The sun hung low in the sky, its waning light casting stretched shadows across the highland fields. Radley rode at the head of his warband, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a bloody banner. For four days now, he had scoured this countryside, chasing after a phantom—this so-called rogue wizard who had plagued the highland territories. Yet, all he had to show for his efforts were charred hovels, ruined fields, and livestock butchered in patterns too deliberate to be anything but ritualistic.

  Each village he passed whispered of the wizard’s presence, yet no one had seen him for more than fleeting moments—a figure on the horizon, a shadow in the night. It reminded Radley of the stories from his homeworld, the grainy UFO tales of abducted farmers and scorched fields. Except here, the terror was tangible. Crops were laid low, food stores obliterated, and fear was carved into the faces of every man and woman he spoke to.

  And still, he found nothing.

  By dusk, his warband had set up camp in the valley, a tight formation of tents and wagons surrounding their dwindling supplies. Three hundred men strong—warriors hardened by campaigns fought against impossible odds. Radley had made a legend of himself, a hero leading forces a hundred times smaller to victory, turning the tides of war with his spear and sheer audacity.

  The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows against the darkened sky, the scent of roasting meat and damp earth mingling with the sting of liquor in Radley’s throat. He sighed, letting the warmth settle into his bones, his grip tightening around the flask. Thirty years. A lifetime. A world away from the man he had once been.

  Back then, he had been nothing. A hotel doorman, standing in a suit too tight around the shoulders, smiling at guests who never saw him as more than part of the scenery. Holding doors for men richer, stronger, more important than him. How absurd it all seemed now. His memories as Todd Macy of that world could never have dreamed what he became in this one.

  He was the Warduke now—feared, respected, obeyed. His name alone could quiet a room, his presence enough to make lords and chieftains bow their heads in submission. He had spilled rivers of blood, raised cities to the ground, taken what he pleased. He had fought, conquered, and claimed power that had once seemed unattainable.

  And yet, of all the things he had claimed, nothing compared to the crown jewel of his conquests: the Queen herself. She had been his first prize, the ultimate victory in his ascension. A woman who had been raised to rule, now bound to him in marriage. Their union had given him legitimacy, cementing his place in the annals of history here. The world could whisper all it wanted about how their marriage came to be—it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he stood in triumph over that dumb idiot, and above all others.

  Then, of course, there were the women. Willing or not. Some had been spoils of war, some offered as tribute, others taken simply because he desired them. Well over two hundred by now. He did not pretend to be a man of virtue. He had long stopped caring about such things. Morality was a construct of the weak, a chain meant to bind men greater than those who preached it. And Radley was far beyond that now. He was Genghis Fucking Khan.

  His true seat of power lay far from the capital. The southern fortress-state—his stronghold. It was there that his dominion was absolute, where his will was law, where his presence loomed over all like an immovable shadow. It was there that his many bastards were hidden away, scattered among the women who had borne them over three decades. Some he acknowledged in name alone. Others, he did not bother remembering. What did it matter anyways? His bloodline would spread whether he cared for it or not.

  For years, he had made half-hearted attempts to keep them from the public eye. A habit more than a necessity to avoid bad press. But he wasn’t sure why he bothered anymore. He doubted there was a single noble in the land who didn’t already know of his ways. They could gnash their teeth, spit curses behind his back, but not a one of them would dare move against him. He was beyond their reach, untouchable. Because his power spoke for itself.

  Radley exhaled, rolling the flask between his fingers as his lips twisted into a smirk.

  Perhaps that was the point of this absurd hunt. A rogue wizard plaguing the highlands—was it truly a lone mage, or was this yet another petty attempt by the Queen to steer him away from his indulgences? She had never been foolish enough to openly oppose him, but she knew how to play her games. If this was her doing, well it was a pathetic gambit.

  A rustle in the darkness snapped him from his thoughts. His smirk faded as the night swallowed the distant echo of hurried footsteps. A moment later, a frantic cry rang through the camp.

  “Attack! We’re under attack!”

  Radley shot to his feet, instincts honed by decades of battle taking hold. His hand went to his weapon and the rest of his gear was auto-equipped through his inventory before his mind could fully register the words. A trick he picked up from that idiot. He spun toward the source of the commotion, his gaze sweeping the camp.

  Then, from on high, he saw them—two streaks of burning light, rocketing toward the earth with terrifying speed.

  His breath hitched. He knew that spell.

  Meteor.

  "Scatter!" he roared, but it was already too late.

  The first impact tore through the camp with an explosion of fire and concussive force, obliterating men, tents, and supply wagons in a single instant. The shockwave sent Radley hurtling through the air, his body twisting as he crashed into the dirt, pain erupting in every nerve.

  The second meteor followed. Another explosion of fire and stone. Screams filled the night, then were silenced just as quickly. Smoke choked the air, and the once-organized warband was reduced to little more than smoldering remnants.

  Radley lay amidst the destruction, his ears ringing, his vision swimming. He could barely breathe, let alone move. He could feel his body was half-mangled in his mythic plate, his flesh burnt and raw. He could feel death clawing at him. But he was not ready to die yet.

  With the last shreds of his strength, he reached into his item box—a hidden storage of endless supplies. His fingers fumbled, then closed around the blue icon of a Hi-Potion. He triggered its effect from within its space to feel its magic surge through him. The pain dulled. His flesh knit together, slowly but surely.

  Another potion. Then another. By the third, he could sit up. By the fourth, he could stand.

  Their encampment became a battlefield of fire and ruin.

  Radley staggered, half-blind from the smoke, half-deaf from the ringing in his ears. The heat of the twin impacts had seared the air itself, turning the once-orderly encampment into a blasted wasteland of charred bodies and smoldering wreckage. His warband—three hundred strong—had been wiped out in an instant. Warriors, archers, mages—all of them incinerated or crushed beneath the sheer force of the spell’s impact.

  Who?

  Who in this world could command such devastation?

  His breaths came heavy as he forced himself to stand. The fires painted the night in hues of crimson and gold, casting writhing shadows across the wreckage. The stench of burned flesh and scorched metal clung to his nostrils, mixing with the acrid bite of residual magic still thick in the air.

  And then, through the haze of smoke and cinders, he saw him.

  A figure descending from the heavens, bathed in the dying glow of the devastation he had wrought. His flight was impossibly light, feet hovering amidst the ruins as if he had simply stepped from another world into this one. The dust swirled around him, parting in his wake. His silhouette was unmistakable—tall, lean, and draped in robes that gleamed even in the dim firelight.

  That moment Radley laid eyes on his true visage, his breath caught.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  The rogue wizard hovered still in the burning chaos, his gaze fixed on Radley with an unreadable expression. It was like time itself dared not touch him.

  Radley felt something lurch in his chest. Rage. Shock. Something dangerously close to fear.

  This was impossible.

  He was gone. He was dead.

  And yet, here he stood.

  A past back to haunt him.

  Radley clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the shaft of his spear.

  The true hero had returned.

  The name left his lips in a whisper, one tinged with disbelief.

  “…εΔ0?”

  The first thing Radley heard was his laughter.

  It came drifting through the smoke and ruin, light and casual, as if the mage who had just incinerated three hundred veterans was greeting a long lost acquaintance at a reunion. Then, through the settling haze, the figure hovered forward, his dark robes shifting like living shadow, an oversized ring glinting in the flickering embers. And those dumb red jordans of his. He tipped his hooded mantle slightly.

  “Hey, what’s up, old friend of mine?”

  Radley felt his spine turn to ice. There was no warmth in that greeting, no hint of old camaraderie. The voice was familiar, but the weight behind it was different—sharpened into something precise and cutting. His fingers twitched toward his inventory, already cycling through the options. There was no way he could fight Edo as he was. He had to retreat.

  His mind latched onto the Hearthstone in his item box, the enchanted talisman bound to his home fortress. It would take him back instantly—

  Error.

  Radley’s eyes widened as the inventory flickered and refused the command. He tried again. Nothing. And again.

  Edo chuckled. “Oh, you were gonna run, huh? Yeah, no. I figured that’d be your first move.” His hand casually gestured to the burning horizon. “See, I took the liberty of scrubbing out your waypoint, before I set all this up. So you’re not escaping me that easy.”

  Radley cursed inwardly. Of course he did. Of course Edo knew exactly how he’d react. That bastard always had a way of being a step ahead, even without knowing it himself.

  Fine. Plan B.

  Radley turned on his heel and sprinted away, his banner cloak billowing behind him—

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  And suddenly, he wasn’t moving.

  His legs refused to obey, as if they had fused to the earth itself. He looked down, expecting to see the familiar golden tendrils of the Earthbind spell, but what he saw was something different. His boots weren’t ensnared; they had sunk into the ground, almost absorbed into the dirt like the land itself had decided they were part of it now.

  There was no incantation. No trace of a spell. Just Edo’s will, twisting the very laws of magic.

  “You goddamn cheat,” Radley spat under his breath.

  Edo laughed at that. “C’mon, man, we both know you’d be pulling the same shit if you could.”

  Radley forced himself to remain calm, to suppress the rising dread clawing at his chest. He straightened his back, exuding the same arrogance he had worn for decades. “Well, hell, if it isn’t my old friend Edo,” he said smoothly, despite his current predicament. “I see you’ve been keeping up to form.”

  Edo’s hood barely shifted, but Radley could feel the grin hidden in that shadow. “That I have. And I see you made a name for yourself here, Hero. Got yourself a harem, wifed the hot Queen. Waylaid half the continent. You built up one hell of a resume.”

  Radley kept his expression neutral. He knew when someone was trying to bait him. “What can I say? This world recognizes my talents.”

  “And yet,” Edo mused, “you’re shaking in your boots at my return. Or, well, you would be, if I hadn't rooted 'em.”

  Radley clenched his jaw. This wasn’t going to be solved with words. He shifted his grip on Gae Bolg, its legendary weight like a third arm, and with a growl, slammed the spear’s butt into the earth. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, cracking the surface and breaking Edo’s grip on him. Radley lunged backward, free from the binding.

  Edo gave a slow, mocking clap. “Oh wow. You broke the dirt. Very impressive.”

  Radley didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he started cycling through options again, scanning for his next move. His odds were shit. But if he somehow kept Edo close-ranged, he'd have a solid chance. Maybe.

  Edo tilted his head. “You know, Rad, we’ve got some unfinished business. Thirty years’ worth.”

  Radley didn’t like where this was going. “Look, Edo,” he said, slipping back into his well-practiced charm that fooled him for those eight months, “How about we be smarter about this? I can make you rich. More gold than you’d know what to do with. You could start a whole new life in this world. Think of it... a other world kickstarter.”

  Edo scoffed. “I’m not here for your gold. I’m here to pay back a debt.”

  Tightening his grip around the Gae Bolg, Radley tried another tack. "All I'm saying... it's not going to be as easy as you think. My skills have grown much, these past thirty years.”

  Edo didn’t answer as he watched this asshole's flair for the dramatic. His spear thrust in warning looked to have pierced a nearby debris. Over twenty yards away.

  Unfortunately, that would have only impressed the Edo thirty years ago. Not the one before Radley now.

  Instead the mage sized Radley up and down, taking in the ornate mythic plate getup, the legendary spear, the finely crafted dragonhide leggings. Then, after a moment, he sneered at the unspoken challenge.

  “You know what? I’ll make this fair. So you understand the difference between us.”

  Radley arched a brow. “Oh?”

  Edo landed his feet and rolled his shoulders, loosening his stance. “No spells. No buffs. No magic bullshit. Just my body, my weapon. Pitted against yours.”

  For the first time, Radley scoffed and smirked. "Oh? You think you can take me down with no spells? Your whole build's a hack."

  Edo merely smirked back. "Then it levels the playing field for you. You're the one with all the skills for close combat, right?"

  Radley sneered, already seeing the weight of the challenge in Edo’s stance. But he wasn't stupid, he knew this cheat was still stacking the deck for himself somehow. However at least this was something he understood. A duel. A proper fight. In a clash with weapons, he was damn sure going to take a big chunk out of Edo's health before his bluff runs out.

  Radley shifted the Gae Bolg, planting his foot to activate his Dragon Stance. “Fine. Let’s see if you can back that cocky ass of yours.”

  Then he lunged. And the fight began.

  The very air seemed to boom with energy as Radley’s legendary spear clashed against Edo’s Celestial Champion staff. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, reverberating like thunder. Radley’s speed was a blur, his movements far faster than mortal perception, his training honed for decades. Each attack was calculated, precise, aiming to overwhelm his mage opponent.

  But Edo was already there.

  His combat speed wasn’t greater. Not without his spells. But his movements had the fluidity of someone who had spent thirty years outwitting and outlasting death incarnate. Radley’s spear was lightning-fast and precise, but Edo turned aside every strike with infuriating ease. A parry. A twist of the staff. A sidestep, a counter.

  It was like Radley’s blows could never find their mark.

  Radley’s breathing grew hot, his frustration mounting. "Stop fucking cheating," he snarled through a barrage of attacks.

  Edo smiled and laughed with chilling certainty.

  It wasn’t that Radley wasn’t strong. He was unmatched. It wasn’t that he wasn’t skilled. He was unparalleled.

  But Edo had lived a different experience.

  Radley fought with discipline, with mastery. Edo moved like a force of nature, honed by three decades of survival 24-7. He wasn’t bound by the rigid forms of training—his body became iron, his nerves steel, his mind a compressed diamond, and against this supernatural grace, Radley had no counter.

  The fight stretched on. A minute became ten. Then twenty. Time seemed to slow, each second minutes of struggle. Radley’s muscles burned as the battle dragged on, but he was too stubborn to relent. He’d been through too much to lose like this. This was his forte.

  Yet as the minutes tacked up, Edo showed no sign of tiring. No sign of hesitation. Radley’s weapon came down in a perfect arc only to meet the staff in a deafening clash, but Edo was already rolling with the impact, using the lancer’s momentum against him. Each of Radley’s moves became slower, more desperate. His breaths came in ragged bursts.

  "C'mon," Edo taunted. "Atleast make me break a sweat here."

  Radley’s glare burned with fury. "Shut up, you hack."

  But every strike, every dodge, every near-miss only served to drain Radley further. His reserves of energy—his MP, his potions, the one-use items he had left—were all dwindling. He could feel it. He could see it.

  It wasn’t just physical. It was mental. Radley, the unshakable warduke, was unraveling. His mind raced, trying to calculate his next move, but Edo was already two steps ahead. He'd soon be out of potions. His MP was spent. The legendary spear in his hand felt like a burden, the weight of the fight dragging him down. His movements slowed, his strikes less precise.

  And Edo’s wild jeering only made what was happening worse. "All these years... this all you got?"

  For every move Radley made, Edo was still there, meeting him, countering him, whittling him down inch by inch. The fight stretched on, an endless exchange that Radley knew was too deliberate. Edo was drawing it out, waiting for something.

  An hour passed. Radley’s reserves were nearly depleted, with no way to ever replenish them. But Edo still not let up. Each block, each strike, each sidestep—it all led to this inevitable conclusion.

  And then, it happened. Too many stacking injuries. Too much exhaustion.

  Radley collapsed, his body betraying him at last. His right leg twisted at an unnatural angle, the bone snapping with a sickening crack that sent white-hot agony lancing up his spine. He roared in pain, but it was hoarse, weak—more a croak than the defiant bellow it should be. His body trembled, battered and broken, his armor cracked and dented, his breath ragged. His left eye was swollen shut, blood pouring from a gash in his brow, blinding his vision further. He was barely holding on.

  Still, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he refused to let go of his weapon. Gae Bolg, the legendary spear, the instrument of his might. His fingers tightened around the shaft, his last lifeline—

  Only for it to slip away as if yanked away by an invisible hand.

  Radley’s head jerked up in time to see his spear drift through the air, drawn effortlessly into Edo’s grasp. The wizard barely glanced at him, turning the spear over in his fingers, inspecting it with idle curiosity. A prize. A trophy.

  "Yeah," Edo murmured, rolling his wrist to test the weapon’s weight. "I think I’ll be keeping this."

  Something in Radley cracked further, something beyond his broken bones. His pride, his arrogance, the unwavering belief in his own power—reduced to nothing in the space of one hour.

  This couldn't be happening. He was Radley, the Warduke, the undisputed king of the battlefield. He had fought and won wars against impossible odds, he had toppled kingdoms, killed dragons and giants, taken anything and anyone he desired. He had spent thirty years carving out dominion over this world. And yet here he was, lying in his own muck, defeated.

  He couldn’t die here. He can't die now.

  Desperation surged in his chest like bile. His mind scrambled, clawing for something—anything—to offer. If strength had failed him, if even Gae Bolg was beyond his reach, then he still had one final weapon: all the wealth he accumulated in this world—his treasures, his possessions.

  "I… I can give you more," he rasped, spitting blood. His voice was raw, cracked, but he forced himself to keep talking. "Gold. As much as you want. Enough to live like a king in any land. I can get you anything. Artifacts, power, whatever you desire."

  Edo said nothing. He simply watched, impassive, the firelight flickering off the edges of his hooded mantle.

  Radley swallowed, sensing his offer wasn’t enough. He pushed harder. "Women. Any woman. The best. Virgins, noble daughters—hell, my own daughters, if you want them." His lips twisted into something almost like a grin, but it was weak, desperate. "A real Hero deserves rewards, doesn’t he?"

  Still, no response. Edo merely tilted his head slightly, the motion eerily slow, like a predator watching prey bleed out.

  Radley’s mind raced. There had to be something that would work, something that would make this nightmare end.

  And then it hit him.

  “The Queen,” he gasped, the words rushing out like a final lifeline. "You can have her. She’s worthless to me now anyway." He coughed, his body wracked with pain, but he forced himself to keep going. "You always liked her, didn’t you? She’d make a fine prize for you, yeah? You could even rub it in my face while I…" He trailed off, the weight of his own words finally hitting him.

  Silence stretched between them.

  Then Edo let out a quiet, mirthless chuckle.

  "Such a loving father and husband," he said, his voice smooth, cold. His grip tightened slightly around Gae Bolg. His other hand rested against his staff, fingers tapping idly against the etched runes.

  Radley tried to wet his lips, but his mouth was dry. He had spent this life taking what he wanted from this world, and discarding what he didn’t. To him—people had become objects to be used or disposed of. That was simply the way of things here.

  And yet, something in Edo’s voice… something wrong…

  Edo’s laughter faded, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. But then, with unsettling calm, he said, "Though, you know… I did have a couple ideas toward that aim. But you won’t be around long enough to bear it witness."

  The finality in his words hit like a death knell, more chilling than any wound he had sustained. This was it. There would be no bargaining, no mercy, no leaving this battlefield with his life intact.

  For the first time in his wretched, bloodstained life, he felt something foreign grip his heart.

  Fear.

  Radley’s breath hitched as Edo stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow over his broken body. He had nothing left—no weapon, no strength, no dignity. And yet, some desperate, primal part of him still clung to the hope that there was a way out.

  His mind raced. He had one last gambit—his healing reserves. A last surge of energy to mend what he could, restore his strength, run.

  His fingers twitched, reaching to activate a scroll in his inventory—

  Edo moved first.

  With a sharp motion, he drove Gae Bolg into the earth between them. The legendary weapon, Radley’s proudest possession, was now planted like a grave marker. But before he could even process why he did that, something else happened—Edo’s crystal-etched staff shimmered and vanished.

  In its place, resting in Edo’s hand, was something else.

  A fossilized stone, dull and ancient, as if ripped from the very bones of the earth itself.

  And then—Edo tossed it to him.

  Radley caught it on reflex, confusion momentarily overriding his fear. He stared down at the object in his bloodied hands, eyes widening. What was this? A final insult? Some cryptic game?

  He looked up, desperate for answers—

  And what he saw sent ice through his veins.

  Edo’s lips curled into a smile—no, not a smile. A cruel, jagged mockery of one. A look of pure, unrestrained malice.

  Radley barely had time to react before Edo raised his outstretched hand.

  A single word left his lips.

  "Portal."

  Radley’s world ripped apart.

  A violent force yanked at his very essence, dragging him away, his body weightless, his limbs flailing. His vision stretched, warped, collapsed.

  The battlefield, Edo, the lands he conquered for three decades—all of it vanished in an instant.

  There was no time to fight. No time to struggle. No time to scream.

  Just an overwhelming, void sensation of being sucked away—

  To a place with no escape.

  * * *

  The world settled. The wind carried nothing but silence.

  Edo lowered his hand, exhaling deep as the last traces of the spell faded from the air.

  He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. A slow inhale, a slow exhale.

  Thirty years.

  Thirty years since that rat bastard had taken everything from him. And now? Now he was gone. Not just dead—no, death was too simple. Too clean. Radley had been cast out. Sent to a world with no hope, no power, no way back.

  Edo let out a slow chuckle, the sound devoid of warmth.

  "Have fun over there," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

  Minutes passed.

  He stood there, taking in the aftermath of his own vengeance. The cold night air. The scent of scorched earth and shattered ground. The eerie quiet that followed the destruction.

  Then—

  A sudden, almost imperceptible shift.

  The weight of Gae Bolg in his hand changed ever so slightly.

  Edo frowned, glancing at it. A tingle ran through his fingertips, an instinct honed through years of mastery over his innate skill.

  Then it clicked.

  The soulbound condition was gone.

  Edo’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. He turned the spear in his hands, testing it, feeling the unmistakable absence of its former wielder.

  There was only one explanation for that.

  Radley was already dead.

  The thought hung in the air, strange and a little unexpected.

  Then Edo scoffed.

  "Figures," he muttered, shaking his head as amusement crept back into his voice. "Didn’t even last five minutes."

  His fingers ran idly along the length of the spear.

  "Some 'warlord' he turned out to be."

  With that, Edo turned away, the last remnants of Radley’s existence fading from his thoughts.

  His revenge here was done.