Tumbling backwards, the figure crashes into a flat, wooden surface, leaving a back imprinted dark crater. Amidst the sprawling rubble, their brown leather tunic stains crimson from the gash on the edge of their lips. Endless crimson red liquid cascades from numerous grazes and deep cuts with some spreading across the leather pants.

Their listless, slit eyes stare blankly at the oak timber in between their legs.

Strides of a rustling metal paces towards the reclined figure, the timber below creaking underfoot.

Standing before squared windows, a stream of sunlight rains on the reflective porcelain metal, a stark contrast to the gloomy, dark silhouette below.

Lifting their steel barbute helmet with their delicate hands, long, glistening blonde hair flowing out, revealing, a pale, feminine face. Streaks of sweat trickles down their thin, blonde eyelashes. With their smooth, flattening, rosey lips, and diluted, golden-hued pupils, they look down with a cold expression as unforgiving as steel.

A gust of cold wind flows through the exposed front door behind the porcelain armoured figure. Fluttering their bright red cape, they turn with a sneer on their lips. Taking out a glass filled with red bubbling liquid sealed by a cork, they toss it towards the unsightly being.

"Pathetic," they said while striding off into the sunset, and into the eerie forest surrounding the oak hut.

Without a trace, they leave a deeply rooted stain upon the defeated figure of a man.

"I didn't even see her attack!" The man looks up at their brown, plain ceiling in hopes of understanding his predicament.

Placing his trembling palm on the mouth, his swollen red pupils constrict, with blood-filled coughs erupting.

With one arm, he struggles to lift himself up, while the other capturing the mixture of dark and red hues of liquid from his mouth in response to his bleak situation.

'She is way too strong to be in this forest.'

Noticing that his life force was quickly draining, he rummages the ground near him and drinks the liquidated glass, the wounds begin to mend, perceivable with the naked eye.

His eyes dazing into the abyss, laying flat on the ground covered in blood and sweat.

—-

A day pass in a blur, he wakes up in the middle of the day. Aching from stiffness and wounds, he begins undressing himself while scrabbling through his wooden cabinets for white threaded rolls, wrapping himself all around in spirals.

With a composed demeanour, he grabs a soaked mop and cleans the ground's dark red stains.

Finishing his other maintenances, he slowly makes his way towards the outside, sitting on a rocking wooden chair.

Looking into the bright horizons filled with cushion like clouds and a calm breeze enveloping his surrounding. He heaves out a slow and steady deep breath from his nostrils. His clouded, brown eyes fills with reaping exhaustion, his tan, calloused palms rests on the chair handle, and his dull black hair flutters slightly to the wind.

'A wall.' Contemplating about his fight with the silver knight, he grips the chair handle with firmness, his eyes sparkle with renewed vigour and determination.

Grabbing onto the handle of his chipped iron sword besides his chair, he moves out in front.

Standing in front of a tree riddled in cuts. With his feet spread apart, gripping his sword handle two handed, he swings his sword persistently.

His entire body, chiseled and toned, especially his lower body, as his legs grips the ground beneath with extreme immovability.

The flowing of time passes by effortlessly through the intense and passionate heavy groans slashing at the tree.

With the noon drawing close, he notices a ruffling of tall bushes on his right. He immediately stops and takes a swift break.

Two grey-furred beasts on all fours, their fangs dripping with saliva, ribs visible through their emaciated skin, circle the tall, muscular figure. Their red eyes glimmer with bloodlust as they watch their prey, sensing weakness beneath the surface.

He takes a deep breath, steadying his rhythm, eyes following their every movement. The wind rustles the trees, but his focus remains sharp. The wolves' hunger-driven growls reverberate around him. As one lunges from the left, he sidesteps just enough for it to crash headfirst into the scarred tree behind him.

Anticipating the second's approach from his blind spot, he loosens his grip on his sword's hilt. In a swift, practiced motion, his right arm swings right, back arming the wolf into a nearby tree with the hard leather of his brace. The impact reverberates through his body, but his mind wanders momentarily, drawn back to the chipped edge of his sword.

'What to do...' he inwardly sighed, frustration mixing with exhaustion as he glanced at his worn-out weapon. The wolves weren't retreating; instead, their growls deepened, bloodlust sharper than ever.

They moved in unison, leaping toward him from both sides. In an instant, he crouched low, and their bodies collided in mid-air with a sickening thud. But then something shifted inside him. As he rose, his eyes wavered, his legs faltering beneath him. His grip on his sword slackened as a sudden wave of pain slammed into his skull.

He stumbled, gripping his head as a sharp groan escaped his lips. The headaches from the previous day came flooding back, more vicious than before. The wolves, sensing their chance, circled faster, their claws raking across his skin. Each swipe left fresh wounds, his body growing weaker under their relentless assault.

His vision blurred as the echoes of a single word tore through his mind: "Pathetic." The voice—her voice—whispered, then shouted, poisoning his thoughts as the wolves' claws carved deep into his flesh. Blood trickled down his arms, his legs, every exposed part of his skin.

Disgust welled up inside him. Not from the wounds, but from the lingering presence of that word—her voice. His movements became sluggish as he struggled to keep his footing, trying to shake the poisonous taunt that ravaged his mind. The wolves took advantage, circling faster, attacking more ferociously, leaving him struggling to fend off both the beasts outside and the demons within.

But, with a subtle realisation of what motivated him to live, he heard calm and touching words of his kin from within.

—-

"Don't worry about me! You must live on!" A delicate tan hand caresses his soft and wet face.

Gripping her other hand firmly, he shutters, "Please… You are my only family I have left. Why are they doing this to our village!"

She coughs, chuckling at that man holding onto her body into his embrace, "Your such a sweet boy, a man shouldn't cry. Stand tall, you are the one to inherit our family's wil—" With her slow and fleeting last words, he gently places her down in the midst of rubble.

With steel armoured knights rushing in and cornering the two in the midst of flames. He slowly stands up with his back against their faces.

"How arrogant! Men, cut him up and feed his remains to the wolves."

Taking their swords out, one by one, they formed consecutive attacks towards the figure with his dark, tall back facing them.

Taking his honed and straight iron sword out, he loosens his grip on the hilt, slouches forward as if loosening his muscles, and his eyes cloud in black, those resembling that of the night.

Turning his body around, he moves with incredible speeds, swerving left to right of the steel armoured knights, cutting their heads one by one with precision.

Scared witless, the commander flees with his tail between the legs screaming his stationary units to protect him. With hundreds of knights targeting him, he mutters, "Doesn't matter." As he continues to swiftly decapitate his enemies, leaving the commander for last.

As the one sided slaughter continues to bring the morale of the army down, a considerably larger starture of a being, walks up flaring a bright, golden light upon his iron sword.

"I am the Captain of the Golden Swords, Russ Weilson, ranked 437th." With pride smearing his face he slowly awaits for the slouched dark figure in front to respond.

"I am the man that will take your heads and place it in front of your kingdom's palace." With a horrendous wide grin, he chuckles with tears welling up upon his eyes.

"Truly arrogant." With a downward slash, he fires a yellow, crescent projectile, filled with immense power towards the figure in front.

Holding his hilt loosely, his face turns sober. As if the whole world turned dark, he feels immersion with his sword. Exhaling a whiff of steam coming from his rampant engine in his body. Taking an unusual stance with his left hand gripping the ground, and his right hand angling the blade towards his back. He dashes forward, grabbing onto his sword two handed at the precise moment of when the crescent aura attack manages to touch his blade, gripping his hilt instantaneously causing the impact to increase tremendously.

Moving irregularly on instinct, his eyes narrowly focuses on Russ Weilson, a being who he deems worthy enough to face properly.

Raising his sword as if he was bringing down judgement to sinners, Russ said, "Filthy Terensins. You should accept your fate as one!" He screams as he swings down his sword towards the fast moving target.

The leather armour, tan figure drags his sword from his behind, and down in a curve like an uppercut, slamming the blades edge onto the aura blade.

The attack resonates, sending shockwaves across the entire vicinity. The soldiers fall flat on their buttocks, paralysed with fear.

With a couple of trails fleeing into the distance, the army quickly scatter with some hiding behind Russ Weilson.

However, Russ Weilson's loses his grip against an impossible being in front of him, with his sword spinning upwards towards his back.

"Impossible?! I, Russ Weilson, who was ranked 3rd in the 43th Reginad Academy. To lose to some lowly miscreant?!"

Feeling the weight behind such an outlandish attack, he sees his opponent once again loosening his entire being and moving like water.

"Any last words?" With a hushed voice, the man of the Terensin background said.

He laughs, slouching forward on his knees, Ross Weilson said, "I—"

The head of the man flies into the night, with the moon shining upon their shocked expression.

—-

Blocking the fatal attacks, he comes back to senses with a look of raging bloodlust.