Sir Arslan read the letter in his hand with a grim face and furrowed brows. He threw it aside with a sigh and massaged his nape. The letter came just after the break of dawn, brought by a half-alive, half-burned rider from the free cities encampment. From his condition, Sir Arslan knew that something bad happened, but he never expected it to be this bad.
The free cities military garrison was overrun by Fire Elemental, crushed by the sudden appearance of an army twenty thousand strong. Now Sir Arslan knew why Amaryn garrison wasn't attacked all that much the last few days. But that wasn't the only bad news the rider brought.
The Fire Elemental army that destroyed the free cities garrison was marching to their position from the east while another army was descending from the north. Both expected to arrive at noon with each numbering above twenty thousand strong. With Val attacking the summit and the rest of the Miracle not in a condition to fight, it would be a tough fight. Not to mention the special elemental the army brought with them. Hell, maybe even Flame-Born Knights.
Sir Arslan already ordered his men to fortify the encampment and sent a message to Redmound asking for a reinforcement, but both won't be ready in time.
He stood up from the fine wooden chair beneath him and picked up the sword on the table. The blade was gleaming under the sunlight, showing the excellent craftsmanship went into making it. It was an excellent sword, one of the best in Amaryn, yet everything about it was inferior compared to his BloodRite, except maybe the fact that it didn't talk and complain to him.
He turned and gazed the peak of Mount Etna from the opening of his tent. He had a bad feeling that he couldn't shake off from his heart. High Priestess Sara had told him about the enemy leader, Calamity, one of the Fire Lords with an ungodly high level of one hundred and fifty, higher than any non-demon humanoid ever recorded in history, and twice as high as his own. He hoped that Val and Theo succeeded in closing the portal before Calamity set a foot in this world, or god knows what would happen.
He closed his eyes and stood still, clearing his mind and focusing inward. He was old and the years hadn't been kind to him. While his daily training and practice had kept him from dropping a level, the fight with Alex showed him that he was not his younger self. His joint wasn't as flexible, his movement wasn't as smooth, his strike wasn't as strong or precise as he once had been. And discounting his fight with Alex, it had been ten years since he had a true fight. He worried that he might ...
'Boom'
Sir Arslan turned his head to the sound. If his hearing hadn't betrayed him, it came from the edge of the camp. He rushed out his tent, running to the sound faster than the wind.
Lune was there, standing under the sun with her massive black armor, shield, and warhammer that she somehow able to swing with one hand. Her full body armor hid any injuries she had on her body, yet her dwindling aura was for all to see.
A Flame-Born Knight stood in front of her with wings spread out and a fire blade on one hand. His other hand was a jumbled and mangled mess of fire after trying to block Lune's swing. But now he knew better, and he was winning.
The Knight spread his wings and flew back after realizing a powerful foe coming his way. But he wasn't fast enough nor flew far enough.
A blade of sacred flame clashed with an aura-covered steel blade.
The fire blade split in two. Boiling red molten rock gushed out from the wound on the Knight's chest.
The knight stopped his retreat. His blade reformed in his hand and he aimed it at his enemy's heart. But a parry came from his right and his sacred flame only stabbed the old man's left shoulder.
Sir Arslan grunted. Even the enchanted Royal Guard armor wasn't enough to block the sacred flame of their weapon. He endured the pain. It was nothing.
Sir Arslan ran his blade through the Knight's chest. He stabbed him on the fiery core that was his heart, yet the Knight did not vanish, or die, or even despaired when met with his death.
The knight smiled.
Fire Elemental didn't have any face that a human would recognize as a face. And a Flame-Born Knight added a layer into that, hiding their indiscernible face behind a thick helmet, but he knew the Knight was smiling, without a doubt. The Knight knew since the first time he sensed Sir Arslan that he had no chance fighting him alone, but his brothers might have a chance if he injured him enough.
The Knight took hold of Sir Arslan arm and held it with the last vestiges of his strength. The Knight body lit up with bright red light that scorched the ground.
Sir Arslan watched the Knight with wide eyes. He knew what the knight was trying to do. He pulled his right hand back to no avail. His sword was stuck inside the Knight's body and his right arm was held tighter than he ever been held before.
He turned his face away from the Knight and closed his eyes shut. His aura moved and formed a thick layer of protective barrier on the side of his body facing the Knight.
"SIR!!"
Lune's voice was the last thing Sir Arslan heard before the world turned silent, before his body went numb, and his head rung like a bell.
When he opened his eyes, the world was pure white. He was not dead, he knew that. The afterlife wasn't like that. He panted and grimaced, minutes passed before his vision returned to him. He was laying on the ground with Lune towering near him. But she wasn't looking at him, she was in a fighting stance, holding a horde of Fire Elemental from reaching him.
Sir Arslan jumped to a standing position. His head was still ringing, his vision blurred, and his hearing hadn't returned. But he got a grasp of what was happening.
The sound of battle raging all around him, the shout, the sound of metals meeting metals, the sound of fire, and the scream filled his ears as his hearing came back to him. Armies of fire elemental surrounded the encampment from all side and his soldiers were fighting a losing battle.
His head stopped ringing and his mind cleared, and the numbness was gone too, except for his right arm. Sir Arslan sighed. He knew it from the pain, before even looking at the burnt stump his right arm had become.
He ignored the fact that his sword arm was gone. While it was a nightmare for any swordsman to lose their sword arm or hand, the situation did not allow him to grieve. And a clumsy left arm was better than no arm at all.
He searched the ground around him for his sword but found nothing, He realized it afterward that an explosion that could take his aura-protected arm would have destroyed his sword.
He took a dagger he always had on his belt and killed a few fire elementals foolish enough to think they could take on an unarmed one-handed old man. He turned towards the camp, trying to remember where the spare swords were kept. But before he could even take one step, a ring of fire formed around him.
Sir Arslan stopped and observed his surroundings. One, no, two, no, three ... four.
Sir Arslan ducked right when a fire halberd slashed where his head was. He jumped back when a fire arrow struck the ground where he had been. He rolled to the right then parried a blow coming from his left. All of that happened in a fraction of a second.
"Impressive, Blood Dancer!" A deep voice rang out. "As expected from the so-called 'strongest living swordsman'." Four Flame-Born knights descended from the sky. One in front of him, one behind him, and each on his left and right.
"So you know me?" Sir Arslan was in a bad position. Four Flame-Born Knight after one had almost killed him.
"Of course, do you think we're so careless that we do not scout our enemy's strength and weakness?" The one with golden flame for wings answered. He appears to be their leader. "Arslan Hartman, the Blood Dancer, the strongest living swordsman on the continent." He took one step forward and extended his hand. "Our lady is fond of strong and special specimens, and she planned to keep some of you human alive. Only the best of you, of course. Kneel and throw down your weapon! You should know better that you're outmatched. You can't possibly hope to face the four of us in that condition."
Sir Arslan smiled and nodded his head. "I'm honored that you know me, but how much do you know about me? Do you know why people here called me the Blood Dancer?"
Sir Arslan wanted to know how could they know about him when they were on a different dimension. And based on their information sources, he could determine how much they knew about him and his power. His two most popular nicknames were the Blood Dancer and Fire Beard, and while there were many popular variations of tales and story of how he got those two nicknames, very few actually knew the true reason why.
"Why does that matter?" The knight took another step and formed a sword in his hand. His tone became more threatening. "During your great war with the demon race, you massacred ten thousand demons on your own and washed the field near Redmound with the red of blood." He raised his fire sword and pointed it at Sir Arslan. "Kneel! That your last chance."
The smiled disappeared from Sir Arslan's face. He didn't know where or how they got their information from, but that was the most popular variation of the story. And the wrong one.
He spun the dagger in his hand into a reverse grip and stabbed what was left of his right arm. Smile reappeared on his face as adrenaline flooded his blood. The fact that he might not survive this fight brought a strange kind of joy. The kind that he hadn't felt in twenty years since his unresolved fight with Demon Lord Anvar. The joy of a swordsman facing a challenge.
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Blood came out from the wound when he pulled the dagger out, but the blood did not fell to the ground nor did it sprouted out into the air. His blood formed a long blade, turning his dagger into a sword.
"Come!" Sir Arslan shouted with certainty and pride in his voice.
-----
A shadow moved from one tent to the other unnoticed amidst the commotion of the raging battle. The attack of the fire elemental and the chaos of the whole situation made its job far easier. The guards were not posted on their post, soldiers, adventurers, and mages were in too much panic to notice an intruder walking among their rank. And the few people that it was afraid of, was too busy trying to defend the encampment.
The shadow stopped when it reached its destination, an emergency medical tent near the center of the encampment. The target was inside there.
The shadow had scouted and collected information before doing this mission, and it knew that one of the strongest adventurer party, the miracle, was recovering inside the same tent as the target. It had to be careful to complete the mission. Facing the miracle in a combat was not an option no matter how injured they were.
The shadow opened a vial and threw it under the tent wall. The vial rolled and hit a hard object to a stop. The cap opened and a powerful magical sleeping gas was released. After throwing a few more vials under the tent and checking the movement of the people inside, the shadow entered the tent.
The miracle was fast asleep on their bed. Even Alina, one of the most feared assassins in Amaryn was unconscious. The best assassin would have precautions against poison at all time, and they would have a pretty high resistance against it. For her to lose her consciousness was suspicious, deemed the shadow.
The shadow checked her condition, it would be bad if she was faking it and waiting for the right moment to attack. But she wasn't. The shadow couldn't hide his grin. Pathetic, anyone could kill her when she was like that, and the shadow was tempted to do just that. But the shadow refrained his will, the order was clear, no unnecessary killing and no unnecessary attention.
The target was just a boy, or so he appeared. Small, blue-haired, cute, and baby-faced just like a little kid. Yet inside that small body was an ancient unimaginable power capable of destroying or saving the world. If the world knows about his power, war would be waged over it. And the shadow was there to make sure the master got it before anyone does.
"S ... Stop!"
The shadow turned to see a green haired woman leaning against a bed. The woman was sweating profusely, her grimacing face, shaking hands, and limping body showed that she was not okay.
'How?' The shadow asked without a voice. There was no way for a human to resist the sleeping poison without prior knowledge. And there was no way for anyone to know about the poison except if the master betrayed it.
The shadow's slitted eyes opened a little when it noticed a layer of magic surrounding the woman. An illusion, a glamour, a powerful disguising magic was wrapping around the woman's body like a jacket or armor. The spell was well-made and intricate and complex, like a carefully woven thread. Not many could cast a glamour as high level as that, and fewer could dispell it, but for the shadow, it was only a child's play. With a wave of a hand, the illusion was undone.
Two slightly curved horn appeared on the woman's head, pointing towards the sky. It was black and lustrous as a wet obsidian. A sharp tail showed itself between her legs like a wriggling snake without scales.
The shadow couldn't hide the surprise seeing her true form. What was a demon doing there, fighting alongside human? Both races hated each other and were natural enemies.
The shadow's arm reached for the daggers on its back. Its mission was to get the dragon without anyone noticing. But if someone were to notice then ...
Lyana dropped her head down and three unseen magic daggers tore through the tent wall behind her. Her mind was foggy from the strange gas that filled the air and her lungs. And even though her demon blood resisted the effect, she was not immune to it.
She channeled mana to the palm of her hand, trying to create a lightning bolt. Yet the spell fizzled when she couldn't maintain her concentration. She was in no condition to cast magic.
Another dagger moved towards her head, this time the shadow came with it. Lyana moved her head back, but the shadow grabbed her by the horn and pulled her near his dagger.
She raised both hands to her face. The steel edge bit her skin and flesh to the bone. The blade was small yet cut sharply and deeply. She could see the tiny tip of the dagger coming out from the back of her right hand. The pain was unbearable, but it brought some needed clarity to her foggy mind.
Electricity jumped from her bloody hand to the other and back, increasing in intensity and frequency with each jump. From appearance, it was just like any other of her spell, but she knew it wasn't like any lighting she ever cast before. She vividly remembered the feeling when Ed's eyes turned blue. The air thickened with mana so much that it was suffocating. Her body was glowing and overflowing with mana and all the magic path in her body opened wide, many that she didn't even know existed before. It was what made her able to cast a tier-4 magic, the tier that was often considered to separate a common magic user from a true one.
The shadow pulled back the dagger, but Lyana gripped it with her bloody fist, making her wound deeper and wider. The dagger was slippery because of her blood, so she gripped it tighter yet. She had to do it or she afraid she would miss her mark.
The shadow abandoned the dagger and jumped back, but it was too late. The shadow roared as lighting ran through its thin body from the hand to the arm to the chest, then down to the waist and the leg and exited through its feet.
Lyana fell to her knees. She was still recovering from her wound and she was forced into another fight. Her whole body ached, her head ringing, and her hand hurt like hell. She never felt a pain like this before, she wanted to cry.
"BITCH!"
Lyana raised her face to the sound and saw the tip of the dagger coming right at her.
It stopped.
The dagger stopped before her eyes. Her body still wouldn't move from the shock and the pain, but the shadow also refused to move. The shadow was grunting in pain, his body was scarred with the forked path the lightning took, and its eyes were red and bleeding.
She fought the pain and the ache and the urge to lay down, and stood to her feet. She grabbed the dagger that was soaked with her blood. Even grabbing the handle caused an intense pain that ran along her arms to the spine. She wanted to drop it, but she couldn't, she mustn't.
She put the edge of the dagger on the shadow's throat, or the part that seemed like its windpipe.
"No." Lyana looked back. Vivi was standing there with her hands extended forward. Lyana understood, she was the one who stopped the dagger with her mind magic. Vivi's condition was no better than her. Vivi was sweating like crazy and the bandages covering her head was leaking blood. "We ..." She could hardly speak. "Capture him. To ... question later."
Vivi body wobbled left and right, she was about to pass out. The shadow would move again if Vivi were to lose consciousness.
Lyana threw the dagger in her hand and grabbed the shadow's head. The shadow screamed as electricity ran through its body once more. The shadow crashed to the floor, unconscious, followed by Vivi and Lyana soon after.
As the world grew fuzzy, Lyana realized, she could see her own curved horn. Her disguise magic was undone and she hadn't cast it again. Anyone that came inside the tent would see her true form, a demon that other races hated so much. She raised her finger and ... she lost consciousness. The wound, the pain, and the sleeping gas worked together to rob her of her chance.
------
"Where are you, punny one?!" The voice roared on the rocky terrain.
A werewolf prowled the area on his four legs, sniffing and tasting and searching for its prey. His body was massive, four times bigger than a normal adult male with two red shining eyes on his face.His form was closer to a wolf rather than a man. And he grew closer to become a wolf with each passing second.
Not too far from his position were sword and armor and clothing and pouches and a necklace, all unfit for his size and laying on the ground. And not too far from the items were a Flame-Born Knight, hiding behind a rising rock. His flame armor was in pieces, his weapon broken, and the left side of his torso was nonexistent.
The fight started out normally, with the wolf and the knight fighting on par. The wolf was faster and stronger, but the knight was more skilled and his weapon and magic more varied. But the fight gradually changed. The wolf became stronger, faster, more resilient. Any wound the knight inflicted was healed in a matter of minutes, and later in seconds. The wolf fighting style became feral and reckless, he often charged and swung his sword in a wild abandon. The wolf even threw away his sword after some time, preferring his diamond-hard claw and fangs that were as big as a man's foot.
"Puny oneee~" Shivers ran down the knight's fiery spine. He jumped away from the rock as it exploded into a thousand pieces just from the wolf punch.
The wolf grabbed the knight's legs and put it in his jaw. His sharp fang tore the Knight's legs, and the wolf feasted the legs with a delighted howl.
The Knight had expected it. The fight started out honorably like a fight between two warriors should, but the wolf slowly went mad and turned the fight into a feast. And since the knight couldn't kill the wolf in the normal way, he might as well be the best food the wolf ever tasted, and the most explosive.
The werewolf's eyes opened wide along with his mouth. Fire sprayed out from his throat, scorching his inner mouth black. His gut bloated like a bubble before popping like one. Blood and inner organs flew everywhere, painting the surface of every rock around to red. The wolf upper torso flew high into the sky while his waist down disappeared completely.
Fire spear formed in the knight's hand. He knew the explosion alone was not enough. As long as the brain was intact and as long as the ring still stuck in his finger, the wolf would endure. Strangely, the ring endured any beating and despite the madness, the wolf was careful so that the ring was not cut off from his body.
The knight leaped and stabbed the wolf's falling torso, aiming for the brain.
But his spear was stopped.
The wolf grabbed the spear and spun around in the air. Before the knight knew, his head already went down the wolf's throat. But without a stomach to hold it, the knight's head rolled out and fell to the ground where it finally vanished.
The wolf fell following the Knight. With his ribcage broken and curved outward, his unprotected dangling heart exploded during the impact with the ground.
The wolf lay on the ground with eyes rolled back. His body could not support life anymore, yet the ring on his finger survived all that damage and explosion. Somehow.
The wolf eyes shot open as his heart reformed from the bloody clump it was. He howled and roared and grunted as his body regenerated and reformed. After three minutes, the wolf stood again, taller and bigger and stronger than before.
[Theo Gladium level-up to level 33]
He watched the remains of the Knight and laughed. He killed his enemy, he killed the Knight, he killed a powerful foe that hurt him, his friend, and his women ... his friend? His women? White light danced around in his mind. 'My slave, my pets!'
He held his head as pain wrecked it, something wasn't right. There was no more enemy yet the anger, the bloodlust wasn't going anywhere. There was no more object of hate, yet the hatred and the thirst for vengeance still boiled strong within his heart.
He needed more, he needed more enemy. Yes, that was it. He was angry because he doesn't have anything to be angry about. He hated because he doesn't have anything to hate.
He turned his head towards the sound of footsteps coming near him. "It's here, I'm sure the sound came from here!" A man said with child-like joy. Theo knew whose voice was that, but he didn't care, not for men.
"Wait, Set! At least let us treat your injuries."
Theo's wolf face made the vilest smile. A woman, no, women, he thought. He understood the tone of the woman's voice, it was care and love. But all women were his property, his pets, all for him to take, to fuck, and to enjoy to the fullest, the beautiful one especially. He wouldn't let anyone have them. He will kill that man and reclaim what was his by right.
From their footsteps, he could determine their location, their party composition, and their order in which they walked. The man was running ahead of his group enthusiastically. Theo dropped down on all fours and waited for the man to finally take the turn and enter his vision. Once he saw the man, he would pounce him and rip his body apart.
There was no use giving the man the chance to fight back.