At the utterance of that name, Cristian's pupils quivered, muscles tensed, and goosebumps surfaced from the chilling winds echoing Medusa's hiss. Amidst the diminishing wolf pack and the Dark Lord's hateful glare, a sinister command echoed: "Kill her."
Ten wolves surged towards the defenseless arcane mage, but Cristian's determination surged. Digging his boot soles into the soil, he sprinted towards Sheila.
With a forceful leap over the obstructing wolves, he landed swiftly behind them, disregarding their threat as he pushed forward towards Sheila, racing against the approaching pack.
In the midst of this turmoil, Cristian's mindset underwent a transformation—from an ordinary earthling to something ancient and formidable: a Berserker, a class long forgotten, now resurfacing.
Berserkers were legends, renowned as brutal forces on battlefields, creators of havoc and nightmares. Their mere presence signified carnage and chaos, and Cristian, though unaware of this legacy, was destined to revive this ancient prowess.
"BACK TO THE WALLS!" his thunderous command reverberated, snapping the soldiers from their daze. Knowing the potential danger of Medusa's illusions, Cristian understood the impending disaster if the soldiers fell victim—they would be torn apart.
The moon's silvery glow danced upon his blade as he swiftly severed a wolf's head. Sheila narrowly avoided a fatal fate. "Why?" his thunderous voice echoed as he surged forward, dispatching another assailant with a powerful kick. "Is!" His sword plunged through the fallen wolf.
With each strike, droplets of crimson adorned his blade, forming a macabre rhythm as they fell to the ground. "She!" He slammed the blunt side of his sword into another wolf, causing it to crumple. Blood seeped from its mouth as Cristian wielded his weapon with determined ferocity.
"Ugh!" A wind wolf's compressed air tore through his flesh, eliciting a grunt. Reacting swiftly, Cristian intercepted another aimed at Sheila with Burning Fury. She watched, torn between warmth at his protective gesture and disappointment in her own incapacity.
No adventurer would knowingly engage in a losing battle, yet here he fought on, tattered and bloodied, leading the fray. Seven wolves lay defeated, with only three standing, two of which were injured.
"Cristian," her voice softened, reaching out to him for the first time, but he recoiled as if repelled by her touch. Confusion and a mix of emotions flickered in her eyes. His fear, relief, and caution were palpable.
Sheila's attempt to reach out and Cristian's swift retreat left both in a moment of disquiet. He couldn't bear the thought of her succumbing to his tainted blood, a feeling that gnawed at him.
Before Sheila could speak, her widened gaze drew Cristian's attention to the slithering form emerging from the forest—a massive snake, reminiscent of the one that led him astray to Grayston. Its presence filled the air with an unsettling hiss, casting a chilling fog over the plains and encroaching into the town.
The people, soldiers included, fell victim to illusions, the clatter of dropped weapons a haunting melody to the Dark Lord's ears. The snake's sinister fog enveloped the area, prompting the wolves and their master to retreat in tandem.
Cristian's eyes blazed with green flames, and the sound of a woman sobbing drew his attention. Sheila knelt on the ground, her resolute eyes now reflecting an aura of despair, reminiscent of a young girl who had lost her mother.
"Hiss~ You can't escape from me, Athelstone," a charming voice echoed behind him, prompting a chuckle from Cristian.
'I never knew this world desired my demise this fervently,' he mused inwardly, unaware of the future implications those words would hold.
"Medusa," he muttered, turning to meet her gaze, where his small, ghastly green eyes clashed with her large blue ones. Both pairs held a strange charm and allure. Recent days had stripped him of his naivety, teaching him the true importance of strength.
In this world, everyone pursued strength, going to any lengths to attain it. The only question was whether one was strong enough to evade becoming a target.
To be feared or to be the one who feared—life or death—these were the binary choices at every turn. Cristian vowed always to embrace life. If Medusa desired him so ardently, she would have to strive considerably for it.
His current regeneration lacked the speed to heal his injuries, forcing him to endure both pain and an icy chill.
"You've chosen the hard path," Medusa's voice reverberated, observing the human frailty on display, finding it utterly pitiful.
'It's a shame I'm alone,' Cristian sighed, igniting his blade. The fiery shadow cast flickering light on his face, and the madness of his origin surged within him.
"I'll drive this blade through you, even if it's my final act!" Cristian yelled, twirling his blade defiantly.
Medusa parted her massive jaws, releasing whitish smoke that transformed into frost hurtling towards him. A smirk played on Cristian's lips as he ignited the flames on his blade by channeling mana into it, plunging it deeply into the ground.
Boom!
Ice and fire collided, turning Cristian's surroundings into ice. Some frost appeared on his skin, but as he continued fueling his blade, it melted away. Even as his body froze and his health dropped, Cristian marched forward. 'I wish I had flames to complement my decay,' the freezing man muttered inwardly, raising his sword.
Suddenly, a golden beam fell upon him, restoring his life force and dispelling the cold. Back at the wall, a resplendent golden-haired beauty radiated golden light. The image of an angel appeared behind her, alongside a phantom. She raised her staff and struck the ground with its bottom.
Boom!
A golden barrier enveloped the town, and people slowly regained their senses. Some felt ashamed, having found themselves in unthinkable positions. "You're not alone... Athelstone," Anna murmured, her golden eyes filled with questions she knew but Cristian did not. No other being dared to utter the name Athelstone, for it meant death to them and their kin.
Being called Athelstone meant Cristian was an angel, but where were his wings? Or perhaps he concealed them? Numerous thoughts raced through Anna's mind, but she set them aside for the moment; questions would come later if they survived.
Medusa's attention momentarily shifted away from Anna, but refocused as Cristian leaped, channeling a staggering 50 points from his pool into the blade, sending an arc of flames toward her. An ice wall quickly formed, negating the attack without much damage.
"It's time to end this," Medusa scowled, raising her large head higher to unleash a devastating attack. A golden barrier materialized, separating him and Medusa. "CRISTIAN, BACK TO THE WALL!" Anna screamed. Even at a distance, Cristian heard her, but before he could take three steps, the barrier shattered, and a beam of frost shot from Medusa toward him.
"He's gone," Sheila, brought to the wall, sighed, her eyes clouded with an unexpected emotional turmoil. As she contemplated, translucent liquid coated her eyes.
"Damn, I made a promise to Lia," Cristian sighed, both gloves dropping to the ground. He was ready to unleash his affinity.
"You hurt him," the voice, barely a whisper, altered the situation as a figure emerged from Cristian's shadow.