The battlefield was silent, save for the distant cries of the dying. Toji stood alone, his breath steady, his grip firm on the bloodied weapon he had taken from the last man who dared challenge him. The ground beneath him was littered with corpses, the air thick with the scent of steel and death.
Then, a tremor.
Toji turned his gaze eastward as the rhythmic pounding of hooves and the clanking of armor signaled an approaching force. Through the dust and dying light, a battalion of soldiers emerged, their banners rippling in the evening breeze. At the forefront rode two figures—one clad in gleaming silver, the other a hardened warrior with the stance of a man who had seen countless battles.
The silver-clad man dismounted, his golden eyes locking onto Toji with an unsettling intensity. He was tall, imposing, with an aura of quiet authority that made even the soldiers behind him seem lesser by comparison.
"You stand alone, unwounded, on a battlefield of the dead." His voice was smooth, yet it carried an undeniable weight. "Who are you?"
Toji didn't answer immediately. He studied the man, noting the insignia etched onto his chestplate. He had seen similar symbols before—on the armor of those he had slain.
"I should ask you the same," Toji finally replied, his voice calm, unshaken.
The man's lips curled into a smirk. "I am Serene. One of the gods of this land."
Toji's fingers twitched slightly at the word. God?
Before he could respond, the other figure—grizzled, battle-hardened—stepped forward. His armor bore the marks of countless campaigns, his sword resting at his hip with an ease that suggested it was an extension of his own body.
"And I am Commander Felaad," he introduced himself, his voice rough, but disciplined. "We were sent as reinforcements for this battle. Yet, we find you here alone, standing atop the fallen. Who do you serve?"
Toji exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "I serve no one but my own strength."
A moment of silence. Then Serene chuckled, amusement flickering in his gaze. "An interesting answer."
Felaad turned to his troops. "We make camp in the woods. Secure the perimeter. We'll speak further when we are not standing on corpses."
The soldiers obeyed without question, moving in disciplined formations toward the treeline. Toji lingered for a moment, watching them vanish into the forest. Then, with measured steps, he followed.
There were questions that needed answers.
The crackling campfire sent flickering shadows dancing across the dense trees. The night had settled in, thick and heavy, as the soldiers murmured amongst themselves, checking weapons and setting up defenses.
Toji sat across from Serene, arms crossed, expression hard. The so-called god sat with a relaxed ease, one hand resting against the pommel of his blade, his golden eyes gleaming in the firelight.
"Now," Toji began, voice low but firm, "explain."
Serene raised a brow. "Explain what?"
"You called yourself a god."
Serene chuckled, stretching his legs out as he leaned back against a fallen log. "You must not be from around here."
Toji didn't answer. He only stared.
Serene sighed, running a gloved hand through his silver hair. "In this world, gods are not divine beings. They are warriors, mages—forces of nature. The ten strongest individuals, ranked above all others. A title that means absolute dominance over the battlefield."
He tilted his head slightly, watching Toji's reaction. "I am ranked seventh. Gon Serene, the Mage."
Toji's gaze narrowed. "So you're saying you're just a strong man with a fancy title?"
From the side, Felaad let out a low chuckle as he sharpened his blade. "It's more than that, boy. The gods are not just warriors. They dictate battles. Command armies. Their very presence bends the course of history."
Serene nodded. "Every kingdom has its own ten. Some wield blades, others command the elements. The soldiers you fought earlier… they had their own gods. But their number one would struggle against our weakest."
Toji scoffed, shaking his head. "Ranking people like trophies. Sounds like a flawed system."
Serene's smirk returned. "Says the man who just wiped out an entire unit alone."
Toji said nothing. Instead, he processed.
A world where strength dictated godhood. Where warriors and mages were elevated above kings.
Interesting.
As the fire crackled between them, he realized one thing.
If this was how this world worked, then he, too, would have to carve his place within it.
And he would not settle for seventh.
The night was still. A heavy silence hung over the camp, disturbed only by the whisper of the wind through the trees. The last embers of the campfire pulsed weakly, casting flickering shadows against the canvas of tents.
Toji lay on his bedroll, eyes closed, his breathing slow and measured. But he was not asleep.
Something was wrong.
The energy around him—normally steady, like the gentle flow of a river—rippled unnaturally. A disturbance. Faint, precise, like the footstep of a ghost.
His heartbeat slowed. He listened.
Then—there. A flicker in the flow. A shift so minuscule that an untrained warrior would have missed it.
A foreign presence. Calculated. Silent.
Lethal.
Toji's body reacted before thought. In one fluid motion, he rolled off his bedroll, just as a nearly invisible glint cut through the air—a poisoned needle. It struck the ground where his neck had been, embedding itself in the dirt with deadly precision.
His eyes snapped open as he sprang to his feet, energy pulsing through his veins. A second attack? No. The air remained still.
But something—or someone—was here.
Toji shifted his stance, his fingers brushing the energy currents around him, feeling the unnatural disruption. His gaze narrowed, locking onto the slightest shift in the darkness.
A presence. Hidden. Waiting.
Found you.
Without hesitation, he struck. His attack cut through the air, precise and unrelenting. Sparks flickered as his blade—or was it his fist?—met something solid. A form, cloaked in the night itself, staggered back. The shadows rippled around them as their cover wavered, revealing the faintest silhouette before vanishing once more.
A sharp intake of breath. A misstep. The assassin had been caught off guard.
Inside one of the tents, Gon Serene's eyes snapped open. He had felt it—the clash of energies, the subtle yet violent disruption in the air.
For a moment, he smirked. So, he noticed.
In one swift motion, Serene reached for the alarm bell beside him and rang it. The piercing clang shattered the night's silence, sending the camp into chaos.
Tents rustled. Soldiers leaped to their feet, weapons drawn. The sound of steel unsheathing filled the air.
Commander Felaad stormed out of his tent, sword in hand, his eyes scanning the darkened treeline. "Attack! Defend the perimeter!"
Toji remained still, his gaze never wavering from the hidden presence. He could feel them watching. Calculating.
The assassin hadn't fled.
No.
They were still here.
Waiting for another chance to strike.
The camp was awake now, blades drawn, defenses raised. But Toji knew one thing for certain.
This attempt on his life had only just begun.