Curious, Aito turned his gaze to see Krugan riddled with wounds. His armor was dented and his shield had deep markings. It took the orc all it had to get here. Braving the Khül's air blade was no easy feat.
All around, soldiers were forming a circle-shaped barricade to block any crazed orcs from entering the "death zone."
Aito took advantage of this small respite to grab a ball from an inventory bag. He kept all his boom and flash balls in this one with a few spell beads.
He didn't exactly have the time to see if it would be the right one and just hoped his luck was decent enough—not that it brought him anything good recently.
"'Our people?'" The Khül chuckled, his voice low and filled with madness. "YOUR people. I've lost my people long ago, fake boy. You all are just copies of a glorious past! Do not pretend to be otherwise!"
"*Sigh* the sacred weapon and the Khül are deeply linked. Or so the Woodcutter will soon learn."
Extract from "Yggdrasil Chronicles, The Woodcutter of Iris," by Roan the Merchant.