He hadn’t noticed when the soldiers and knights ahead of them had retreated. Nor could he worry about anything other than his own life.

  [How much time has passed?? I’m so tired!] Filipe thought.

  The fight went on for several more hours. Then, in a moment of misstep, he tripped over a rock while trying to pull back from the strike of a creature resembling a three-headed demonic wolf with a putrefying body.

  [Shit!] he cursed, already knowing that on a battlefield like this, any mistake could mean death.

  — Watch out! — he heard a distant voice a fraction of a second before his world spun and his vision blurred.

  [Where am I? Am I alive?] he wondered before feeling a blow coming toward the back of his head.

  He dodged with mastery, only to realize that his body wasn’t responding properly to his commands.

  [I think I broke a few ribs.] Looking down, he saw that part of his chest armor had been brutally torn open, exposing the inner mail.

  Another attack came.

  Crack — it collided with his sword, sending sparks flying.

  Only then did he realize he was ten meters away from the formation…

  [Ahhh…] he shuddered at the painful realization.

  Then hell came: he began to be attacked from all sides. He did everything he could to defend himself, swinging his sword left and right, but it was nearly useless. There were too many enemies.

  [My injuries are piling up.] He knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

  Just when his fate seemed sealed, he saw a ray of hope in the form of a colossal man, 2.3 meters tall, with muscles so large and defined they looked carved directly from stone. His armor wasn’t the traditional full suit, but a set of bracers, greaves, a breastplate that outlined his muscles, and a Corinthian helmet with a kind of black crest, all accompanied by a short cape, a round shield on his left arm, and an enormous black khopesh—razor sharp—that seemed to weigh tons in his other hand. He was drenched in crimson.

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  It was as if a god had descended directly to rescue him. His shoulders were broad, and his gaze was as cold as iron.

  [Shit! He’s so cool. Maybe I should wear a cape too.] But the thought died immediately, because it could interfere with his movements.

  He crouched and charged with his shield into one creature, launching it through the air, while without slowing down he split another nearby creature in half vertically with his terrifying black khopesh. It’s worth noting: these creatures could be twice the height of an average man and ten times his mass.

  [A Battle Master has arrived!] he thought as the pressure on him lessened, the creatures sensing that the Master was a greater threat.

  He killed demons like no one else. Filipe still found himself in awe every time he saw a Battle Master fighting. It was a completely different level. The presence of a Master on the battlefield was heavy; it was as if death itself had picked up a sword and advanced against the demons without hesitation. Blood, viscera, and mutilated bodies were all he left in his wake.

  Finally, Filipe managed to fight his way back to the defensive formation. Then he looked behind him and could see the Battle Master in the distance, completely isolated, fighting against the myriad of monsters. He trembled just imagining being on the other side of that blade.

  [Never provoke Masters,] he warned himself.

  Dragging himself back into the formation, he threw himself unceremoniously onto the ground…

  [It’s already night,] he thought, looking at the timid sun giving its last breath to his right.

  Even during the night, this excruciating battle did not stop; instead, it seemed to intensify even further.

  They fought through the entire night, the following morning, and the afternoon as well. Once again, the sun set. Everyone was at their limits, even with rotating shifts.

  Filipe looked back once more. [He never stopped, not even for a second,] he thought, catching sight of the Master who had been fighting for days without pause. They were true powerhouses.

  Many had already died; in fact, most of the warriors had fallen in battle, and many more would die. The ground had long since disappeared, replaced by a carpet of mutilated bodies—demons and warriors alike—faces twisted in perpetual screams and rivers of blood flowing away without diminishing. The stench of rot was so strong it was almost tangible. Many already thought they were no longer on the continent of Arklus, but in the deepest layer of hell.

  Just when their hopes were beginning to falter and the sun was rising directly behind him, he struck down a strange winged creature with metal claws and a hairless body, as if it had been burned. With a slash, its entrails spilled onto the ground. He pushed forward with force, preparing himself for the next demon.

  But the impact never came against his shield, and his Black Prince sword met no resistance, cutting only air.

  Turning quickly, fearing a stealth attack from behind—none came. All that surrounded him were corpses and more corpses.

  The sun shone brightly, announcing the end of the battle…