The flickering lantern light danced across the cellar walls as Kayle Westeros closed the dusty tome, his mind buzzing with the refining knowledge the Evolution System had just poured into him. The mineral vein beneath the estate wasn't just a resource—it was a lifeline, a spark of power his ancestors had harnessed to build the Westeros name. Now, it was his turn to wield it. He flexed the mechanical arm, its gears clicking softly, and felt a surge of certainty. The Laytons thought they could stomp him into the dirt, but he'd make them choke on their arrogance.
Lilia sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, clutching another book, her auburn hair falling into her eyes as she yawned. "Brother, it's late. Shouldn't we rest?" Her voice was soft, tinged with exhaustion, but her gaze held the same stubborn fire Kayle felt burning in his chest.
"Not yet," he replied, standing despite the protest of his cursed legs. "The Laytons won't wait for us to catch our breath. Robert's licking his wounds, but he'll be back with more men. We need to hit them first—show them we're not just sitting ducks." He offered her a hand, pulling her up with a grunt. "Go tell Old Tom to wake the others. We've got work to do."
Her eyes widened, then sparkled with excitement. "You mean it? We're fighting back?" She darted off before he could answer, her footsteps echoing up the stairs. Kayle smirked. That girl had more spirit than half the manor combined.
By the time he reached the courtyard, the servants were already gathering, bleary-eyed but alert. Old Tom leaned on his cane, his grizzled face set in a determined frown, while Ryan bounced on his heels, fists clenched and ready. Martha, Jasper, and the others stood in a loose semicircle, their makeshift weapons—rusted swords, pitchforks, a cracked axe—gripped tightly. The air crackled with tension, the night sky above a blanket of stars pierced by the distant rumble of hoofbeats. Kayle's pulse quickened. They were coming—faster than he'd expected.
"Listen up," Kayle said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. He stepped onto a cracked stone slab, the mechanical arm gleaming faintly in the moonlight. "The Laytons think we're weak, finished. They're wrong. Robert ran his mouth, and now they're sending more to finish what he started. But we're not waiting for them to kick down our door. We're taking the fight to them—tonight."
A ripple of shock passed through the group, followed by nods and grim smiles. Jasper cracked his knuckles. "About time we gave 'em a bloody nose, Young Master." Ryan whooped, brandishing a stick like a sword. "Let's smash 'em!"
Old Tom raised a hand, his tone cautious. "Young Master, they'll have numbers. Robert's a fool, but his father's men aren't. You sure about this?"
Kayle met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm sure. They'll expect us to cower, not strike. That's our edge." He tapped the mechanical arm. "And I've got this. Trust me, Tom—we're not losing tonight."
The system chimed in his head: "Task detected: Preemptive Strike against Layton Forces. Reward: 20 Initial Evolution Points + Basic Refining Tools Blueprint." Kayle's grin widened. The system was practically egging him on now.
The hoofbeats grew louder, accompanied by shouts and the clank of steel. Kayle turned to Ryan. "You remember that rock pile by the gate? Get it ready again. Jasper, Martha—flank the sides with whatever you've got. Tom, keep Lilia back and watch the manor. I'll draw them in." He didn't wait for replies, striding toward the gate with a limp but a purpose that belied his frail frame.
The Layton force emerged from the darkness—a dozen men on foot, led by a hulking figure in dented armor. Kayle recognized him from Old Tom's warnings: Captain Garen, a Layton enforcer known for breaking skulls and burning villages. His broadsword glinted as he raised it, his scarred face twisting into a sneer. "Westeros trash! Robert said you'd crawled out of your hole. Good—saves me the trouble of dragging you out!" His men fanned out, swords and clubs at the ready, their laughter harsh and mocking.
Kayle stopped just inside the gate, the mechanical arm humming louder as he raised it. "You want me, Garen? Come get me." His voice was cold, steady, a challenge that wiped the smirk off the captain's face.
Garen roared, charging forward with his sword aimed at Kayle's chest. "Die, cripple!" The others followed, a wall of steel and malice bearing down on the lone figure.
"Now, Ryan!" Kayle shouted. The boy shoved the rock pile with all his might, sending a cascade of stones crashing down. Garen cursed as a boulder slammed into his shoulder, throwing off his swing, while two of his men crumpled under the barrage, their screams swallowed by the dust. Kayle darted forward, the mechanical arm swinging in a brutal arc. His fist smashed into Garen's armored chest, denting the steel and sending the captain staggering back with a wheezing grunt.
"You little—!" Garen swung again, his broadsword slicing through the air, but Kayle ducked—barely, his cursed legs screaming—and countered with a punch to the captain's knee. Metal crunched against bone, and Garen dropped to one knee, howling in pain. Kayle didn't stop. He grabbed the captain's sword arm with his mechanical grip, twisting hard until the blade clattered to the ground, then drove his fist into Garen's jaw. The crack echoed across the courtyard as the captain sprawled backward, blood streaming from his mouth.
Chaos erupted around them. Jasper barreled into a Layton thug with his pitchfork, pinning the man against the wall, while Martha swung her axe at another, forcing him to retreat. Ryan darted between the fighters, hurling stones with deadly aim, one cracking a servant's skull with a wet thud. Kayle spun to face the remaining men, his mechanical arm a blur as he struck. One went down with a shattered arm, another with a crushed chest, their cries drowning in the night.
"Enough!" Garen bellowed, hauling himself up, his face a mask of rage and blood. He snatched a dagger from his belt and lunged, faster than Kayle expected. The blade grazed his side, a hot line of pain flaring as blood seeped through his tunic. Kayle grunted, stumbling, but the system's voice cut through the haze: "Host injured. Activating emergency boost." A jolt of energy surged through him, dulling the pain, and he roared, slamming the mechanical arm into Garen's chest with every ounce of strength he had left.
The captain flew back, crashing through the gate's wooden frame with a splintering crash. He landed in a heap, armor bent and useless, his breaths shallow and ragged. The surviving Layton men froze, their weapons clattering to the ground as they stared at their fallen leader. Kayle stepped forward, looming over Garen, the mechanical arm dripping with dust and blood. "Crawl back to Robert," he snarled, his voice low and lethal. "Tell him this is what happens when you step on my land. Tell him I'm coming for the Laytons—all of them."
Garen spat blood, his eyes blazing with hate, but he couldn't rise. "You're… dead," he rasped, clawing at the dirt as his men dragged him away, fleeing into the darkness.
Kayle stood there, chest heaving, as the courtyard fell silent. Ryan whooped, pumping his fist. "Young Master, you smashed him! He's done for!" Jasper and Martha joined in, their cheers ragged but triumphant. Lilia raced out from the manor, Old Tom hobbling behind her, and threw her arms around Kayle. "Brother, you're incredible!"
The system chimed: "Task completed: Preemptive Strike against Layton Forces. Reward dispensed: 20 Initial Evolution Points + Basic Refining Tools Blueprint." Warmth flooded Kayle's body, easing the sting of his wound. He ruffled Lilia's hair, then turned to Garen's retreating form, his voice carrying into the night. "Run all you want. It won't save you."
The Laytons had underestimated him. That was their mistake—and he'd make them pay for it.