Vlad did not wait.
He surged forward, his heartbeat thundering louder and faster with every passing second. Each pulse of his heart unleashed waves of wrathful energy that exploded from his body, igniting the battlefield with raw, uncontrolled power. His feet tore into the ground as he accelerated with momentum so immense it felt like the earth itself trembled beneath him.
His sword moved like death's own scythe—unrelenting, absolute. Everything in its path was cleaved asunder. Voroe Sages, mighty as they were, fell like stalks of wheat before a storm, their bodies torn apart with every swing of his weapon.
"CHARGE!" Angelo roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a divine horn of war. The Viking's exhaustion from slaughtering tens of thousands of High Champions vanished, replaced by pure adrenaline and a voracious desire to kill. The same hunger echoed through every soldier who fought beside him. It wasn't just war anymore. It was vengeance.
