Conan continued to rotate his swords of ice faster till the swords of darkness seemed to lag behind and with a massive outburst of spiritual energy, the swords of darkness were blown away, while the swords of ice all spun towards the captain.
They spun so fast that they left a flame-like mist as an afterimage which further turned into smaller spinning swords and rushed dangerously toward the captain.
The Captain's pupils dilated as the swords got dangerously closer, whistling as they tore through the air toward him.
He quickly took his sword out of the ground and the darkness beneath them slowly disappeared. He took a stance and waited for the swords to reach and they didn't disappoint as they came with full force sooner than he estimated.
He met the first rotating ice sword with a strike of his sword. The collision pushed him back and fluttered his cloak. waves of bone-chilling air spread out as a result of the collision.
The man's hand was slightly shaking and was bloodied. Nonetheless, he channeled spiritual energy into the sword and made it larger. Several more swords were coming his way after all.
He sucked in a shaky breath but all he did was suck in cold air that almost froze his saliva, throat, and lips immediately, but regardless, his smile didn't wane. Even though he was close to getting frostbitten.
He was someone who loved challenges in battle. Someone who believes that even with the blessings he received from god, he knew that he wasn't perfect.
So he always seeks out battle with valor. The more interesting battles he had, the more his love for battle grew and the more he improved. Albeit with all the improvements, he was still in the lower ranks.
Not like he cares about the ranks. All the higher-ranked people are just green nobles with their names on paper. He couldn't outclass a noble, no matter what.
He looked at Conan and felt a great rush of blood in him, his heart thumped so loud that it beat against his ribcage, but the armor on him suppressed the beatings and sent the shockwaves back to the rest of his body, prompting him to shake, regaining his waning vigor.
In front of him stood a man in a black skin-tight armor suit. No doubt his apparel is like that of an assassin. A seasoned one at that.
But his eyes spoke of something else. His left serpentine eyes were scarlet. It gave off a cruel and tyrannical presence. While his right eye was like a human's but purple, which gave off a benign and friendly presence.
All in all, his presence was conflicting to the man, prompting excitement to course through his veins vigorously. Perhaps it was fear, he reckoned the figure was nothing normal, and he even felt the cold presence of death choking him, but he was ready.
To die doing what he loved. He loved battles, he loved his sword and he loved the night.
The captain shook his head and concentrated on Conan. Even if he was ready to die, that won't stop him from stopping himself from dying.
The rotating swords stopped rushing at him for that brief moment, instead, they circled Conan and came back at the captain with full force. Threatening to split him apart.
A rotating sword spun horizontally toward the captain. The waves its blade produced as it rotated caused a deep trench on the ground as its trail, and because it was rotating towards the man, the sharp but cold waves assaulted him mercilessly before the sword itself came.
The captain fended against the sharp waves with his sword's tip pointing to the ground. His hands were on the grip, aligned with the other to raise the hilt of the sword to his forehead level.
He channeled Spiritual energy into the sword by its handle and the sword generated a translucent barrier, it made his appearance almost invincible and let the sharp winds through his form.
The sword reached and with movements as fast as the sword, he raised his sword and slashed at it. The collision between two swords created a misty shockwave and a crackling boom.
The man was pushed back and he held his chest with shaking steps, but his determination didn't falter in the least.
More swords came and all the men clashed with them without a single exception. All he faced without fear of being hurt. And each one he clashed with caused cold numbness to gnaw at his fingers which he used to grip the sword.
Cold blood trickled from his face due to the broken prices of ice that stuck on various parts as a result of his collision with the ice swords. The swords didn't just explode but turned into fragments, but the force behind each was greater than that of a boulder.
Thankfully, his sword was always covering the lower parts of his face that weren't protected by the helmet and visor. So except for sharp splinters that poked his face...
The bombardment stopped after he had cut through rotating swords of ice that had devastating force behind them, he had lost count of them, His head became fuzzy but his eyes struggled to maintain clarity. Thanks to the night, he was able to see Conan even with all the devastation and thick mist around them.
Conan was standing there, like a statue. To others, he looked like he was trying to intimidate the man further through the pressure his presence exuded.
The blue markings on his form-shifting armor were emitting cold mists that shrouded his presence partially but his eyes were revealed. The fact that they were colorful was not what was impressive, but the fact that they were flickering, and each time they flickered, interchangeably.
Conan in actuality was conflicted. The cold side of him was gnawing at him to kill the man immediately. But the friendly side of him was screaming otherwise.
Those two sides were both a residue of his habits. Having lived for so long his habits had become a part of him now that he had become neutral. Especially for the cold and tyrannical side which he spent most of his life as.
Hence, the Benign and loving side of him was weak as such a lifestyle came after and accompanied him for a short while.
So he decided to just forget about the man and remained neutral. If he listened to his cold side, he would have killed the man and his comrades already and if he listened to his benign side, he will make friends with the knights.
But he will never listen to the benign side because he hated making friends. He'd rather listen to the cold side and go for the kill or be neutral.
The 'sides' are like primal instincts that came from his lifestyle. Changing his way of living had put a taint on his spirit and had caused his consciousness to split into two subconsciousness, hence the sides—or taints.
He turned to leave but not before sending disks made from ice to spin toward the man. The disks spun and whistled as they danced in the air, making tricky movements as though they had sentience.
It surprised the captain and the other knights who were all watching with lips sagging. The knights had clustered together as they watched with restrained breaths but on seeing the discs which seemed sharper than the swords, they sprung to action.
The sharpness alone was enough to cleave the captain into two. But the Knight didn't waver and raised his sword with shaky hands and gritted teeth.
He clashed with the discs also this time, but he noticed that the discs were blunter than they look. They weren't sharp at all.
This fact was only further proven when his sword was knocked away from his hand due to the recoil of the collision and the other continued ramming him.
The discs of ice had a rather large size. As they collided upon him stumbling him backward, he didn't get cleaved apart as he expected.
Rather, the disks broke from the impact they made with his armor but the force behind them caused many things to befall him. All of which wasn't pleasurable, to say the least.
He was in so much pain that his consciousness almost slipped away but he struggled to maintain his grab of it. Relentless, the discs rammed against with mighty force until an equally mighty shield intercepted.
He plopped to the floor and looked up. Upholding the shield were his comrades. They combined their weapons to make a fairly large shield as their weapons were relics that came from the god they serve.
They smiled at him reassuringly but were also worried about his well-being. They asked him questions but he didn't hear.
Matter of fact he couldn't feel anything... He just felt the great urge to rest. And so he did, his consciousness plunged into a vast river of darkness. Even if he felt nothing at the moment, his mind seemed to be in the comfort of the river.
And so, his conscience continued to let the darkness whelm him. He felt Conan's presence vanish. How he knew baffled him but he just knew, it was like he vanished.
...
Conan left the scene instantly. His figure vanished with a step that he took before he reappeared to take another step, several meters away from his last step.
It was like he was folding space—because that's what he was doing— He was using the Oracle eye to find Liam which made him bend space and cross distance with each step.
Soon, he arrived at a location that only made testament to the wreck that was brought upon the place.
The trees collapsed and were consumed into ashes by bright yellow flames. A few lucky ones. were blown up into splinters. Golden embers dancing around.
The ground was hot, the stones were red hot, and the sands were scorched. Liam's flames danced to the silence in the crater situated in the middle.
Liam was there, resting in tranquil solitude.