Meanwhile, elsewhere on the battlefield, the Dark Legion clashed with the remnants of the Larfex forces. The Arthemorh poison laced in their weapons turned every wound into a slow death. No mercy. No compassion.
Prince Neroxius was captured as he attempted to flee south toward Larfex.
Princes Todius and Dorges tried to escape toward the Whitesand region.Valdor Torne, one of the commanding generals, made a last-ditch effort to rally his troops, hoping to buy the princes enough time to flee.
But even that force couldn't hold the line for long. The Dark Legion wiped them out with brutal efficiency.
It didn't take long for them to catch up with the two princes.
Todius, attempting to hold his ground, now faced Mendrova. Meanwhile, Robb stood across from Dorges.
"Dorges… I don't want to kill you. You're still my brother. Surrender," said Robb, softly but firmly.
"We must fight, Robb! If you're truly that strong, then prove it! Defeat me!" Dorges challenged, drawing his sword.
"Very well. But hear this: I'm not my brother. And I won't offer mercy twice," Robb replied coldly.
"What?! You're going to kill him, Robb?" Mendrova glanced over, shocked.
But it was too late. Robb had already entered his Sikka combat mode.
Dorges, swinging wildly with emotion, lunged with his sword—but with one swift motion, Robb's twin Illeum Heraxes blades struck in silence and lightning speed. Blood sprayed into the air. Dorges collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
"DORGES!!!" Todius screamed, his eyes blazing red with rage.
His brother's death ignited a firestorm in Todius' chest. His eyes glowed not only from blood, but with the merciless inferno of vengeance, watching Dorges fall before his very eyes.
"DOORGESSS!!" he roared, the cry so thunderous it seemed to shake the skies.
With a beast-like scream, Todius raised his mighty warhammer—Aegisfang, a weapon as large as a boulder—and hurled it down toward Mendrova with bone-shattering force.
The first impact sent tremors through the earth. The battle was now inevitable.
Mendrova parried with his long black blade, Eclivorn, which gleamed ominously in the dim light. Each of his slashes cut through the air like lightning, but Todius countered with raw, crushing power that obliterated everything in its path. Dust exploded. The ground erupted with every blow. Soldiers around them backed away—they dared not interfere. This was no longer a duel between warriors—this was hell itself, embodied by two men sworn to destroy each other.
"RAAAHHH!" Todius swung again, his hammer crashing into Mendrova's chestplate, cracking the armor with a metallic scream.
"Ughh!" Mendrova grunted, then retaliated with a lightning-fast slash across Todius' abdomen. The strike was deep, cutting flesh and muscle—blood burst forth like a fountain.
Both men were bleeding, staggering, but neither yielded.
Though shaken, Mendrova remained standing. "You think… you're the only one with a reason to kill?" he hissed, spitting blood into the dirt.
But Todius' fury had surpassed human limits. "You killed him… YOU KILLED HIM!!" he screamed hysterically, swinging again and again.
The hammer crushed Mendrova's shoulder, flinging him aside. But before Todius could follow up, Mendrova's black sword plunged into his side.
Todius froze. His breath trembled. His eyes widened.
The blade was slowly withdrawn. Todius' body shuddered. Blood poured from his wounds—his chest, his stomach, his thighs—until his legs could no longer hold him. He fell to his knees, riddled with gashes and deep stabs.
"I… still…" he murmured, but the words never finished. His body collapsed, crashing hard against the dusty earth.
Mendrova stood shaking, his face pale and battered. His sword, Eclivorn, was broken in two. Todius' final hammer strike had crushed his ribs, making him cough blood.
Though he had won… Mendrova felt no victory. Not this time.
He looked up at the darkening sky, his breath ragged and red."Forgive me… Dorges… and you too… Todius…" he whispered, before his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground—side by side with the very man he'd just slain.
Two bodies. Two souls. Two prides, both destroyed by vengeance and a purpose too dark to ever be redeemed.
Though victorious, Mendrova was on the verge of unconsciousness. His body swayed, blood flowed freely from his wounds, and his breathing grew ever more labored.
In the distance, Neroxius still lived.
Though he'd seen both of his brothers die before his eyes, he made no attempt to resist. He lowered his head, resigned, his hands bound by the Dark Legion. And yet, somewhere in his mind, a spark of hope remained—he believed compromise was still possible. Maybe… the Emperor would spare him. Or perhaps his brothers, Damerius and Magnoli, who had once allied with the Emperor, could be persuaded.
But that hope began to wither the moment Robb approached.
His steps were slow but certain. He had just made sure Mendrova was still alive before turning toward the plateau where Neroxius was being held. His gaze was sharp, cold. His breath calm, but a fire smoldered behind his eyes.
"My dear cousin Neroxius…" Robb spoke, his smile faint and cutting. "Do you know… what I hated most about my brother?"
"Heh…" Neroxius laughed weakly, blood trickling at the corner of his lips. "Hahaha! Tell me, Robb! You must regret helping him become Emperor, don't you? You thought he'd make you a Commander? And yet he didn't! Hahaha! Set me free, and I'll help you overthrow him. A million Larfex will bow to you… in my name."
Robb sighed quietly. "You interrupted me."
He crouched down slowly, locking eyes with his cousin. His left hand gripped Neroxius' chin, forcing him to look into his eyes.
"Very well… I'll continue," he whispered, voice calm and cold as untouched snow.
"Say it, Robb!" Neroxius laughed louder, manic now. "I know you're sick of him! You're the one who should've been Emperor! Come on, say it! We can take it together!"
Robb closed his eyes for a moment.
"You know…" he said softly, "I hated my brother… because he was too forgiving. He spared traitors. People like you."
Neroxius fell silent. His face drained of color. "No… no… No, Robb—"
"Silence," Robb said sharply. "Hundreds of thousands died because of you. They never had a chance to beg. So don't expect one now."
And with a single, swift, silent motion, Robb drew his Illeum Heraxes—the silver blade gleaming in the dim light—and slit his cousin's throat.
Blood gushed violently. Neroxius collapsed, lifeless.
The soldiers stood frozen. The world felt like it had stopped.A prince of Whiteheaven… killed by his own brother.
"Mendrova…" Robb murmured without turning, hearing his comrade's faint voice through the pain.
"Why…?" Mendrova asked hoarsely, his body trembling as he fought the agony. "You know the Emperor would never approve of this…"
Robb drew a deep breath. "He thought the same as I did. But he could never go through with it. Someone had to bear that blood." His eyes fell upon Neroxius' body. "Millions of lives depended on that decision."
Mendrova slowly nodded. He looked at Robb, a faint smile touching his lips though his body could barely hold on.
"We are executors… not decision-makers. And you, Robb… you're a true assassin."
The battle against the Balevad forces became a climax that tore through soul and soil.Bodies fell on both sides. The earth ran red with blood, corpses strewn everywhere. The air was filled with screams and the roar of clashing steel. But the Imperial troops held the advantage—their weapons laced with a deadly toxin, turning even the smallest wound into devastation.
The Balevad soldiers fought like cornered beasts, desperate and savage. They slaughtered many among the people of Blacksand who had joined the fray. But then, help arrived—the Tharaxis group led by Yara emerged, healing the dying and pulling the nearly-dead back from the brink.
And then, from amidst the chaos of war, two figures locked eyes. Old hatred ignited once more: Rogg and Billok.
"ROGG!" Billok roared, his body encased in filthy armor, his flail fused into his flesh. "It's time to end this! I'm going to DESTROY YOU!"
Rogg gripped the Velkyria blade, his gaze burning like fire. "I forgave you once… even after cutting off your hand and ear. But now? Hundreds of Migase souls scream in my sleep. If I don't kill you today, I'm unworthy to be their king!"
"Hahaha!" Billok bellowed with laughter. "I drank their blood, Rogg! I burned your village! Your women! Your children!"
"ARRRGHH!!" Rogg roared, erupting in fury. He charged across the battlefield.
Billok welcomed him with a flail spinning wildly, a twisted fusion of metal and bone thirsting for blood. But Rogg didn't flinch.
They clashed. Brutal. Without rhythm. Only rage and pain guided their movements.
Rogg didn't rely on his sword alone. He struck Billok with fists, kicks—even his head. Billok's shield tried to block the onslaught, but Velkyria tore through it. Sword and shield were cast aside—Rogg was now fighting barehanded.
Billok swung his flail again and again, but Rogg caught it. With a soul-rattling scream—"HAAAARGHH!!"—he tore it from Billok's body. Blood sprayed. Billok was left armless once more.
"For my people… FOR MIGASE!" Rogg shouted, raining blow after blow onto Billok's face until his nemesis lay still, broken, unmoving.
The remaining Balevad forces were annihilated. Vuuxi and the Death Angels descended like a black storm, sweeping away the last vestiges of brutality.