The battlefield shifted.

The Shaman’s death rippled through the monster army like a wave, and the buffs that had been empowering the goblins and orcs faded completely. Across the ruined district hunters were beginning to push back for the first time since the invasion started.

Aiden stood near the broken street with Callum behind him, both of them breathing hard while blood dripped from multiple wounds. The ground was cracked with cars overturned and smoke rising from burning buildings. The air smelled of blood, dust, and mana that hadn’t dissipated yet.

Callum’s summoned beast was wounded but still standing, growling low as it watched the remaining monsters hesitate.

For a brief moment it looked like humanity might survive the wave. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

Hunters across the district began shouting orders. Some pushed forward to eliminate the weakened monsters while others evacuated civilians from nearby buildings. Aiden saw wounded hunters being carried away, medics dragging bodies from rubble, and civilians hiding behind barricades starting to emerge cautiously.

It wasn’t victory yet but it felt like the tide had finally changed.

Then the rift above the city pulsed.

The red tear in the sky widened, spreading like a wound being torn open.

Every monster on the battlefield stopped moving.

Even the injured ones. Even the dying ones sprawled across the pavement.

They all turned toward the rift and lowered their heads.

Aiden felt it before he saw anything—a pressure rolled over the city, heavier than anything that came from the generals. It pressed against his chest and made his fingers tighten around his sword while his Slaughter Intent stirred instinctively in response to the threat.

Callum staggered beside him, almost dropping to one knee. "What... what is that?" he gasped.

The sky darkened with red light while the clouds twisted inward like they were being pulled into the wound in the air. The remaining monsters began growling, not in rage but in reverence.

Then something stepped out of the rift.

The Red King descended slowly, not falling, not rushing. He landed in the middle of the battlefield with enough force to crack the street beneath his feet.

CRACK. BOOM.

He was massive, taller than any goblin or orc Aiden had fought, easily three meters in height. His body was covered in scarred crimson skin and blackened armor made from bone and metal fused together. A torn cloak hung behind him, moving in the wind that seemed to follow him. His crown wasn’t gold but jagged horn and dark iron, fused into something brutal and ancient.

His eyes burned like red coals.

The battlefield went completely silent.

The Red King looked around at the corpses of his soldiers scattered across the street, then at the broken bodies of his generals lying in pools of blood. He didn’t roar. He didn’t rage.

He smiled.

The expression was almost warm, like he’d just walked into a room full of old friends.

Before anyone could move, a sonic boom tore through the air.

BOOOOM!

A figure dropped from the sky and landed between the Red King and the surviving hunters. The impact sent dust bursting outward in a wide circle while cracks spiderwebbed across the pavement.

Hunters who had been frozen with fear suddenly gasped in recognition.

"That’s Victor Hale!" someone shouted.

"The Iron Saint is here!"

Aiden’s eyes widened slightly. He knew that name—everyone did.

Victor Hale was an SS-rank body-enhancement hunter known as The Iron Saint, famous for fighting dungeon bosses with his bare hands and surviving raids that wiped out entire teams. He didn’t use flashy magic or complicated techniques. His power was simple and terrifying: overwhelming physical strength, durability, and battle instinct honed through decades of combat.

He was older than Aiden expected, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, with short gray-black hair and a scar running from his temple to his jaw. His armor was cracked from previous battles, showing he’d already been fighting elsewhere. His fists were wrapped in metal gauntlets glowing with dense mana.

The hunters around him immediately regained some hope. Some whispered his name with relief while others shouted that Victor Hale was here, that Earth’s strongest frontline fighter had arrived.

Even Callum, despite his fear, recognized him from old broadcasts and hunter rankings. "That’s... that’s really him," he breathed.

Victor didn’t look back at the crowd.

He only stared at the Red King.

The Red King studied him with interest, and unlike the way he’d looked at the other hunters, there was no boredom in his face now. He sensed strength. Real strength.

Victor’s voice cut through the silence, calm but carrying absolute authority. "Fall back," he ordered. "Evacuate the area. All of you. Now."

No one argued.

The surviving hunters began retreating immediately, dragging civilians and wounded fighters away from the battlefield while giving Victor space.

Aiden didn’t move at first because his instincts told him to stay, but he also knew this battle was beyond him. He grabbed Callum’s arm and began pulling him back with the others. "Come on," he said quietly.

The Red King noticed Victor’s stance and grinned wider, showing sharp teeth.

He spoke for the first time, his voice deep enough to shake loose glass from broken windows. "One warrior among frightened animals," he said, and it wasn’t cruel—it was recognition, almost approval.

Victor answered coldly. "Earth is not your hunting ground."

The Red King laughed, and it wasn’t cruel laughter either. It was thrilled. Almost grateful.

He had found someone worth fighting.

Then he moved.

The Red King attacked first.

There was no warning. One moment he was standing still, and the next he was in front of Victor with his fist driving forward like a meteor.

Victor met the punch head-on.

Their fists collided.

BOOOOOM!

The shockwave blew out every remaining window on the street while cars flipped and streetlights bent from the pressure. Nearby hunters were thrown off their feet even from a distance.

Aiden had to shield Callum as the blast of pressure slammed into them, forcing him to dig his boots into the pavement to avoid being knocked over.

The two warriors were forced backward in opposite directions, their feet carving trenches into the asphalt.

SCREECH. SCREECH.