Baron Oliver emerges from the shadow of the night, his steps slow but sure. With each step, the energy of the path flows from his heart, spreading through his veins like a powerful, vibrant current. This energy courses through his muscles, making them tense and ready for action, then expands to his organs, revitalizing every cell with a palpable force. Finally, the energy reaches his bones, which seem to reverberate with an unbreakable power.

As the path’s energy fills his entire body, it begins to intensify, almost like an uncontrollable frenzy. The aura around the Baron glows with a fierce intensity, radiating from his skin and creating a halo of brutality and dominance. His steps echo with growing power until, suddenly, the energy contracts, pulled back inside him, disappearing completely.

The moon partially illuminates his face, cold as winter, highlighting his austere and impassive features.

The battle in the camp was at its critical point. Although they had been fighting for several minutes, there was still a certain balance between the soldiers and the bandits. Both sides showed visible signs of fatigue: heavy breathing, less precise movements, and sweat streaming down determined faces. The shouts of commands and the clang of clashing swords echoed across the field, creating a cacophony of chaos and intensity.

The bandit leader, who was in the metamorphosis stage, began to pant from the effort of fighting four opponents simultaneously. Each strike he delivered seemed to drain more of his energy, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to keep up the pace. However, despite the evident exhaustion, he remained extremely cautious and patient. His eyes analyzed every movement of the soldiers, waiting for a moment of weakness. This patience was finally rewarded when he noticed a flaw in the formation of the four soldiers.

With a calculating look, the bandit leader identified the soldier on the far left who was exposed. He took advantage of the gap with lethal precision, delivering quick strikes that forced the soldiers to separate. Then he concentrated his attack on the isolated soldier, striking his thigh with a precise move. The soldier, too slow to react and without the support of his companions, could only watch in horror as the sword pierced his flesh, making him fall to the ground with waves of pain emanating from his bloodied leg.

The other three soldiers realized the imminent danger as the bandit leader prepared to continue the attack on their fallen comrade. Panic was etched on their faces, reflecting the deep friendship and loyalty they shared. Without hesitation, they rushed in desperation to protect their injured friend, but soon regretted this decision.

As the three soldiers advanced, the bandit leader gave a cold smile. This smile was a harbinger of disaster, and the soldiers realized, too late, that they had fallen into a trap.

The bandit leader, anticipating this exact reaction, acted quickly when the three soldiers broke formation to help their fallen comrade. When they realized they had fallen into his trap, the soldiers desperately tried to regain formation but failed in time.

The bandit leader, with lethal precision, delivered three quick strikes. The first was a diagonal cut aimed at the foremost soldier, who managed to raise his sword in time to defend against the attack. However, the force of the impact made him stagger backward, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

The second strike was even more devastating. With a fluid movement, the bandit leader spun and delivered a powerful blow to the soldier beside him. His sword pierced the soldier’s belly, tearing through flesh and penetrating the stomach. The soldier let out a cry of pain, his face contorted in agony as he tried in vain to contain the blood beginning to pour from his wound.

The third strike was the most brutal. With a quick and precise move, the bandit leader cut deeply into the chest and shoulder of the third soldier. The blade sliced through the leather armor as if it were made of mud, tearing muscles and bones. The soldier, unable to withstand the pain and shock, fell to the ground unconscious, blood rapidly flowing from his mortal wound.

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The soldier with the pierced belly fell to his knees, clutching the wound with both hands as his face paled. Blood flowed freely, forming a pool around him. He tried to breathe, but each movement caused unbearable pain.

The soldier who had managed to defend against the first strike looked around, terrified, seeing his companions grievously injured.

With two more soldiers fallen and unable to fight, the remaining soldier knew he couldn’t face the bandit leader alone. In desperation, he called for help from the companions fighting the other bandits. This plea broke the line that had been keeping the bandits in check.

The bandit leader, seeing the soldiers’ vulnerability, intensified his attacks. The soldier now facing the bandit leader alone defended himself with great difficulty, his sword trembling under the force of the adversary's blows. He could maintain the defense for only a few moments before nearly collapsing, his energy and courage quickly draining.

Fortunately, another soldier, managing to disentangle himself from his previous opponent more quickly, ran to reinforce his beleaguered comrade. With the arrival of the ally, the isolated soldier’s situation was relieved, allowing him to catch his breath and prepare to continue fighting.

In a short period, the remaining soldiers freed themselves from their previous battles and, with quick and coordinated movements, formed a protective circle around their injured comrades. The seven remaining soldiers, now with grim and determined expressions, defended against the intensified attacks of the bandits surrounding them.

The defensive circle was tight, and each soldier fought fiercely, determined to protect their fallen comrades. Swords gleamed in the moonlight as they blocked each bandit strike, creating a barrier of steel around the wounded. The shouts and the sound of clashing blades filled the air.

The bandit leader, now facing only two soldiers at a time, appeared more relaxed and confident. His movements were more fluid, the previous tension dissipating. His breathing, once frantic due to the effort, now showed signs of stabilization. He knew he had the advantage, patiently waiting for the right moment to deliver a fatal blow.

At that moment, the firm steps of the Baron were heard by one of the bandits, who alarmed, shouted: "Boss, look, there’s another one!" The bandit leader, initially alarmed and somewhat nervous, glanced at the Baron. His nervousness quickly faded when he realized it was just a newcomer, not a group of soldiers. Upon sensing the energy emanated by the Baron, which was even less than that of the soldiers he was fighting, his alarm vanished completely. He assumed the newcomer was just a soldier who had been stationed at the rear and, seeing the situation, was trying to help his comrades in danger.

Losing interest in the newcomer, the bandit leader turned his attention back to the surrounded soldiers. Seeing that the battle was under control, he decided to reinforce his position. "Ebruk!" he shouted, calling one of his strongest and most reliable men. One of the half-naked bandits, upon hearing his name called, stopped immediately, his eyes focused on the leader. "Take that arriving soldier and kill him," ordered the bandit leader, knowing that Ebruk, being one of the strongest under his command, could quickly dispose of the newcomer and return to help finish off the surrounded soldiers, whom he considered the real threat.

Among the bandits still standing, many already displayed various cuts and wounds from the battle. Ebruk, however, was the only one, aside from the bandit leader, who had not yet been injured. With unshakable confidence, he quickly disengaged from the soldiers he was fighting and ran towards Baron Oliver, a dagger firmly gripped in his hand, determined to quickly finish off the newcomer.

The Baron, with his cold and expressionless face, watched Ebruk approach without showing the slightest sign of fear. Ebruk, noticing the apparent lack of threat from the Baron, felt his confidence grow even more. He decided to attack without the slightest caution he had shown when facing the soldiers, confident that this opponent would be easily defeated.

Seeing that the bandit was underestimating his presence and attacking without any care or technique, Baron Oliver lost the little interest he had in the confrontation. Ebruk, noticing the disdain in the Baron’s eyes, felt a wave of anger, followed by laughter, finding it amusing what he considered to be the arrogance of a weakling who would be killed with a single blow.

"Die!" shouted Ebruk, striking with his dagger from top to bottom. But to his surprise and confusion, the blow stopped in mid-air. His arm began to throb with pain, as if being chewed by the jaws of a wolf. He tried to reason and realized that the Baron had disappeared from in front of him and reappeared at his side, holding his wrist with tremendous force.

Ebruk cursed, desperately trying to break free, but as soon as he started to escape, the Baron tightened his grip on his wrist. The sound of bones breaking echoed across the battlefield, and the dagger fell to the ground. The unbearable pain made Ebruk stop his escape attempt and start screaming desperately.

The Baron continued to tighten Ebruk’s wrist until he heard a final crack, completely breaking the bones in the bandit’s arm. Ebruk’s scream echoed through the night, drawing everyone’s attention, as he fell to his knees, overcome by pain and fear.