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However, his eyes were now focused on the Hero he had just recruited.

Without a doubt, the man\'s presence was commanding. His every movement seemed so authoritative!

"A hero indeed…" Shane muttered to himself as he saw the figure that the Gray Fog had spat out.

The warrior wore no armor, but the air around him seemed to ripple with unseen force. Well, it was probably the effect of the Gray Fog, but his eyes were sharp as he scanned the clearing. It was as if he was assessing friend and foe alike.

His long black hair was tied in a tight ponytail, revealing a face etched with battle scars. His jaw was chiseled, his cheekbones high, and his lips set in a firm line.

His skin bore the sun-kissed hue of a man who had spent years under open skies, and his arms were corded with muscle, a testament to countless fights he had won.

He wore no cloak or robe; instead, his clothing was practical and battle-worn. A tunic of dark leather hugged his torso, its edges frayed from sword strikes.

His trousers were tucked into knee-high boots, the leather scuffed and stained. Twin blades, their hilts adorned with runes, rested across his back, their edges honed to perfection.

Around his neck hung a pendant—a single, crimson gem that glowed with an inner fire. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and Shane knew instinctively that this was no ordinary warrior… He was definitely a warlord!

This was a man who had probably carved his name into the annals of history, whose very presence shifted the balance of power.

The warlord\'s eyes then shifted from the Super Soldier and locked onto Shane, and he inclined his head, acknowledging his new Lord.

His voice, when he spoke, was a low rumble, like distant thunder.

"I am called Shinja, the Stormblade," he said. "I pledge my sword to your cause, my lord…"

Shinja smiled brightly as he finally stepped into the world once again. To be honest, he didn\'t care who would summon him as long as he could get out of the Gray Fog.

He didn\'t mind whoever he would have to swear his loyalty to as long as he could finally wield his weapon once again.

He didn\'t know how long had passed, but he could still vividly remember how he got into this situation.

***

From the distant past, as the sun hung low on the horizon, it cast long shadows across the battlefield.

The air was filled with the scent of blood.

Shinja, warlord of the Ouroboros Clan, stood at the forefront.

His twin blades were ready to claim lives as they were now being held by the strongest warlord of this era. Around him were his warriors, who were also as ferocious as him. They were outnumbered but unyielding in front of the enemies.

The Azalea Clan, their rival, had been a thorn in their side for years—raiders, marauders, and conquerors.

Their warlord, a man known as Kurogane, was a master tactician, and his thousand-strong army had swept through the land like a wildfire. But today, the tide would turn.

Today, the Ouroboros would rise.

Shinja\'s blades were no ordinary weapons. Forged in the heart of a volcano, they bore the venom of a hundred deadly creatures. One nick, one scratch, and the poison would seep into the veins, paralyzing the victim before claiming their life. Shinja had trained for years to wield them, mastering the art of silent death.

Soon, the battle started—the battlefield was filled with screams, clashing steel, and the thud of bodies hitting the earth.

Shinja danced through the chaos, his blades weaving arcs of death. He cut down Azalea warriors left and right, their armor no match for his poisoned steel.

Blood sprayed, and the ground turned crimson.

His warriors fought valiantly. They weren\'t normally used to a field battle since most were hunters and more accustomed to jungle warfare—but their loyalty to the Ouroboros Clan could not be doubted.

Shinja\'s lieutenant, Utara, a woman with eyes like embers, led a charge against the Azalea\'s flank. Her spear was a blur, and her battle cry echoed across the field.

This move was his plan, and because of it, the tide shifted!

The Azalea warriors faltered, their lines breaking.

Shinja spotted Kurogane, the warlord, atop a hill, rallying his troops. His armor gleamed, and his sword was a blade of midnight.

Shinja\'s blood surged. The victory was within reach.

He sprinted toward Kurogane, blades flashing.

"Die!"

The warlord turned, eyes widening as he saw the venomous steel. Their swords met, and sparks flew. Kurogane was skilled, but Shinja was faster and deadlier!

He feinted left, then spun right, slicing through Kurogane\'s armor.

The warlord staggered, blood pouring from the wound. Shinja raised his blades for the final strike. Victory was—

A scream cut through the chaos. Shinja\'s lieutenant, Kaida, lunged at him from behind. Her eyes were wild, her blade aimed at his back. Betrayal!

Shinja twisted, parrying her strike. However, another blade pierced his chest!

"Kaida! Why?" Shinja asked, fully confused about the situation.

However, Kaida\'s eyes held madness. "Power, Shinja! The Azalea Clan promised me power!"

Their blades clashed, and Shinja\'s strength waned.

The poison was taking hold. He stumbled, vision blurring.

Kaida pressed her advantage, her blade inching toward his heart.

And then, the gray fog descended.

Shinja\'s world blurred, and he felt himself falling.

The pain vanished, replaced by strange weightlessness. He glimpsed Kurogane, still bleeding, still fighting for his life… Then, he also noticed that Kurogane was being covered by the Gray Fog!

Then darkness claimed him.

When Shinja awoke, he was no longer on the battlefield. The gray fog enveloped him, whispering secrets.

He knew not how much time had passed, but the fog, or perhaps the Lord of the Realms, spoke of zombies, foreign survivors, and a world forever changed.

Now, as he approached his new Lord, he couldn\'t help but touch the scar on his chest.

For some reason, he felt that he would still meet his old foe and the woman who had betrayed him...