Everyone in the palace had frozen. All eyes turned to Sezar. As Attila reached for the sword at his side, his gaze flicked briefly toward Ebren. In the dim light of the throne room, his eyes burned like fire.
"The sword is drawn, the arrow loosed… We've come too far to return empty-handed."
The words echoed through the silent hall like a battle horn. The palace turned to ice in an instant.
Ebren's face changed in a heartbeat. His lips curled, his eyes narrowed. A smile lit up his face with the delight of a child about to play a dangerous game, and the spark in his eyes showed he had already accepted the call to war.
"Hah… I was waiting for you to say that."
He shifted slightly, turning from Attila to face Belisarius head-on. With a flick of his wrist, he raised his sword high, then took a single step forward and slashed it through the air. A slicing gust surged from the tip of his blade sharp like a flying dagger. The palace walls groaned as the air itself seemed to scream.
Belisarius didn't blink. With the calm of a seasoned warrior, he crossed both arms before him, forming a shield. The crimson power of his stone lit up, forming a shimmering barrier that braced for impact. When the two forces collided, the floor trembled. Carpets whipped up, chandeliers rattled, and dust spiraled into the air.
Ebren tilted his head slightly and looked back at Attila, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.
"This guy... might actually put up a fight."
Attila's eyes darkened as he saw that Belisarius was still standing tall. The battle had begun, there was no stopping it now.
A pure white light flared from Attila's forehead, like a divine seal branded by the gods themselves. For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze in the throne room. Even the marble beneath their feet seemed to lean in, listening to this rising force.
Attila drew his sword. The sound of steel leaving its sheath rang out like the first note of death's anthem. And then, he vanished.
A blink later, he stood before the throne.
He raised his sword high. Sezar still sat motionless upon his throne. He neither flinched nor blinked. His hand rested under his chin, and a smug smile curled his lips—like a true king, even in the face of death.
Attila's blade rose to the heavens. The moment it fell, everything would be decided.
But just as he began his downward strike, a presence brushed his right side silent, sinister, not a shadow but a force. A threat.
His pupils darted to the side, and he saw only one thing: an outstretched hand.
Bare, silent, yet ominous. It moved as if detached from time, a vessel of nothing but death.
Attila reacted purely on instinct. He diverted his attack, twisting his entire body mid-air. The blade slashed sideways instead, carving through the air and embedding deep into a pillar beside the throne. The marble cracked violently.
And then, from where that hand had reached in, its owner stepped fully into view—standing in all his terrible grandeur: Aurelius.
A devilish smirk curved his lips. There was no anger in his eyes, no fear, only the quiet satisfaction of a man watching the first act of a game he had mastered begin exactly as he planned.
"You're fast, Attila... but not fast enough. Death never rushes."
Attila took a step back. His eyes flicked between Aurelius and Sezar. He knew neither of them was afraid, and he whispered quietly to himself.
"In this throne room, it's not just bodies that fight… minds do too."
Though he stood just a few steps from the throne, Attila found himself powerless—his sword was gone. For a moment, his gaze shifted away from Sezar, toward the far end of the hall.
There, his companion danced with the wind itself Ebren, sword in hand, moving like a storm in motion.
Attila frowned. The white light on his forehead began to dim. A faint sigh escaped his lips.
"Physical battle is one thing… but the war of minds, we may already be losing that..."
A touch of sadness crept onto his face. Somewhere between tension and a helpless, bitter amusement. Meanwhile, Ebren's laughter echoed off the high ceilings of the hall.
"Hey Attila! If you're still standing, that means the war ain't lost yet, my friend!"
Belisarius, crimson light blazing on his brow, turned toward Ebren in fury. His every move brimmed with the confidence of a beast forged in countless battles.
He lunged forward, delivering a crushing punch but Ebren, agile as the wind itself, slipped to the side. With a graceful spin, he danced behind Belisarius and swung his sword with full force. A slicing shockwave burst forth from the blade.
It struck Belisarius squarely.
The massive commander's armor clattered as his body was hurled backward slamming into the wall with bone-jarring impact. He hung there, pinned for a moment. His body didn't move. Only his eyes, now tilted skyward, flickered with awareness.
Then he slowly turned his head… and saw it. His own sword. The same blade Ebren had sent flying earlier, now embedded in the marble wall just beside him, still quivering.
Belisarius smirked. He twisted his injured shoulder back into place with a crunch, clenched his jaw, and yanked the sword from the wall in a single powerful motion. Every muscle in his body tensed. The crimson light on his forehead blazed anew.
"…Time to get serious. We've played long enough."
Ebren's smile widened.
He turned his head toward Attila's side and shouted.
"Look out, the real fun is just getting started!"
After watching Ebren's clash for a moment, Attila turned his face back to Sezar. But just then... A dark hand appeared in the air, as if born from shadows. He caught a silhouette at the corner of his eye, and at that moment, Aurelius's cold, mocking voice whispered into his ear.
"Nıç nıç, Attila... Are your eyes wandering elsewhere in the middle of a battle, huh?"
Attila's eyes widened for a moment. His reflexes sprang into action like lightning. He leaned his head to the right, and Aurelius's hand swung into empty air. Attila's response was immediate. He bent his body slightly toward the ground and thundered a right hook like a rock aimed at Aurelius's jaw — but Aurelius skillfully stopped the punch with his left hand. Both of them jumped back several steps. They had now entered an invisible circle drawn on the floor of the hall. Attila, with the white light on his forehead still faintly glowing, squinted and muttered.
"These two fight not only with swords but with words as well..."