Emperor Of War

Chapter Ten: A Name Buried in Blood

Derek Carter's POV

"Kill him!"

My order thundered across the courtyard. At once, hundreds of soldiers surged forward. Their boots pounded against the stone pavement as they rushed toward the intruder from every direction.

Yet the man remained calm. Almost insultingly calm. He didn't retreat. He didn't panic. He simply continued walking toward me. Step. Step. Step. As though the army surrounding him didn't exist.

As though none of them mattered. The sight sent an unfamiliar feeling through my chest. Discomfort. The soldiers closed in.

Weapons raised. Murder in their eyes.

But before they could reach him, I raised a hand. "Stop."

The command echoed through the courtyard. Immediately, the soldiers halted.

Confusion spread through their ranks. Even Greg looked surprised.

I stepped forward. My eyes remained fixed on the stranger. The closer I looked at him, the more something felt wrong. He wasn't afraid. Not even slightly. It was as if he had already decided how tonight would end. And that certainty irritated me.

I slowly descended the stairs leading into the courtyard. The crowd parted to make room. Every guest watched with anticipation. Many believed the battle was already over. After all, I wasn't Hulk.

Hulk was merely one of my commanders. One of many. Strong. Loyal. Useful. But not irreplaceable.

I stopped several feet away from the stranger. "So," I said calmly. A faint smile appeared on my lips. "I see you're the one who killed Hulk."

The man stared at me without speaking. His silence was infuriating. I glanced toward Hulk's motionless body lying nearby. A few guests whispered nervously.

No matter how they looked at it, defeating Hulk was an impressive achievement.

But impressive wasn't enough. Not against me. I returned my attention to the stranger.

"Hulk was strong." I shrugged. "But he was never my equal."

The crowd immediately erupted into murmurs. Many of them nodded. They knew my reputation. Long before I became one of the most powerful men in Quinzerland, I had been feared for another reason. My sword. My victories. My brutality. I had climbed mountains of corpses to reach the position I now occupied. The stranger continued staring at me. Unmoved. Unimpressed.

Then he spoke. "Then prove it."

The entire courtyard fell silent. Several guests gasped. Others looked at him as though he had gone insane.

Even Greg couldn't believe what he had heard. The stranger had just challenged me. Directly. Openly. Without hesitation.

I laughed. A cold laugh. "You've got courage." The man remained silent. "Or perhaps you're simply a fool."

Still nothing. My smile disappeared. I took another step forward.

"You have one final chance." The night breeze swept through the courtyard. The atmosphere grew heavy. "Kneel." My voice was calm. Authoritative. Absolute. "Kneel before me and beg for mercy."

The crowd nodded approvingly. Many believed I was being generous. After everything the stranger had done tonight, he deserved death. Yet I was offering him an opportunity to survive. A rare privilege.

Unfortunately, he didn't appreciate it.

The man shook his head. "No."

The answer was immediate. Firm. Without doubt. The crowd erupted into whispers. I narrowed my eyes.

"Think carefully."

"No."

His voice remained calm. The certainty behind it irritated me even more.

"You refuse mercy?"

"I didn't come here for mercy."

A dangerous silence followed. For several moments, neither of us moved. Neither of us looked away. Then I smiled. Not because I was amused. Because I had finally made my decision. Very well.

If he wanted death, I would give it to him. My hand moved toward my waist. The crowd immediately became excited. Everyone knew what was coming.

The sword. For years, that weapon had been synonymous with fear. Countless enemies had fallen before it. Countless battles had ended the moment it left its sheath. Slowly, I drew the blade.

The steel reflected the lights surrounding the estate. A ripple of anticipation spread through the audience. The stranger remained motionless. Watching. Waiting.

I pointed the sword toward him. "Remember this moment." The man said nothing. I smiled. "Because it's your last."

The next second, I moved. A burst of speed exploded beneath my feet. Gasps erupted from every direction. The sword cut through the air like lightning. Fast.

Precise. Lethal. My signature technique.

Thunderstorm Strike.

A technique so powerful that few people had ever survived it. The blade descended. The crowd held its breath. Victory was certain. At least, it should have been. Then the impossible happened.

Clang!

The sound echoed throughout the courtyard. My eyes widened. The sword had stopped. Completely. The stranger had caught it. With one hand. Silence consumed the estate. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The entire crowd stared in disbelief. The blade trembled within his grip. Yet he stood there effortlessly. As though stopping my attack required no effort at all. Impossible.

The word exploded through my mind. No one could stop Thunderstorm Strike.

No one.

For years, I had believed that. For years, it had remained true. Except… There had once been a single exception. One man. A legend.bA nightmare. A warrior whose name was spoken across battlefields.

A man who had slaughtered armies and walked away untouched.

The strongest fighter of his generation.

The memories surfaced unexpectedly. Stories. Rumors. Whispers. The battlefield butcher. The undefeated warrior. The man who terrified nations. My heartbeat quickened.

For the first time in years, uncertainty crept into my thoughts. The stranger slowly released my sword. His expression remained calm. Almost bored. As though my strongest attack had disappointed him.

The crowd began whispering.

"What is he?"

"How did he stop that?"

"That's impossible..."

I barely heard them. My entire focus remained fixed on the man standing before me. Questions flooded my mind.

Who was he? Where had he come from? And why did he feel so familiar?

The stranger took one step forward.

Then another. My grip tightened around the sword. For the first time that evening…

I felt danger. Real danger. The kind that couldn't be ignored. The kind that couldn't be bought. The kind that could kill. I stared directly into his eyes.

Then finally asked the question haunting everyone present.

"Who are you?”