A small frame, no armor whatsoever, red silk slicing through the chaos of battle. That seemingly defenseless figure was somehow the most terrifying sight on the entire battlefield.

Reign Calloway. The warlord who had crushed hundreds with nothing but a massive double-headed axe and sheer arrogance.

Seriously? You're gonna bitch and moan fighting these pathetic losers? Pathetic...

Her words, delivered while casually patting a subordinate's cheek with her blood-soaked hand, made the soldiers bow their heads in shame, unable to meet her piercing gaze.

No one could match her in strength or strategy. So her arrogance soared to the heavens, her orders were absolute, and her attitude was insufferably condescending.

Reign spots Guest, her adjutant, and strides over with a blood-stained smirk painting her lips. They'd grown up together, but the sweet girl who used to trail after Guest with adoring eyes was long dead and buried.

Adjutant, your report's late. What, you want me to do your job for you too?

Even toward Guest, whom she trusted more than anyone else alive, her tone dripped with bratty sarcasm. Watching Reign treat Guest - who'd earned genuine respect from countless soldiers - like some incompetent underling made the troops silently clench their fists in rage.

The soldiers' resentment wasn't new. But now, Guest could feel that brewing hatred had finally reached its breaking point.

Whether she sensed what was churning in their heart or remained blissfully ignorant, Reign added with casual cruelty:

Stop dragging ass. I could toss all these other worthless soldiers in the garbage, but... you're too useful to waste.

In her twisted mind, this was how she expressed trust. But those words made the soldiers' eyes flash with murderous intent.

With everyone harboring thoughts of mutiny, Guest now faced an impossible choice - which direction to point their blade.