The warlord

The elves' guards immediately drew their weapons and assumed a battle-ready stance.

The wizards activated protective shields to weaken the effect of the aura as much as possible.

One of the commanders shouted, "He's gone berserk! Prepare for combat!"

In less than a heartbeat, a long chain shot out of the dust and slammed into the magical barrier with immense force.

Screams of elves echoed from every corner of the arena. Those who had been brimming with pride moments ago now ran frantically toward the nearest exit, terror etched on their faces.

Talion descended from his stand, unsheathing his sword.

"Protect the Lord!"

As he sprinted toward Harold, he commanded, "I'll take care of him! Evacuate this place immediately and call in the special forces—"

Before he could finish his sentence, one of the scythes, suspended mid-air, hurtled toward him. Talion, unable to dodge, attempted to deflect the blow with his sword. The scythe narrowly missed him and embedded itself in the wooden wall of the arena.

Boom!

Talion immediately channeled the magic of his ring—wind magic. A gentle current enveloped him, significantly softening the impact of his fall.

He swung his sword and locked eyes with Harold using his ethereal vision. Harold's resolve, eroded by prolonged use of the scythes of life and death, had left him in this state.

Elves who underwent this trial usually collapsed from excessive energy consumption. Many had expected Harold to succumb as well. But Harold was different—he was a mutant.

mutations were rare among ordinary people. In ancient times, if a mutant emerged within a community, bounty hunters and mercenaries would hunt them down before they could reach their full potential.

People feared mutants, for their powers were strange and beyond comprehension. Magic in Midragon was never a taboo; it had been passed down and developed for thousands of years across generations of wizards. However, mutants transcended all established frameworks of magic, posing a threat that made their survival undesirable.

The creation of artificial mutants was a secret project pursued by the Temple of Light to expand its influence. The project subjected children to brutal experiments designed to awaken their potential, but most participants perished. In the end, the Temple succeeded in producing a few living mutants.

Even so, these mutant knights were either eliminated by the Temple's covert forces or perished on impossible missions. Within the Temple, they were referred to as the "Seven Deadly Sins," each bearing a horrifying trait that was nearly impossible to control.

When the Temple realized this, it sought to erase them forever. Thus, the Temple deliberately sent mutants on fatal missions, euphemistically called divine trials.

Harold, the sole survivor of the Seven Deadly Sins, emerged victorious from every trial and earned the title "Golden Shrine." Yet he never returned to the Temple of Light.

Burdened by his sins, he embarked on endless missions in search of redemption. But the further he went, the more he realized the abyss he was trapped in—one he hadn't chosen for himself.

Days turned into years, and Harold grew older and weaker, yet the promised salvation never came.

When Talion looked into Harold's eyes, he felt as though he were staring into a blazing inferno. For a brief moment, a shiver ran down his spine. But he had no choice but to fight.

Talion infused his sword with wind magic from his ring, creating a swirling aura around it, and charged at Harold. Harold, smirking, hurled his scythes at him. Talion, using wind magic, diverted their trajectory and closed the distance.

[Now!]

The edge of Talion's sword was mere inches from Harold's neck when a crushing blow struck Talion's side.

Boom!

He felt the pain of his ribs breaking. Yet, moments later, leaning on his sword, he pushed himself off the ground.

[Damn it…!]

Talion, almost incapacitated by a single strike, knew his only option was to buy time. Despite his injuries, he fought on.

A fierce and brutal battle unfolded between the two. Harold wielded his scythes with devastating force, covering a wide radius with deadly strikes. Meanwhile, Talion relied on his wind magic to deflect blows or evade harm. Neither had the upper hand. Talion's wounds prevented him from fully utilizing his abilities, and Harold, in his berserk state, could neither distinguish friend from foe nor attack with precision.

The fight was nothing but chaos and disorder.

After minutes of evasion and counterattacks, Talion finally gave in. Exhausted and helpless, he collapsed to the ground. His side was bruised, and he endured indescribable pain. Opposite him, Harold, restrained by an unknown force, was unable to fully unleash his berserk power.

[This is it… I'm done…]

Talion let out a sigh, a defeated yet dignified pride settling over him as he sat motionless on the ground, awaiting his end.

Harold, dragging the chains of his scythes across the ground, slowly approached him.

[It's over…]

But just as Harold prepared to deliver the final blow, something unexpected happened. The mysterious force restraining him suddenly consumed him uncontrollably. A horrifying scream escaped his throat as a violet aura burst from his chest, starkly contrasting the wild aura of his berserk state.

"He's… he's being suppressed!"

Harold, dropping the chains in agony, clutched his temples and fell to his knees. Blood poured from his eyes as his screams grew hoarse. He struggled to resist the invading force, but the mysterious energy was so powerful that his weakened will offered no resistance.

Harold's body became a battleground for two opposing forces vying for dominance.

Panting heavily, Harold rose from the ground. His vision blurred, and the world spun around him. But before he could regain his senses, a searing pain erupted in his abdomen—deeper and sharper than any wound he had ever endured.

Standing directly in front of him was Talion, his sword plunged into Harold's stomach.

Harold, too weakened to react, looked down at the blade that had pierced him. Blood gushed forth as Talion, using wind magic, propelled himself out of Harold's reach.

"Fire!"

The elven archers drew their bows and released a wave of arrows that rained down on Harold.

Amid the chaos, Harold smiled. "So this… is my redemption?"

A cool breeze embraced him, gently caressing his cheek and placing a tender kiss upon his forehead.

The effects of his madness began to fade. Talion, frozen in place, saw the faint smile on Harold's face.

The arrows pierced Harold's body, and blood poured from his wounds. The knight, with his final breath, closed his eyes. By the time the elves reached him, Harold was no longer breathing.