild storms.
But everything shifted when a lone figure burst in from the flank.
Rogg emerged from behind a large boulder, bow raised, firing arrows in rapid succession. Within seconds, three Balevad warriors fell. A tiger let out a fierce howl as an arrow pierced its thigh and fled into the woods. Two wolves followed, limping and whimpering.
Panic spread.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK FROM THE SIDE!" one of the Balevad fighters shouted.
Rogg dashed into the heart of the battlefield, spear flashing like lightning. Every move was swift, deliberate—deadly. Warriors tried to swarm him, but he spun, stabbed, ducked, and struck with precision.
From afar, the Migase warriors began to take notice. A young man pointed. "LOOK! WHO IS THAT?!"
"He's on our side!" another yelled. "Let's fight with him!"
Rogg's fearless charge ignited the dying spirit of the Migase fighters. What had once been a desperate defense turned into a renewed counterattack. Steel clashed with steel once more, but this time—there was hope.
In the midst of the chaos, the Balevad soldiers began to understand—Rogg was no ordinary enemy. They regrouped, focusing their assault on him. Ten fighters encircled him from all directions. Rogg bled—long gashes opened across his arm and side.
Suddenly, a deep voice echoed from the Balevad ranks.
"KOMBAT BALAIDOS!!"
Rogg turned. A massive man stepped forward. His body was etched with dark tattoos, eyes burning like embers. He carried a giant sword and a broad iron shield. The battlefield froze.
"That's their leader…" a Migase fighter whispered, his voice trembling.
Rogg took a deep breath and drove his spear into the ground. He looked straight at the man and said, "If that's what you want... let's finish this."
A wide circle formed around them. The fighting ceased. Every eye turned to the two men now standing at the center of a natural arena, surrounded by rubble and blood.
The Balevad leader raised his sword. "I AM BARONAK, LEADER OF THE BALEVAD!" he roared in his native tongue.
Rogg said nothing. He picked up his spear again and braced himself.
The first strike came fast—Baronak swung his massive blade down in a devastating arc. Rogg rolled to the side, avoiding it just in time. Dust flew.
Strike after strike, Baronak attacked. Rogg dodged and weaved, waiting for an opening.
Then, for a moment, the great blade caught in the dirt. Rogg hurled his spear. It shot like lightning, pierced the iron shield, and drove straight into Baronak's stomach, forcing the giant backward.
Silence.
"AAARRGH!!" Baronak howled, clutching his gut. But before he could regain his footing, Rogg charged forward.
With a blade in hand, Rogg slashed. The knife cut deep across Baronak's neck—clean and swift.
The giant staggered, then collapsed.
For a moment, the entire battlefield was frozen in stunned silence. The Balevad warriors didn't move. Their eyes locked on the body of their fallen leader, blood pouring from his throat.
Slowly, they began to retreat. Some carried Baronak's body. One soldier wrapped his head in black cloth—a Balevad tradition. The head of a fallen leader must always be taken home as a symbol of honor.
Rogg stood motionless in the center of the field, breath ragged. Blood dripped from his arm, but he didn't flinch. His eyes scanned the war-torn ground.
Then a roar erupted from the Migase side.
"VICTORY! VICTORY!"
The surviving Migase warriors—barely a quarter of their original number—shouted with all they had left. They raised their weapons to the sky. Their faces were smeared with mud and blood—but this time, they wore triumph.
From the distance, Yara wept softly. She didn't say a word, but her tears said everything.
Rogg looked toward her and smiled. Just for a moment. Then his knees gave out. His body trembled.
Before he could fall completely, two Migase youths rushed forward and caught him. One whispered hoarsely, "We owe you our lives," in the Migase tongue.
Rogg gave a faint nod.
For years, the Migase had been the prey of the Balevad's cruelty. Every battle ended in ruin. Their women enslaved, children torn from families, their land stolen without mercy. But today… everything changed.
They had won.
And all eyes turned to the man who made it possible—Rogg. The stranger who came from nowhere, stood alone on the battlefield... and changed everything.
But as the Migase warriors approached with gratitude and awe, Rogg stood in silence, his breath still heavy, his gaze fixed far away—toward the hills.
One of the Migase leaders, an old man in a tattered robe with scars on his face, stepped forward.
"You saved us," he said. "Come with us to the village. We'll tend to your wounds and give you shelter."
Rogg glanced at him, seemingly understanding. "Thank you," he replied briefly. But his gaze was focused elsewhere—he was waiting for someone.
The Migase soldiers exchanged looks. Some nodded in understanding, others looked anxious and confused. Whispers began to spread among them. Someone even murmured that Rogg might become the next threat. The tension grew heavy.
But Rogg paid no attention to any of it. He walked slowly away from the crowd, heading toward the hill—where someone far more important than all the others was waiting.
Yara stood at the top of that hill, her eyes fixed on Rogg's figure in the distance. She clutched the cloth over her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. When she saw that he was still standing, a breath of relief escaped her.
"Rogg!" she cried out and began running down the slope without hesitation.
Rogg blinked in surprise. "Yara? What's wrong?" He started hurrying as well, worried something had happened.
But Yara didn't answer. She kept running, eyes locked on him—and when they were close enough, she threw herself into his arms.
"You're alive…" she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking into Rogg's chest as she clung tightly to him, afraid he might vanish again.
Rogg returned the embrace with one arm, the other still gripping his spear.
"I told you I'd come back, didn't I?" he whispered softly, his voice steady and calming.
Behind his faint smile, Rogg realized something—the battle today wasn't just about Migase or Balevad. It was about loss. About the fear of losing the one person who now meant everything to him. Yara.
After a while, the two of them walked together toward the Migase people still gathered at the edge of the battlefield. When they saw Rogg, the soldiers stepped aside. Their expressions were filled with awe—and respect.
Some of them knelt. Not out of fear, but because they truly believed this man was the answer to their long years of suffering.
Yara held tightly to Rogg's arm as they walked.
"You were amazing… but I hate what you did," she murmured, eyes still glistening. "Don't ever do something like that again without telling me first."
Rogg let out a slow breath, then looked at her and gently patted her shoulder.
"I promise. But you know I had to do it. I couldn't just stand by and watch them die for nothing."
Yara nodded slightly. "I know... But next time, let me watch your back."
Rogg smiled. "Alright. Just don't steal my spear."
Yara chuckled—her first real laugh since dawn. "I could make a spear from twigs if I wanted to," she teased.
Just then, a Migase man approached them.
"Hero... Our elders wish to speak with you. They await you in the main hall."
Rogg seemed to understand and turned to Yara.
"You coming?"
"Of course," Yara answered firmly. "I'm not letting you go in alone."
But before they could walk further, Yara stopped him.
"Wait—sit down. I need to treat your wounds."
Rogg started to protest, but Yara had already pulled him down beside a tall post. She opened her small satchel and began preparing herbal paste. Her hands moved swiftly, mixing the pale green salve.
"Your wounds are shallow, but if I don't clean them, they'll fester," she muttered as she started applying the mixture to his arm.
Rogg winced. "That stings…"
Yara smirked. "That means it's working."
She wrapped the wound with dried skin bandages and moved to clean the gash on his shoulder, her touch careful and deliberate.
Rogg watched her face—focused, attentive.
"You're incredible," he murmured. "More than I ever realized."
Yara raised an eyebrow. "Only realizing that now?"
Rogg smiled. "I'm just now realizing... how much I need you."
Yara turned her face away, hiding a smile.
"Don't get too sweet. I might actually fall in love with you."
Rogg laughed softly. "You haven't already?"
"I'm... still considering it," Yara replied as she gave his wound an extra firm pat.
"Ow!"
"That's your punishment," she said smugly, grinning.