Chapter 29: Rising from Ashes

Dune woke up on the cold, hard ground where he had died before. Snow blanketed the forest floor, the white expanse stained with patches of dark, congealed blood.

He pushed himself up, scanning his surroundings. Dead warriors in silver armor lay scattered around him. He counted nineteen bodies.

"Who killed these guys?" he muttered to himself. "How did they die?"

Questions swirled in his mind. He glanced down at his clothes, noting they were the same as before. One thing stood out, though—his sword.

The very sword that Atlas had given him in another dimension was now in his possession. He gripped the familiar hilt and was about to walk away when a scream echoed from the forest.

Instinctively, Dune ran towards the sound. He arrived at a clearing where a man in silver armor was locked in a fierce battle with a white-winged creature.

The creature stood four meters tall, resembling a large cat with long ears and bird-like wings. Its fur was pure white, its eyes a striking blue, and two horns protruded from its head.

Despite its imposing size, it moved with a fluid grace. Blood seeped from several stab wounds, staining its fur a vivid red.

Dune recognized the creature immediately. This was the one Bethel had spoken of. He moved closer, watching the fight.

The creature's blood dripped onto the snow, painting it in streaks of crimson. The silver-armored man wielded an orange Neba, attacking relentlessly.

"These guys probably tried to kill me in my sleep because I'm a Zeten now," Dune thought. "And this creature... it protected me. But where are others? Atlas? The twins? My brother? I hope they already escaped."

He observed the battle, the clash of metal against fur and the flurry of movement. The creature, though wounded, fought with a fierce determination, defending itself against the armored man's relentless onslaught.

Dune tightened his grip on his sword. He had to decide, intervene or watch. The creature, the man, the snow, and the blood created a chaotic tableau before him.

He took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever came next.

The man in silver armor finally managed to bring the creature down, its great form collapsing into the snow with a pained roar.

Seizing the moment, he leaped high, his sword poised to sever its head. But just as he was about to strike, a white-haired boy intervened, blocking the lethal blow.

"How dare you, disgusting Zeten!" the man spat, his eyes blazing with fury. He attacked, but Dune, now more experienced and wielding a powerful sword artifact, was ready.

The man's blade clashed against Dune's, and the artifact sword absorbed the orange Neba energy. The man was shocked but relentless, charging at Dune with renewed aggression.

Dune parried the initial strike and dodged to the side, moving with agility honed by his past battles. The silver-armored man followed, slashing and thrusting with deadly precision.

Dune ducked under a sweeping strike and countered with a quick slash of his own, but the man's armor deflected the blow.

The man pressed forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Dune barely managed to deflect the attack, his sword glowing brighter as it absorbed more Neba.

He could feel the power surging through his weapon, but he knew he had to buy more time.

He danced around his opponent, dodging and weaving, avoiding the lethal strikes that came at him with relentless speed.

A sharp pain seared through his side as the man's sword grazed him, drawing blood. Dune winced but did not falter.

He countered with a quick jab, aiming for a gap in the armor, but the man twisted away at the last second, avoiding serious injury.

The two combatants circled each other, the snow beneath their feet churned into a muddy slush.

Dune's breath came in ragged gasps, each movement a test of endurance. The man in silver, though strong and relentless, began to show signs of frustration.

He lunged forward, his sword aimed at Dune's heart. Dune sidestepped, letting the man's momentum carry him past, and slashed at his back. The armor took the brunt of the blow, but the force staggered the man.

"You're finished, Zeten!" the man snarled, swinging his sword with a burst of speed. Dune barely managed to block the attack, the impact jolting his arms.

The silver-armored man pressed his advantage, striking again and again. Dune deflected each blow but was forced back, losing ground with every step.

In a desperate bid, the man feinted to the left and then drove his sword straight at Dune's chest. Dune moved to parry, but the man's blade slipped past his guard, stabbing into his shoulder. Pain exploded through Dune's body, but he gritted his teeth and held firm, his sword still glowing with absorbed Neba.

The man smirked, pulling back his sword for the finishing blow. But just as he was about to strike, the white-winged creature lunged from the ground, sinking its fangs into the man's neck.

The man screamed in agony, his sword falling from his grasp. He tried to fight back, stabbing the creature in the stomach with a hidden dagger, but it was too late.

With a final, savage twist, the creature tore the man's head from his body.

The creature collapsed next to the now headless man, its blood mixing with the snow. Dune, clutching his wounded shoulder, staggered over to it.

The creature's blue eyes met his, and in that moment, Dune understood the sacrifice it had made. He knelt beside it, whispering the word Bethel had told him. "XXXXX"

The creature's body shimmered, then disappeared and appeared in Dune's heart, sinking deep inside his white Zeten tattoo.and a white light enveloped Dune, marking him as Bethel's blessed.

Dune felt his muscles and whole body grow stronger. His hearing sharpened, his sense of smell and eyesight enhanced to an extraordinary level.

Even his face, eyes, and body subtly changed—he became taller, and his hair grew longer, now reaching his chest.

He stood up and laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the forest. His wounds healed quickly, the pain vanishing almost as soon as it appeared.

He had never felt power like this before. It was intoxicating, exhilarating. He felt a surge of happiness and greed.

He wanted more—more power, more strength, more fights. The urge to kill monsters surged within him, but even more potent was his desire for revenge.

He wanted to kill every god's apostle, every person who had a hand in ruining his life.

Dune's laughter faded, replaced by a steely determination. He calmed himself, focusing on the path ahead.

Slowly, he walked out of the forest, his sword firmly in hand. His journey of revenge and conquest was just beginning.

As Dune walked, a sudden sensation jolted through him—Ned's Zeten. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the source.

The forest blurred around him as he ran, driven by a mix of hope and dread. When he finally broke through the tree line, the sight before him made his breath catch in his throat.

An army stretched out in the clearing, a sea of silver armor glinting under the cold, pale sun. Thousands of soldiers stood in formation, their faces stern and unyielding.

Among them, Dune saw Atlas, Elijah, and the twins kneeling on the ground, their heads bowed in submission. His heart ached at the sight of his friends in such a vulnerable state.

But what truly stunned him was Cadogan. Standing tall and unbroken, Cadogan's survival against Matiane seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Yet, the most imposing figures were mounted on three black horses at the front of the army. The first rider was unmistakable, the King of Sanatria himself, King Aramir Murderthrone.

His long black beard and hair flowed like dark rivers, framing a face marked by years of ruthless rule.

His very presence was suffocating, a tangible weight pressing down on Dune. The king's stature was formidable, towering at two meters with a body carved by countless battles.

He wore a red crown studded with black pearls, and his dark red armor gleamed with a menacing luster. Draped over his shoulders was a black cape bearing his emblem—a blood-red rose pierced by two silver swords.

Behind King Aramir, two other men sat astride their horses. Their appearances were equally commanding, exuding an aura of danger and authority.

But before Dune could take in their details, a clatter of armor drew his attention. Silver-armored soldiers closed in around him, their weapons drawn and eyes locked on him with deadly intent.

The air was thick with tension, every breath Dune took was laced with the scent of steel and blood. He gripped his sword tighter, its weight a reassuring presence in his hand.

He knew he was outnumbered and overpowered, but the surge of power from his newfound abilities gave him a glimmer of hope.

As he was surrounded, his mind raced with thoughts of escape and rescue. He couldn't afford to be captured, not now, not when his friends needed him the most.

The scene before him was overwhelming, but he steeled himself, ready to face whatever came next.