Mukan slowly stepped off the back of the man with the orange glow. There was still an unshakable weight to his stride. The soldiers around him didn't even dare to approach—they only watched with a mixture of awe and fear.
He slung his sword over his back and turned his head toward his older brother. A glint of indifference flickered in his eyes, and his lips curled into a slight smirk.
"This is why I hate summer…"
he muttered, glancing at the scattered corpses and the few skirmishes still ongoing.
"The place is crawling with bugs."
Ilterish frowned, casting a sideways glance at his brother. He was still catching his breath through the dust, his gaze drifting toward the smoke curling through the sky.
"Where did you come from?!"
he asked, his voice tinged with both surprise and a trace of hidden anger.
Mukan let out a soft sigh, as if he were explaining something entirely ordinary.
"I was… drinking Bear Spirit on the palace roof."
Ilterish's expression changed instantly.
His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed.
Mukan didn't need to provoke him often to recognize that look. The storm had arrived.
Mukan paused. The nonchalant expression on his face vanished. His eyes dropped to the ground. A shiver ran through his massive frame. For within that colossal body, a sudden fear crept in— for Ilterish's anger was the kind that made even his enemies tremble.
He pulled himself together and turned back to his brother with a forced smile. Lowering his head slightly, his tone took on a faintly conciliatory note.
"Let me finish off the rest of the bugs first...
You can get angry at me after, deal?"
There was a calculating look in Mukan's eyes, as if he were gauging Ilterish's response but that smirk on his lips was unmistakably his own, a signature grin that could only belong to Mukan.
Ilterish cast him a reproachful glance and spoke.
"Fine. Let it be as you say."
The battle didn't last long. Ilterish and Mukan plunged into the fray. Mukan's massive sword reaped lives with each swing, while Ilterish's cold intelligence and razor-sharp precision left the enemy bewildered.
Every movement was masterful, every step deadly. Together, they were a synchronized storm.
In a short time, the battlefield fell into silence.
No more screams. Only the warm, metallic scent of spilled blood, the weight of lifeless bodies, and the lingering sting of smoke and death in the air.
The palace courtyard had become a lake of crimson. It spared no one. Soldiers from both the invaders and Tengritugen's own had fallen alike. The battle was over, but the price had been steep.
The soldiers no longer hid behind cover; they had returned to duty. Some were carrying corpses, others hauling the wounded back into the inner parts of the palace.
At the center of the courtyard, only silence remained. The roar of war had faded, replaced by the heavy weight of exhaustion.
Ilterish slowly approached his brother. For a moment, he said nothing. Mukan had just walked away from the last breathing enemy on the ground. His back was streaked with blood, but his face remained calm.
Ilterish silently placed a hand on Mukan's shoulder. It was a heavy, but warm touch.
His eyes drifted to the shattered corpse on the ground— especially to the one with the orange glow.
"You smashed the orange one's head in," he said. His voice was stern, but not without a sense of closeness.
"I can't get any information from him now."
Ilterish's hand on Mukan's shoulder pressed down just a bit firmer. There was no threat in the gesture, no scolding— just the weight of consequence.
Mukan turned his head. There was no regret in his eyes, no hint of defense. Only clarity—an almost emotionless calm, like a stone that feels no pain, he gave a slight nod. He said nothing.
But Ilterish knew that silence well. It was Mukan's way of saying: "Yes… but I'm not sorry."
As the wind swept through the courtyard,
the two brothers stood side by side—
surrounded by enemy corpses and fallen comrades. In the silence of the battlefield,
a soldier approached.
His armor still smelled of smoke and ash,
his face was pale with exhaustion, but his posture remained upright and proud.
He stopped a few steps from Ilterish and Mukan, brought his hand to his chest,
and saluted with a strong voice:
"Commanders."
Ilterish turned his head toward the soldier.
Mukan remained silent, unmoving. The soldier immediately began to speak,
his voice both shaky and clear.
"I've come to report. The gate guard Ternun turned out to be a traitor."
Ilterish's eyes narrowed instantly. The soldier continued.
"He killed his fellow guard and opened the outer gates to the enemy. The first wave of the assault began with his betrayal. He was seen fighting against Tengritugen soldiers during the battle. He's still alive—taken prisoner."
A moment of silence fell. Ilterish's fingers moved to the hilt of his sword but he did not draw it. He stared down at the ground.
Hearing that the enemy was not only outside, but also within… It was one of the heaviest truths a warrior could face. The soldier stepped back a few paces, but did not leave without finishing his duty.
"Losses are severe. Forty-three of our soldiers have fallen. Seventeen are critically injured, thirty-six wounded lightly. The eastern wing of the palace has sustained structural damage. The fire is under control. Cleanup and recovery are ongoing."
Ilterish gave a single, steady nod.
The soldier struck his chest once more.
"With your leave."
And he swiftly withdrew, disappearing down the blood-scented stone.
Behind him, two figures remained standing.
One was the general of Tengritugen. The other his shadowless brother.
Ilterish parted his lips.
"Ternun… another snake."
There was no anger in his voice, only a weary resignation.
"By morning, the dungeons will be full."
Mukan's eyes were still roaming the scattered bodies.
"And some won't live to see sunset,"
he said, his voice heavy as stone.
The two brothers turned away from the bloodstained courtyard, making their way into the inner corridors. Silence reigned, but their footsteps echoed with the weight of battle just passed.
As they walked between the palace's thick stone columns, Ilterish suddenly spoke.
His voice was firm—yet carried a buried fury beneath.
"I was attacked in the corridor."
He paused, his gaze lowering.
"By one of our own. He turned his sword on me. Turns out he was part of the sect.
I caught it just in time."
Mukan only nodded. No shock on his face, no outrage. He glanced at the walls with his usual detachment. Ilterish continued, his tone now deeper—tired, but still razor-sharp.
"The sect is one thing, Sezar is another.
As if that bastard wasn't enough… Now we're battling this cursed traitors too."
Mukan exhaled—a short breath that sounded almost like a dry laugh. His voice was calm as always, his face set in that same unreadable stoicism.
"You know me, brother. These things… they're not for my head. Who's pulling strings, who's lurking in whose shadow—I don't follow. I'm a man of war. I speak with steel on the battlefield. This cult, this betrayal, the schemes... That's your domain."
Ilterish furrowed his brow slightly but in his eyes, there was the quiet acceptance of long habit. His reply was brief—cut and clear.
"I wasn't asking for your counsel."
They continued walking. Side by side—yet like emissaries from two different worlds.
One was the iron fist of strategy, the other, the steel wrath of war.
Their steps echoed along the palace's stone floor, and once more, silence settled around them. But now, within that silence, the shadows of coming judgments, executions, and far greater conflicts loomed.