As Grot surveyed the lopsided conflict below, his keen eyes fixated upon the towering Cyclops beneath him. With a swift strike, he severed the head of the magic bat beneath his feet and plunged 100 meters from the sky.
Beneath him stood Corso, the formidable Cyclops lord of level beta. Corso, too, had detected a presence and promptly directed his gaze upward, meeting Grot's eyes in the air.
Corso discerned the immense power and grew invigorated rather than fearful. The Cyclops were engaged in their maiden battle for the City of Dawn, and victory was imperative. Glory awaited them in triumph, and glory signified strength. In an era defined by might, those devoid of glory would be scorned.
During his tenure in the City of Dawn, Corso had developed a deep affection for this city, where sustenance was abundant, and the terrors of warcraft were absent. This was his home, and he stood ready to defend it.
Grot's gaze hardened, and he gripped his sword with determination. The two palm-wide, silvery-white blades were heirlooms from his ancestors, sharp enough to cleave dragon scales. He covered the distance of hundreds of meters in the blink of an eye.
Corso responded to Grot's approach by brandishing his massive mace made of pure iron.
Grot, mid-descent with no room for escape, raised his enormous sword and met Corso's mace head-on.
The impact was thunderous, sending ripples through the air. Corso's formidable mace was cleaved in two by Grot's colossal sword.
Grot continued his descent, wielding his sword with the momentum of his fall, aiming directly at Corso's chest. The Cyclops, possessing immense strength, lacked agility and could not avoid the attack.
A sharp, grinding noise filled the air as Corso's full-body armor was sliced open by Grot's blade. A gaping wound stretched from his chest to his abdomen, spewing blood.
The excruciating pain fueled Corso's fury, and he retaliated by swinging half of his mace against Grot with all his might. Grot, who had just landed, was caught off guard by the mace, ten times his weight, sending him flying hundreds of meters away. He crashed into two large trees, snapping them in half, before hitting the ground, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.
In a matter of moments, Corso, the strongest warrior of the blood clan, and Grot, a seasoned warrior from the north, lay wounded on the battlefield.
Corso collapsed upon losing his mace, temporarily incapacitated. Morgen, observing the scene from afar, remained unfazed. Only a direct strike to the heart or head could slay a Cyclops with ancient giant blood.
Eliminating the North's most formidable fighter was deemed an acceptable outcome.
However, to Morgen's astonishment, Grot, who had been hurled hundreds of meters away, struggled to his feet.
"Remarkable," Morgen uttered, marveling at the resilience of high-level warriors. Never before had he witnessed a being endure such a brutal assault and remain standing.
Grot's armor was in tatters, his face smeared with dirt and blood, and his gray tunic stained crimson.
The severe pain in his chest suggested at least three broken ribs and a fractured right arm.
Despite his injuries, the northerner's eyes retained their unwavering determination.
His resolve was as unyielding as a mountain.
"Forward!"
Grot seized the giant sword embedded in the ground with his left hand and charged towards the Cyclops lord, Corso, who lay bleeding on the ground 100 meters away.
The northern warrior, fearless and resolute, was prepared to die with honor.
Morgen, who had been observing the battle with disdain, was deeply moved.
Grot's momentum intensified with each step, and the wounded Cyclops lord, Cosso, could not impede his advance.
"Touch of Shadow!"
"Shadow Prison!"
In that instant, two hushed incantations echoed through the air.
Two colossal black hands emerged from the shadows and ensnared Grot's feet, while a shadow prison enveloped him.
The spellcaster, Amy, materialized 30 meters away.
The spells cast were clearly the work of a shadow high priest, and Amy, skilled in shadow magic, was undoubtedly a master of curses.
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In a direct confrontation, Amy might not match the explosive power of a traditional mage, but when it came to restricting and weakening an opponent, the shadow mage surpassed the traditional mage.
Upon seeing Amy, Grot was consumed by fury.
It was this treacherous rat who had led him into this predicament.
His black eyes gradually turned bloodshot.
He would slay this wretched creature!
A latent power within Grot began to awaken under the force of his unwavering will.
The turbulent energy pulsed vigorously.
Under Amy's scrutiny, Grot, despite his severe injuries, grew more formidable, and his wounds healed at an astonishing rate.
His broken arm mended itself in mere seconds.
The bloodline of the north had been activated.
The reason the northern warriors ranked among the top three warriors on the continent was not solely due to their exceptional physical prowess and inherent talent. Additionally, they possessed a unique bloodline talent exclusive to warriors.
During the activation of the northern bloodline, the northern warrior would gain the trait: fearless.
Fearless: Attacks by fearless and undaunted warriors inflict extreme damage. The stronger the willpower, the greater the collateral damage.
The fearless trait was a powerful attribute exclusive to extraordinary warriors, and the extreme damage was their hallmark.
This dazzling blood talent made northern warriors an undeniable force to be reckoned with.
Wielding the giant sword once more, Grot effortlessly sliced through the shadow prison that had bound him.
At that moment, the sword radiated with an ethereal glow.
Extreme, when a warrior's willpower reaches its peak, they can channel magic into their weapon, granting them devastating elemental power.
This power was exclusive to extraordinary warriors.
After Grot activated the power of his bloodline, Amy's countenance changed dramatically.
As a shadow high priest, he was not adept at direct combat, and engaging in a head-on confrontation with a northern warrior who had activated their bloodline was akin to suicide, an act that even a mindless orc would refrain from.
Amy swiftly retreated into the shadows, attempting to disengage from the battle.
But it was too late.
Amy had only been level beta for half a year, whereas Grot had reached level beta over two decades ago when he departed from the north. The disparity between them was significant.
Moreover, Amy was not a spellcaster skilled in direct combat.
The pale white light pierced through the shadow cage.
Amy's hasty escape was thwarted by Grot's devastating sword strike, leaving a massive crater in the ground.
The lethal power of the giant sword imbued with extreme intent had increased more than fivefold.
Amy retaliated with two thunderbolts, but they were effortlessly deflected by the glowing giant sword, causing no harm to Grot.
The extreme power, capable of disrupting the structure of spells, was the extraordinary warrior's ultimate weapon against extraordinary spellcasters.
As the last glimmer of daylight faded, night descended upon the battlefield.
Grot abandoned the wounded Cyclops lord and fixed his vengeful gaze upon Amy, his hatred for the traitor burning brighter than ever.
Amy, exhausted from the battle, struggled to evade Grot's relentless pursuit.
He had no choice but to retreat while fighting, narrowly escaping Grot's lethal blows.
"All blood clans, mobilize!"
Morgen, having observed the situation with calm detachment, finally took action.
The battle had forced Grot to reveal all of his concealed strategies.
Any further delay risked losing Amy, the newly ascended level beta shadow high priest, to Grot's awakened bloodline. A loss that Morgen could not afford.
Before departing, Morgen turned his gaze towards young Isa. Her unwavering tenacity exceeded his expectations. The bloodshed below seemed to have had little effect on her.
"Teacher, you're leaving?"
Sensing Morgen's gaze, Isa raised her head slightly and inquired with a hint of reluctance.
"Indeed, as the ancestor of the blood clan, I bear responsibility for my people.
Just as I, as your teacher, am responsible for you.
Isa's eyes curved slightly upon hearing these words, and she nodded resolutely.
"Teacher, Isa won't be afraid. Go ahead."
Morgen nodded in satisfaction, touched by Isa's unconditional trust and obedience.
"Remain here."
With that, he turned and prepared to depart.
The cave was situated 300 meters below the mountain peak, overlooking the valley. Though night had fallen, the raging fires illuminated the valley.
"Ancestor, we have captured the Northern Valkyrie as you ordered!!"
As Morgen was about to leave, two blood clansmen approached him, their faces beaming with excitement. One of them dragged behind him the scarred Northern Valkyrie.
Morgen sensed the faint breath of the battered Northern Valkyrie and nodded approvingly.
"Stay here and guard her. Also, ensure Isa's safety."
Morgen glanced at the girl who stared intently at him.
"Isa's safety is of utmost importance. If you encounter the enemy, prioritize protecting Isa's safety above all else, regardless of the circumstances."
"Yes, ancestor."
Isa held a special place in Morgen's heart. He cherished her talent and personality, and her well-being was paramount.
"Isa, wait for me here. I'll be back soon."
"Yes, teacher~"
Despite her underlying worries, Isa refrained from expressing them.
In the girl's heart, Morgen's decisions were to be unconditionally supported. It was as simple as that.
After Morgen departed, Isa turned her attention to the unconscious Northern Valkyrie lying on the grass, curiosity piqued.
The scars adorning the Northern Valkyrie's body were more pronounced than the gnarled bark of an ancient tree, exuding an air of ferocity.
Isa took a step closer, her heart filled with inexplicable distress at the sight of the Valkyrie's scarred face.
She could not imagine the pain inflicted by so many wounds. Even a small cut on her hand had caused her immense discomfort.
Suddenly, the girl's ruby-like eyes narrowed slightly, as if she had sensed something, her expression shifting.
"The teacher said that you require my blood to be reborn." Isa gazed at the figure on the ground, her brow furrowing slightly.
"But, should I save you? The teacher didn't tell me to.
"No, Isa wants to listen to the teacher..."
The two blood clans exchanged puzzled glances upon hearing this.
Who was Miss Isa conversing with? The unconscious Northern Valkyrie?
Their faces betrayed their confusion, but they refrained from asking questions, bound by their duty to guard the area.
Moreover, everything seemed normal at the moment, so they could only let the girl favored by the ancestor have her way.
Isa, who seemed to be engaged in a monologue, suddenly broke into a radiant smile.
"I just awakened a new ability two days ago. The teacher doesn't know yet. Maybe I can save you..."