In a mere span of moments, it became rapidly apparent to the assailants that their situation was dire and their prospects grim. The realization that victory was unattainable, and escape a fleeting dream, spread among them like wildfire. Panic took hold, and in their desperation, they broke ranks, forsaking their commander's orders. Yet, the very environment Nusi had conjured—the voracious trees—became their jailers, refusing passage and mercilessly leeching the life-giving water from their bodies.
Those few assailants who had miraculously evaded the arboreal predators attempted to flee the battlefield, no longer seeking the consent of their leader. The original force, once a formidable 8,000 strong, had been decimated to a paltry 1,000, and even this number continued to dwindle as Nusi's creations hunted them down. The trees, acting as nature's executioners, left a trail of desiccated corpses in their wake. Should the onslaught persist unchecked, it was conceivable that fewer than 300 of the assailants would survive to see another dawn. Even the assailants' commander, besieged by the pressing need to survive, found no respite as Commander Silaini relentlessly pursued, intent on leaving no adversary unaccounted for.
Armad, observing from a distance, reflected on the trees summoned forth by Nusi's formidable power. The trees, ordinarily symbols of life, had become agents of death, turning the tide of the battle in their favor. In the cruel calculus of war, the death of an enemy is often met with grim satisfaction; however, when the tide turns and one's forces face annihilation without inflicting a comparable toll, the psychological impact is devastating.
This was the plight that had befallen the once-mighty force of 8,000, now reduced to less than 1,000—men who came to the cruel realization that their adversaries were not warriors of flesh and blood, but inexorable forces of nature. Striking down a tree was a fruitless endeavor; it neither weakened the enemy nor brought them closer to victory. As this truth took root, the remnants of their courage withered away, replaced by a singular, desperate goal: to survive and relay the tale of their catastrophic defeat.
Armad knew the enemy's predicament well—their vain hope to regroup and inform their battalions of the unfolding tragedy. Yet he was confident that the enemy's higher echelons had already witnessed the annihilation of their forces. Any reports from the stragglers would serve only to confirm the scale of the disaster that had already unfolded before their eyes. With this in mind, Armad remained stoic, untroubled by the possibility of enemy messengers escaping to spread the word of their defeat. He was resolute in his decision to cut off any chance of retreat for the Deba.
With a sense of grim satisfaction, Armad drew his blade, its metallic sheen mirroring his resolve. His mind wandered to Nusi, whose presence on the battlefield was akin to a force of nature, a solitary warrior whose strength rivaled that of an entire battalion. Her cultivation techniques, once honed to perfection, promised to unleash devastation upon their enemies, granting her the power to vanquish legions single-handedly.
Recognizing the strategic importance of preserving such a formidable asset, Armad made a silent vow to protect her at all costs. In a symbolic gesture, he severed a sliver of his cultivational sense and wove it into the fabric of Nusi's being, embedding it within a lock of her hair. This act created an invisible, unbreakable bond between them, ensuring that Armad would be alerted to any imminent danger threatening Nusi. With this safeguard in place, he was prepared to preemptively strike down any peril that dared approach her, ensuring that his most potent weapon in this war would remain unscathed.
Armad delved into the throes of battle where his Debas were locked in a fierce confrontation with the assailants. As he made his way to the heart of the conflict, he appeared seemingly out of nowhere behind the enemy commander who was currently engaged in a duel with Commander Silaini. With the element of surprise on his side, Armad launched a rapid strike against the opposition’s leader. To his dismay, the attack failed to catch the commander unawares. It was almost as if the enemy had been lying in wait for Armad’s assault. For, even as Armad’s sword sliced through the air, the enemy commander, without breaking his duel with Silaini, flung a knife over his shoulder targeting Armad. There was no need for him to look; it was a move of someone confident in their skills and power.
The knife was not just any weapon—it was imbued with the formidable cultivation power of 40,000 years, a testament to the enemy commander’s strength and experience. It zipped through the air with deadly precision and speed that seemed to mock the distance it needed to travel.
Commander Silaini, in his oversight, might have expected the assailants to underestimate Armad’s capabilities, thus allowing him to approach their commander with relative ease. Alternatively, he might have believed that the enemy commander, being preoccupied with their duel, would not be able to launch an effective counterattack. Whatever Silaini’s rationale, it was clear that his judgment was flawed, and there was no way he could outrace the knife to shield Armad.
Despite the dire situation, Silaini refused to give up. He activated every technique of speed at his disposal, resolved to save Armad even if it meant intercepting the blade with his own body. However, his path was obstructed when the enemy commander maneuvered to block him. The two commanders, both at the Peak-of-Deba level, possessed unfathomable speed and agility, and when they clashed, a brilliant explosion of light erupted around them.
Meanwhile, the knife closed in on Armad. He had been fully aware of its release and the difficulty he would face in avoiding a strike from a blade carrying such a high level of cultivation, especially when the world seemed to be providing additional aid to the enemy commander. Desperate, Armad chanted the spells of Kaban Shisu, hoping to teleport away in the nick of time. But the incantation was too slow, and before he could vanish, the knife found its mark, impaling him at the front of his chest.
Armad summoned all the power of his cultivation to the impending site of the wound, attempting to form a barrier against the incoming blade. But the gulf between their levels of cultivation was too vast; his defensive efforts only managed to reduce the knife’s speed by a negligible 17%. The blade continued its relentless advance.
The force of the impact was immense as if Armad had been hit by five towering mountains. He was sent flying, his body unable to maintain its position in the air, and he crashed to the ground with such force that it created a crater. Blood surged upward, and Armad was wracked with a violent bout of vomiting.
Dizzy and in shock, Armad wearily checked the site where the knife had struck him, bracing for a severe injury. To his amazement and relief, there was no blood, no gaping wound—there wasn’t even a scratch on his skin. It was a miraculous occurrence that defied explanation, leaving Armad and perhaps even his assailants bewildered by the apparent absence of any damage.
As Armad stood in surprise amidst the aftermath of the attack, a critical realization dawned upon him. The unique technique he had been perfecting — one that significantly enhanced the strength of his skin — had reached a formidable 50% efficiency. This was not an insignificant feat; it was a testament to his unwavering dedication and the arduous training he had undergone. Additionally, the protective aura his world exuded, a manifestation of his inner strength, had played its part by absorbing over ten percent of the knife’s destructive force. Consequently, only about 90% of the intended power had managed to penetrate his defenses.
But Armad’s strategic use of cultivation was not to be underestimated. His adept application had siphoned off approximately 17% more from the knife’s waning potency. To any onlooker skilled in the art of combat calculations, it was clear that a mere 70% of the attack’s original force had truly assailed Armad. Remarkably, his fortified skin had not just withstood the blow but had negated the remaining 70% of the attack with astonishing efficacy, leaving not a scratch to mar his well-earned armor.
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The realization of the full potential of his skin-strengthening technique was a pivotal moment for Armad. It bolstered his confidence, broadening his strategic horizon. He entertained the possibility of taking on the formidable commander in single combat. Still, he was not naive to the dangers that lay ahead. While his skin could repel the brunt of physical attacks, he was acutely aware that a blow carrying enough force could wreak havoc beneath the surface, causing internal damage that his external shield could not prevent. This underscored the importance of vigilance and the need to evade any attacks that could bypass his robust dermal defenses.
With Commander Silaini at his side, Armad felt a renewed sense of optimism. Together, they could indeed challenge the commander, a foe of considerable might, and ensure he would not escape to wreak further havoc.
Onlookers, including the esteemed Commander Silaini, watched in astonishment as Armad emerged unscathed from the site of impact. The absence of blood, where the knife had seemingly made contact, prompted whispers and stares of disbelief. Could it be that Armad was not of mortal ilk? The very thought sent a ripple of unease through the ranks, for even a warrior of Commander Silaini’s caliber would have sustained injuries from such an attack. Had it not been for the tell-tale signs of blood, they might have been convinced that Armad had artfully evaded the knife’s deadly embrace.
However, Armad’s calm exterior belied the turmoil within. Upon probing the area where the knife had struck, a surge of pain coursed through him, a grim reminder that his defenses were not impregnable. It confirmed his earlier concerns: the attack, though not visibly marring his skin, had inflicted internal damage, fracturing a rib with its sheer force. This internal injury could explain the unsettling cough and the blood that had followed — a stark indication that the force had potentially caused further unseen trauma within his body.
Armad’s mind raced with the implications of his discovery. While his enhanced skin provided a formidable barrier against external threats, the internal damage from a forceful impact remained a critical vulnerability. A misstep or a direct hit to a vital area, such as the heart, could prove disastrous, if not lethal.
With these sobering thoughts, Armad recognized the gravity of engaging with an adversary at the Peak-of-Deba level. Facing such a mighty bender alone was a risk that bordered on folly. Wisdom dictated that he reassess his strategy. Resolutely, he chose to entrust Commander Silaini with the task of continuing the battle against the commander. Meanwhile, Armad would turn his attention to the remaining Debas — adversaries who, though numerous, had not yet attained the even Province-of-Deba level.
Armad’s confidence in his ability to dispatch these lesser foes was not unfounded. His combat prowess, combined with his strategic acumen, assured him that he could dispatch the Origin-of-Deba level Debas in short order. With his mind set on this new course of action, Armad prepared to face the challenges ahead, determined to emerge victorious.
Armad, his breaths measured and heavy from the exertion of battle, reached into the depths of his cloak and extracted a small, unassuming vial. Within it were ten energy-boosting pills. With a swift motion, he tipped the contents into his mouth and swallowed them whole. The effect was instantaneous; his fractured bone knitted itself together beneath his skin as he watched in muted fascination. Yet, the relief was incomplete—the persistent gnaw of pain clung to him stubbornly.
Refusing to be bested by his own body, Armad retrieved another vial, this one containing twenty pills, imbued with even greater restorative power. He downed them with the urgency of a man chased by his mortality. Within a minute, his wounds conceded to the medicine’s potency, and the ache that had been an unyielding companion faded into nothingness.
All the while, from a vantage point shrouded in the shadows of the battlefield, the commander observed the spectacle of Armad’s rapid recovery. This commander, whose eyes missed little, had seen the fleeting moment of Armad’s subterfuge as he slipped the pills into his mouth. Though Armad had tried to conceal the nature of his medicinal aid, it was a futile effort. The commander might not have discerned the exact concoction used, but he understood its significance. He knew well that not even the furthest corners of the town could shield Armad from his perceptive gaze.
Once Armad’s strength was fully restored, he launched himself into the air with a renewed sense of purpose. His trajectory did not lead him towards the heart of the conflict where Commander Silaini and the adversary’s leader were locked in a deadly dance. Instead, Armad descended upon the secondary fray, where his loyal Debas was entangled with the enemy’s forces.
Armad chose his target with a predator’s precision, emerging from the sky like a silent tempest. The enemy Deba, who was embroiled in the chaos of combat, registered no warning of Armad’s approach. It was only when the cold steel of Armad’s sword pierced through his back and jutted out from his chest that he realized the fatal error of his obliviousness. This was no ordinary attack; Armad had summoned the full extent of his powers, his cherished Nagirinki, and the collective energies of his world to deliver a blow that was both swift and devastating.
The surrounding Debas, those aligned with Armad and those against him, could only stare in disbelief. They had all heard tales of Armad’s prowess and had seen him lay waste to numerous Debas of the wild people. But the urban Debas, such as the one now felled, were renowned for their advanced cultivation techniques, and it was presumed they held the upper hand. That Armad had managed to strike down such a formidable opponent, and through the means of an ambush no less, spoke volumes of his skill and the lethal subtlety he wielded.
The event served as a stark warning to the remaining Debas of the enemy. Their underestimation of Armad had been a grave miscalculation, and now they watched him with newfound caution, their strategies shifting to account for his unpredictable nature. They understood that the element of surprise was no longer an advantage they could exploit.
But Armad, his eyes cold with the clarity of his mission, paid no heed to their silent recalibration. His intent was not to skulk in the shadows; the time for ambushes had passed. With his powers restored and his resolve steeled, he was ready to confront the enemy head-on.
Armad surged forward into the heart of the melee. One of his loyal captains was fiercely dueling with one of the enemy’s Debas. Without hesitation, Armad joined the fray, his sword a blur as it struck Deba with a force that seemed to call upon the heavens themselves. The weapon, resplendent with engravings of stars, seemed to come alive, its ethereal energy targeting Deba with relentless ferocity. Overwhelmed by the mystical assault, Deba was driven to the ground, the invisible weight of a celestial barrage rendering him immobile.
In that critical moment, the armored captain at Armad’s side thrust his blade deep into Deba’s side, exploiting the opening provided by his commander. With a fierce cry, Armad severed Deba’s foot, the battlefield echoing with the enemy’s pained screams. Without missing a beat, Armad executed a majestic turn in the air, his blade cleaving Deba in twain. The life of the enemy warrior was extinguished in mere seconds.
The ensuing silence was short-lived, however, as within two minutes, a second Deba fell by Armad’s hand. The two elite warriors, each said to possess the might of a small town, were cut down with startling efficiency.
The enemy commander, stationed not far from the bloodshed, could hardly contain his fury. Each Deba represented an immense investment of time, resources, and training—a single Deba’s worth equated to the economic and defensive strength of an entire town. These elite warriors were more than soldiers; they were the very backbone of their communities. Thus, Armad’s blade had not merely slain men but had struck a crippling blow to the foundational strength of the opposing towns.
Despite the remaining formidable size of their forces, which numbered some 40,000, including a substantial contingent of Debas and the King’s Legion, the commander’s spirit was eroded by the swift and brutal loss of such critical assets.
But before he could even begin to mourn, Armad’s relentless onslaught claimed another three Debas. In total, five of these revered warriors had been slain by Armad alone. The enemy commander, his mind racing with the implications of these deaths, realized the dire situation. His remaining Debas, already engaged with other foes, were now exposed to Armad’s calculated strikes. It was entirely plausible that the remaining fifteen Debas would be overwhelmed and meet their end in this disastrous encounter.
Driven by a mix of fear and strategic necessity, the commander issued the command to retreat. But retreat was not in Armad’s lexicon that day. With his captains by his side, Armad pursued the fleeing enemy with a predatory zeal, their blades singing songs of death as they cut down any who dared to stand in their way. Commander Silaini, abandoned by his superior, could only look on in despair as the enemy commander turned tail, his will to fight shattered.
The battlefield bore witness to Armad’s triumph, the once contested ground now firmly under his control. Yet even as his troops reveled in their victory, Armad signaled for a cessation of the pursuit. Barely 100 meters from the site of their victory, he raised his hand, his authority unchallenged. There was wisdom in his restraint; the scent of victory was sweet, but the price of complacency could be bitter. Armad knew that more battalions awaited them, and his forces must be ready to defend their town against these looming threats.
Thus, it was a time for vigilance and recuperation. Armad’s warriors needed rest, and the wounded required attention. The respite would also provide an opportunity to strategize and prepare for the next wave of combat.