The Second...

General Ferdind continued bombarding the enemy forces with his powerful Dark orbs, killing hundreds every minute, but it hardly made a dent in the Fractured. At least a hundred thousand soldiers were rushing forward, intent on crushing the Venlanz army.

Both sides roared with all their might, trying to intimidate the other side. The thunderous sound, like a hundred herds of rhinos charging at each other, could be heard from miles away.

Unfortunately, the Venlanz army was too outmatched.

Many of the soldiers around Fate, who were charging forward along with him, screaming about glory and protecting their families, suddenly dropped their weapons and turned around, running as fast as their legs could take them away from the battle.

The soldiers that didn't falter, disgusted by the cowardice of their comrades, struck the would-be deserters down before they could even leave the mass of bodies. Just like that, the Venlanz army lost almost two hundred people.

Fate, meanwhile, was too busy focusing on the five-hundred-foot-wide fireball bearing down at them like a miniature sun.

He trained his gaze on the dot in the distance from which the ball originated, then to the Embodiments in the Venlanz army running ahead of the bulk of the forces to start combat with the Fractured.

'This is probably a bad idea,' he thought. 'But I don't think we have a chance otherwise.'

Drawing in a deep breath, he focused on his aura. Despite never truly using it more than subconsciously before, he instinctively knew exactly how to do what he wanted to do, finding his aura as easy to manipulate as his fingers and toes.

He threw off the mental shackles around it, allowing it to expand to its full thousand feet radius, blanketing almost the entirety of the Venlanz army and the distance between them and the Fractured. They were still far enough that Fate could only encompass the first dozen or so of them, but that distance would shrink soon.

He returned his gaze to the ball of fire in the sky, extending his Divine Grasp and smothering the fire with his Divine Energy, eating away at it until it disappeared, the last handful of flames winking out a few feet above their heads. The Venlanz soldiers looked at Fate in wonder. Fate broke into a sprint toward the Fractured, lifting his Miao Dao slightly so it wouldn't drag across the ground.

The dot was soon close enough to take the form of a man with long black hair and pale skin, his body covered in loose red clothes. The man's face scrunched in anger and frustration as he tried and failed to generate more fire, his efforts yielding no more than a puff of smoke as he threw his hands dramatically.

The man noticed Fate, then the aura around the man, and his expression was crumpled into hatred as he yelled like a madman, a single-bladed war axe somehow materializing in his hand. He broke into a run toward Fate.

They met in the middle of the battlefield, weapons swinging toward each other and sparks flying. Around them, their two armies did the same, the roaring of the soldiers now accompanied by the terrible sound of steel against steel.

Fate's opponent appeared to completely lack technique, swinging his axe like a savage barbarian, and yet he managed to perfectly counter each of Fate's movements. The long-haired man swung first, ruthlessly aiming for Fate's neck.

Fate smacked the weapon away with a quick spin of his blade, shifting his grip on his Miao Dao and using the spin to launch into a slash from the bottom right. The Fractured man simply pulled his axe back, faster than should be possible, cutting at Fate's blade.

Fate, noticing the power in the strike, made a U-turn with his blade's point, swinging it toward his bottom left and stepping away. He spun the sword vertically at his side, bringing it down into a brutal chop. His opponent sidestepped the blow, aiming another vicious swing at Fate's neck, again with a speed that shouldn't have been possible from the angle of the swing.

Fate turned his chop into a clockwise spin, the blade going from pointing diagonally at the ground to straight up, deflecting the blow. Fate then slashed at the man's abdomen when his spin placed his blade parallel against the ground, forcing the man to jump away.

The man grimaced, placing his free hand against his stomach. He pulled the hand away and brought it up to his face, his mouth opening in a sneer as blood dripped off his palm. He turned his attention to Fate.

"You're going to pay for that, Dracknu," he said, spitting the last word out as if it was the vilest insult imaginable.

And it was, although Fate didn't know that yet. 'Dracknu' was the Fractured's word for the citizens of Venlanz. It was a word that contained all of the feelings of the Fractured toward their 'betters,' meaning murderer, kin slayer, traitor, coward, and hypocrite.

It was the worst thing a Fractured could call someone, a declaration that the Fractured were the true betters in every way.

Fate didn't know this, obviously, so he just made a mental note to find out what it meant when he had the chance. What he did know was that he was getting tired of this fight. An Embodiment proficient in weapons such as Fate and this man was a rarity in the wider multiverse, as Manifestations were capable of easily crushing anyone with just a sword or spear or mace to fight with.

From what Fate knew, two kinds of Embodiments typically picked up a weapon and put their full effort into learning them. The first were those that were certain that doing so would shed light on the secrets of their Manifestation, as insight into almost anything in existence could potentially turn into a revelation in one's Manifestation. And the second…

Were those who wanted to feel the bones of their enemy break, their flesh give way, their blood splatter the ground. They wanted a rush.

And judging by this man's mad grin as he licked the blood off his hand, he was among the latter group.