Reman's fist sank into flesh, the wet, visceral crunch reverberating through his arm. He savored the sensation, his breathing heavy, his pulse roaring like a war drum in his ears. This—this was what he was made for.
Totallis had forged him for this. Drema had blessed him for this. His ancestors had bled for this.
The battle around him dissolved into chaos. He didn't see comrades or enemies anymore—just obstacles in his way, challenges to overcome. Every swing of his spear, every strike of his shield, felt like a declaration to the gods themselves: Look at me. See what I've become.
Another defender lunged at him, sword raised high. Reman twisted his torso, sidestepping the blow with inhuman precision. His spear thrust forward, the sharpened steel slipping through a crack in the man's chainmail. The defender let out a choked gasp, blood bubbling from his lips as he fell.
Reman didn't stop. He couldn't. His blood was on fire, his heart pumping molten iron through his veins. He spun, shield raised to catch the downward arc of a mace. The weapon glanced off, and before the attacker could react, Reman slammed the edge of his shield into the man's face. Bone crunched, and the defender collapsed, writhing on the blood-soaked ground.
"Come on!" Reman roared, his voice carrying over the din of battle. His spear twirled in his hand, the weight of it an extension of his will. "Fight me! Show me the strength of Astad's finest!"
Two soldiers rushed him, one swinging a longsword while the other jabbed with a spear. Reman ducked beneath the sword's arc, the blade missing him by inches. He pivoted, using the momentum to bring his own spear around in a sweeping motion. The wooden shaft collided with the spearman's ribs, cracking them with a sickening thud.
The swordsman pressed the attack, but Reman was faster. He stepped inside the man's guard, slamming his shoulder into the attacker's chest. The man staggered, and Reman drove his spear upward into his throat.
Another came at him—a large man wielding a battleaxe. Reman grinned, a feral gleam in his eye. The man roared, bringing the axe down in a heavy overhead strike. Reman planted his feet, raising his shield to meet the blow. The force of it jarred his arm, but his shield held firm.
With a grunt, Reman pushed upward, deflecting the axe to the side. He surged forward, ramming the blunt end of his spear into the man's gut. The soldier doubled over, wheezing, and Reman ended him with a swift thrust to the heart.
The ground beneath him was slick with blood and mud, the air thick with the metallic tang of death. He moved like a storm through the chaos, his spear and shield a blur of motion. Every movement was deliberate, every strike precise.
A group of defenders formed a wall of shields in front of him, their spears bristling like a hedgehog's spines. Reman's lips curled into a grin. Finally, a challenge.
"Shieldwall!" someone shouted, the Astad soldiers bracing themselves for his assault.
Reman lunged forward, his spear jabbing into the seams of their defense. He struck with relentless speed, his attacks forcing the defenders to shift and reposition. They were disciplined, but Reman was unyielding.
He ducked low, slamming his shield into the bottom of the wall. The impact rattled the formation, creating a small opening. It was all he needed.
With a roar, he surged through the gap, driving his spear into the chest of one soldier and kicking another in the knee. The man crumpled, his screams drowned out by the clash of steel. Reman twisted his spear free, using the momentum to bash his shield into the side of another defender's head.
The shieldwall crumbled around him, the defenders unable to maintain their formation. Reman was a force of nature, an unstoppable tide of fury and precision. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, as if the gods themselves guided his hand.
For a brief moment, the battlefield grew still around him. The defenders hesitated, their resolve wavering as they watched him cut down their comrades with ease.
"Come on!" Reman bellowed, his voice raw and thunderous. "Is this all Astad has to offer?"
A defender charged him, desperation etched into his features. Reman met him head-on, sidestepping the wild swing of his blade and driving his spear through the man's chest. He planted a boot on the corpse, yanking his weapon free with a sickening squelch.
Blood dripped from the tip of his spear, staining the ground beneath him. His armor was slick with gore, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But he felt alive—more alive than he had in years.
This was why he fought. This was what he had been bred for.
The noise of battle began to fade, the chaos subsiding as the last of the defenders fell. Reman stood in the center of it all, his chest heaving, his spear planted firmly in the ground beside him.
"Shieldbreaker! Shieldbreaker!" the Warband called out, their voices echoing across the battlefield.
Reman turned to face his men, his bloodied shield still clutched in one hand. The name rang in his ears—Shieldbreaker. A title he had earned with sweat, blood, and unrelenting will.
He raised his spear high, the men of Estil erupting into cheers at the sight of him. This victory was theirs, and his. He was not merely a soldier or a Deathless. He was a warrior forged for greatness, a weapon honed by the gods themselves.
And as he stood amidst the carnage, the bodies of the fallen scattered at his feet, he allowed himself a moment of pride. This was his calling. This was who he was.
Reman Eversworn. The Shieldbreaker. A true Deathless warrior.
And the gods would surely take notice.
Reman's fist slammed into flesh again, bone cracking beneath his knuckles. The defender crumpled at his feet, but Reman didn't stop. His spear twirled in his hand, an extension of his will, and he surged forward, his shield raised to meet the next foe.
This—this—was what he was made for. Every strike, every movement, every roar of defiance felt like it had been etched into his very blood. His body, honed by the brutal trials of Estil, moved with unrelenting purpose. His every motion carried the weight of a legacy forged by Totallis, shaped by Drema's blessings, and tempered by the fires of battle.
He wasn't just a warrior. He was more.
A soldier lunged at him, sword aimed for his neck. Reman turned, the attack passing harmlessly over his shoulder as he stepped into the man's guard. His spear lashed out like a serpent, the blade slicing cleanly through the gap between helm and breastplate. The soldier staggered, clutching at his throat as blood sprayed, but Reman was already moving.
There was no hesitation, no pause. His mind burned with clarity, his every action driven by instinct and purpose. Another defender came at him, wielding a warhammer. The heavy weapon swung in a wide arc, but Reman ducked low, the wind of the hammer's strike brushing past his back.
He retaliated immediately, thrusting his shield forward to bash the man's ribs. The defender stumbled, and Reman drove the butt of his spear into the man's knee. The hammer fell from his grasp as he collapsed, only for Reman to finish him with a swift stab to the heart.
It was effortless. It was natural.
He felt the ground beneath him tremble as the Chalicebreakers charged behind him, their horses crashing into the fray. But Reman wasn't watching. His focus was on the next group of defenders who had rallied ahead, their shields locked in a tight formation. A spear wall.
A smile crept onto his bloodied face. Good. They're trying.
The defenders braced as he approached, their spears lowered, points gleaming in the midday sun. To anyone else, the wall of sharp steel would have been a death sentence. But not to him.
Reman surged forward, shield raised as he collided with the line. The sheer force of his charge sent the first row staggering back, their formation splintering. He drove his spear into the gap, piercing the shoulder of one man and tearing through his armor like paper. Another defender jabbed at him with his spear, but Reman deflected it with a sharp twist of his shield, then lashed out with a kick that sent the soldier sprawling.
They were slow. Predictable. Astad's tactics were blunt instruments, meant to grind their opponents down through stalemates and exhaustion. But against him, it was useless.
Another soldier thrust his spear toward him, but Reman caught it mid-strike, the wooden shaft clutched in his gauntleted hand. He yanked it forward, pulling the man off balance, then smashed his shield into his face. Blood sprayed as the soldier crumpled, his helmet dented inward.
Reman didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His body burned with energy, his muscles moving with a strength and speed that felt almost divine. This was what Totallis had meant for him. This was what Drema's blessing had promised.
Another defender—a larger man wielding a longsword—rushed at him, a roar of desperation tearing from his throat. Reman met him head-on. The man's blade came down in a furious arc, but Reman's shield snapped upward, deflecting the blow with a sharp clang. Before the man could recover, Reman drove the head of his spear into his stomach, twisting as it sank deep.
The man's roar turned into a pained gurgle, and Reman pulled his weapon free with a wet squelch. The defender fell, clutching his bleeding gut, but Reman didn't spare him a glance.
"Come!" he bellowed, his voice booming over the din of battle. "Come and face me! Show me the strength of Astad's finest!"
He was rewarded almost instantly. Two soldiers rushed him at once, one wielding a sword and shield, the other a heavy axe. Their movements were coordinated, their eyes locked onto him with grim determination. But Reman saw through them as easily as he'd see through a pane of glass.
The swordsman struck first, his blade flashing toward Reman's ribs. Reman stepped back, the attack missing him by inches. The axeman followed, his weapon arcing downward in an attempt to crush Reman's skull.
Reman twisted, his shield snapping up to deflect the axe. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through his arm, but he didn't falter. Instead, he surged forward, slamming the edge of his shield into the swordsman's throat. The man gasped, choking as he fell back, and Reman turned his full attention to the axeman.
The man swung again, but this time, Reman didn't wait. He ducked under the attack, closing the distance in an instant. His spear lashed out, stabbing into the man's thigh and forcing him to one knee. The soldier roared in pain, but Reman didn't let up. He brought the blunt end of his spear down on the back of the man's head, and the axeman crumpled into the mud, unmoving.
The swordsman struggled to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth as he raised his weapon once more. Reman tilted his head, his expression almost pitying.
"Fool," he muttered, before driving his spear into the man's chest.
Another defender fell. Another obstacle removed.
The battlefield around him was a storm of noise and chaos, but to Reman, it felt distant, muted. All he could hear was the rush of his blood, pounding in his ears like a war drum. All he could feel was the weight of his spear in his hands, the satisfying crunch of armor and bone as he tore through his enemies.
He wasn't just fighting. He was proving himself.
Every step, every strike, every kill was a declaration—not just to his enemies, but to himself. He wasn't just another warrior in Daenys' Warband. He wasn't just another Deathless. He was something more.
He would make Totallis proud. He would make Drema proud. And one day, even Rev would have to acknowledge his strength.
Another soldier charged him, sword raised in a desperate attempt to take him down. Reman stepped forward to meet him, his movements as smooth as water. He deflected the blade with his shield, then swept his spear low, cutting through the man's legs. The defender collapsed with a scream, and Reman ended him with a quick thrust.
The next foe came just as quickly. And the next. And the next.
But none of them could touch him.
Reman moved like a storm, his spear flashing like lightning and his shield striking like thunder. He was relentless, unstoppable, a force of nature that couldn't be denied. His enemies fell before him like wheat beneath a scythe, their screams swallowed by the roar of battle.
He didn't need to think. He didn't need to plan. His body knew what to do, every motion guided by instinct and years of grueling training. This was his domain. This was where he belonged.
The battlefield was his altar, and the blood of his enemies was his offering to the gods.
"Shieldbreaker! Shieldbreaker!"
The chant began to rise above the chaos, first from the Chalicebreakers, then spreading to the Dorme and Ironbloods.
"Shieldbreaker!"
Reman's grip tightened on his spear. His chest heaved, blood dripping from his armor and pooling at his feet. The name thundered in his ears, and for the briefest moment, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
"Come!" he roared, raising his spear high. "Come and face me! See what the Deathless are capable of!"
This was his moment. His proving ground.
And Reman Eversworn would show them all what it meant to be Deathless.