Phase 2 ongoing
Julian's footsteps echoed sharply across the shattered battlefield, deliberate and unyielding. His eyes locked onto the lone spear lying just ahead—his lifeline.
The air reeked of burning flesh and rotting curses. Ghouls shrieked in relentless waves, desperate to tear him apart.
He didn't flinch.
"I don't have time for this."
With a burst of speed, Julian drove his boot into a lunging ghoul's ribs. Bones cracked beneath the blow. Another came in from his flank—he twisted mid-step, driving a knee into its jaw. Black blood sprayed across the dust.
They tried to curse him—dark sigils floating toward his chest like parasitic shadows.
Julian bit his lower lip, grit shining in his eyes.
Pain jolted through him, and the curse shattered like fragile glass. His foot pivoted. With one fluid motion, he jumped and spun a kick straight into the caster's face.
A single breath.
Then he landed beside his spear.
"Reinhart Spear Art: Form One," he whispered.
His fingers curled around the weapon's shaft.
Flames ignited.
Raw, roaring fire erupted as the spear spun in his hands, obeying him like a loyal beast. The heat was immediate—searing, divine.
The ghouls screamed before they could reach him.
Julian moved again, low and lethal, sweeping the spear across the legs of a charging ghoul. It toppled.
"auxano."
The air thickened. Crimson energy pulsed from his body, surrounding the spear, engulfing it.
The spear grew—twice its size, then more.
No time to marvel.
He used the newfound length to launch himself skyward, twirling mid-air as mana surged beneath his feet.
"Ginomai" his spear came to it's original size.
Then—he hurled the spear downward.
Time seemed to freeze.
Then—impact.
BOOM.
The ground split open. Fire exploded outward in a devastating wave, swallowing the battlefield in blazing fury. Dozens of ghouls disintegrated, reduced to scorched ash.
Julian landed with a roll, grabbed his weapon, and stabbed it into a ghoul struggling to rise.
His breath slowed. That should have been enough.
Then—a voice echoed from his ring.
"Julian. Use that skill."
His heart skipped a beat.
"No, Master," he muttered. "That skill drains too much mana. If I use it, I'll collapse."
"I'll assist," the voice replied calmly. "I'll help you conserve your energy."
"But you said you'd never interfere."
"Do you want my help or not?"
Julian hesitated.
The battlefield still crawled with enemies. His allies were stretched thin. They couldn't afford to hold back.
"…Yes, Master. I need your help."
The moment he said it, the world shifted.
His crimson mana darkened—thick and heavy, like molten metal. His spear began to smoke. No… it wasn't smoke.
Something alive.
Dark flame—writhing, sentient—coiled around the weapon, forming jagged shapes like claws, like fangs. His eyes deepened to black, glowing faintly beneath his crimson hair, the contrast terrifying.
The spear changed.
The flames took the form of a beast—one made entirely of fire, with a ghoulish mouth and eyes filled with hunger.
It roared.
Then it charged—on its own—like a predator unleashed.
Julian didn't move. He didn't need to.
The dark flame ghoul lunged into the horde.
Its mouth opened—and devoured them.
Dozens of ghouls vanished in seconds. Nothing remained.
Only smoke.
Only silence.
Elsewhere on the battlefield…
Arthur froze mid-swing, blinking in disbelief as the monstrous fire faded.
"The thing that eats others… just got eaten," he muttered.
Then he laughed—loud, incredulous.
"Good job, Julian! Damn, you monster!"
Leona, stationed on a cliffside, lowered her glowing arrow, heart pounding.
"That wasn't normal fire," she whispered. "That was… ancient. Both cursed and divine."
Nikloai stumbled as the dark mana surged past.
"This pressure… it's too dense. Like a spirit king just descended."
He turned to the rear line. "Prepare for containment. That power isn't safe."
Tess clutched her staff as her healing faltered, eyes wide.
"You were holding all that… inside?"
Even the surviving ghouls began to flee.
One shrieked in garbled words,
"Not… human…"
Above it all, in the silence of the ring, Julian's master smiled.
"Yes. That's just a taste… of what you're capable of."
Julian stood amidst the scorched battlefield, his darkened eyes glowing faintly beneath his crimson hair.
He said nothing.
Just smiled.
Then, spear in hand, he turned and sprinted toward the next wave.
---
Elsewhere, the battle raged on.
Leona fought with elegant brutality, her sword a blur tearing through undead one after another. Every step a calculated dance of death.
Then—
A swarm rushed her from behind, claws outstretched.
They leapt.
And froze.
Mid-air, their minds staggered. Eyes dulled, movements sluggish—caught in a waking nightmare.
That moment was all Leona needed.
She turned.
One breath. One second. One massacre.
Her blade sliced through them cleanly, mercilessly.
Nearby, Ron exhaled softly, fingers glowing with illusion magic.
"That's the third time I've saved your neck," he grinned.
Leona didn't look back, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Then keep count."
They continued the slaughter—back to back.
In the shadows, Nikloi was a phantom.
Silent. Lethal.
He emerged from darkness, slid his blade across a ghoul's neck, vanished again.
Every kill efficient, clean.
From shadow to shadow, he moved.
Like death itself.
Further ahead, Drake stood atop a jagged cliff, hands ablaze with crimson flame. His voice boomed.
"Everyone—fall back!"
They obeyed instantly.
His mana surged, twisting into a fiery vortex.
Fire burst from his chest, forming a phoenix—majestic, furious.
The beast shrieked, soaring into the sky, diving into the horde.
Flames erupted from its beak—waves of purging fire.
The ground white-hot.
No screams. Only ash.
On high ground, Sera pulled back her silver-lined bow, eyes locked on targets.
"Engaging."
Her arrows—coated in shimmering silver mana—fell like divine judgment. Explosions decimated groups.
Precision. Power. Perfection.
At the rear, Rodin and Bryce held the defensive line.
No advance.
Their job: protect the Kingdom's rear gate.
Bryce's shield blocked blows; Rodin's earth magic reinforced footing.
Even Jace, low on mana, joined when needed—slicing through weakened ghouls efficiently. Tired, unflashy, but deadly.
Amidst chaos, Tess moved like a blessing.
She chanted softly, spreading buffs: strength, defense, speed.
When corrupted ghoul energy poisoned the air, she held her staff high.
"Purification Circle: Release."
A dome of holy light pulsed, burning foul mana, healing wounds.
But it wasn't enough.
The ghouls kept coming.
For every dozen slain, twenty more replaced them.
Time passed—
Ten minutes.
It felt like a lifetime.
The team held strong—but pressure built.
The ground trembled.
Ghouls multiplied.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
This won't do.
He raised his voice—loud, commanding.
"This won't do! Everyone—
Fall back!
From now on, focus only on defense!"
The team hesitated.
"Fall back?!" Leona shouted, slicing through ghouls. "If we give ground now, they'll swarm us all at once! What then?!"
Arthur didn't flinch.
"I said, don't worry." Eyessharp, he facedher. "Julian and I will hold the pressure. You focus on holding the line behind us."
A brief silence.
Then Julian stepped beside Arthur, spear resting on his shoulder.
No words.
Just a nod.
Arthur pointed across the battlefield.
"Nikloi, Tess—you're with them now. Go!"
"W-wait… I need to stay with you. I… I need to help—"
Arthur glanced at Tess, softness flickering.
"Don't worry, Tess. We'll be fine."
He smiled—not arrogance. Certainty.
"You've done enough. Let us hold the front."
Julian turned slightly.
"Go. Before it's too late."
Tess hesitated, then nodded.
"…Okay."
Arthur raised his sword high, flames gathering on the edge.
"Everyone! Get ready to run on my mark!"
They tensed—Sera, Leona, Ron, Drake, Bryce, even Kael.
Ghouls roared behind them.
Arthur's eyes burned.
"Three… two… one—"
"Fall back!"
The team scattered, retreating to the rear gate.
The ghouls surged after.
But not for long.
CLANG!
A sword split a ghoul in two mid-charge.
A spear pierced another from the side.
Arthur and Julian moved in perfect sync, backs to broken wall and gate, cutting down every monster.
Julian twirled his spear, flames trailing like ribbons of destruction.
Arthur slashed wide arcs, blade humming with raw mana.
Dust rose. Screams echoed.
But they stood—immovable.
When the last team member reached the gate, they turned.
There stood Arthur and Julian—walls of steel and fire.
Arthur wiped blood from his cheek, exhaled.
"Alright. Let's start."
Julian adjusted his grip, smirk barely touching his lips.
"I'll take the right."
Arthur rolled his shoulders, nodding.
"I've got the left."
Together—
They charged.
Arthur dashed left, crimson-lit sword flashing—
A ghoul dropped in two clean halves.
No mana.
No spell.
Just pure skill.
He weaved through the horde like a phantom, every step calculated, every strike surgical.
But then—
He stopped.
Eyes locked on the wave ahead—
More than fifty ghouls, snarling, rushing.
Arthur exhaled.
Mana surged.
Golden light exploded from his body, radiating like a miniature sun.
His suit pulsed with divine energy, syncing with power he channeled.
The ground vibrated.
Thunder cracked.
Sky darkened.
Arthur raised his sword skyward.
Mana gathered at the tip.
He spoke.
"Heaven breaker."
Lightning answered.
A bolt slammed down.
He didn't collapse.
He ascended.
Golden eyes lit beneath windswept crimson hair.
His suit glowed, conduits blazing.
He moved.
A single slash.
Horizontal. Wide. Final.
A tsunami of lightning erupted.
It struck the horde.
No screams.
No blood.
Only ash—scattered to wind.
Trees cracked. Ground shattered.
The air twisted under divine pressure.
When it was over—
Nothing but blackened earth and floating embers.
Arthur dropped back, sword resting at his side.
Not a scratch.
"…Next," he muttered, eyes glowing faintly.
The ashes hadn't settled.
Ghouls paused.
Instinct screamed danger.
Arthur stepped forward.
Ground cracked beneath his foot.
Golden eyes gleamed beneath crimson hair.
Mana hummed through his suit's lines like thunder.
"Come," he said, low, calm, deadly.
They did.
A new wave rushed in—dozens, maybe a hundred.
They howled, crawled, leapt—teeth bared.
Arthur dropped stance.
Sword tight in grip.
He moved—
Like lightning breaking across the battlefield.
A blur. Phantom. Storm.
Every slash left golden light trails.
Every step, a shockwave.
Every enemy turned ash before contact.
"Heaven breaker."
"Divine Fang."
"Radiant Rift."
Skill after skill—no chant, no delay.
The battlefield bent under pressure.
Blades of golden mana tore the air.
Thunder clapped with every strike.
Trees split. Boulders crumbled.
The earth recoiled.
Still he fought.
Faster. Stronger. Untouchable.
A ghoul leapt behind—
Arthur twisted, shattered its skull with an elbow—
Then spun his sword, cutting two more.
Another lunged low—
He stomped once.
Ground fractured.
Pulse vaporized the ghoul.
From the rear lines, others watched.
Tess gasped. "Is that… really Arthur?"
Ron whispered, "He's not human anymore…"
Julian smirked quietly.
"…Show off."
Even he knew—
Arthur had transcended limits.
This wasn't just mana.
This was mastery.
This was war incarnate.
Julian stepped forward, gripping his spear, smirk wide.
"My turn."
Julian gripped his spear tighter, knuckles pale beneath the pressure. He moved like a shadow through the fire-lit chaos, no wasted motion, no hesitation.
One ghoul lunged from the left—he stepped into it. The spear spun once, carving a clean arc through the air, and the weapon drove through the creature's skull with a sickening crack. Its momentum died instantly. Julian didn't break stride.
Crimson mana pulsed along the shaft of his spear, crawling outward like veins seeking breath. It ignited slowly—not in a burst, but with growing intent—coating the weapon in shimmering, controlled fire.
When the spear struck the next target, the flames erupted. Not wild, but disciplined. The blast sent ghouls flying, scorching their bodies mid-charge, igniting the air with radiant heat. A few of them burned mid-air before even touching the ground.
Julian kept moving.
Because he had to.
He was born into a great family — a house respected in the central provinces of Elydrion. But in front of his stepbrother, he was always second-best. His stepbrother was the Golden Child — the prodigy of their bloodline, gifted with immense mana control and praised by nobles and generals alike. A boy who reminded people of Arthur Fedline.
But Julian? He wasn't that. He never had been.
What he had was something else. Something no one saw.
He didn't stop.
Even when overlooked, dismissed, or beaten in spars, he kept training. Not for recognition — but because stopping meant surrender.
And then, through fate or sheer dumb luck, he met his master.
His master—an unknown man from the Upper Realms—had pulled him from obscurity. Two years ago, he'd barely managed to hold a training spear. Now, he moved through battlefields with a weapon like it was part of him.
Not because of talent. Because of repetition. Precision. Will.
From the obsidian ring on his finger, a voice cracked into his mind.
"Use it."
Julian didn't respond immediately. He slowed just slightly, narrowing his eyes.
"You said you wouldn't interfere."
"I said I wouldn't fight for you. I'm not. This power is yours. I'll help you endure the cost. The rest… is you."
Julian let out a slow breath. No dramatic poses. No flair. Just a nod.
The mana around his body deepened—crimson turning darker, richer, until the spear burned not with light but with shadow.
Dark Flame.
The flames cloaking his weapon turned obsidian, hissing like coals submerged in silence. There was no sound, no brilliant glow. Just pressure.
Julian moved.
The spear lashed out, the dark flame launching forward like a sentient streak of destruction. It tore through the ranks of ghouls, devouring them—not burning, not cutting—consuming.
Where the flame struck, there was no blood. No corpse. No scream. Only falling ash.
One after another, the creatures vanished, reduced to dust mid-motion.
Julian didn't smile.
He just gripped the spear tighter, stepped through the veil of ash, and kept going.
This wasn't victory. This wasn't dominance.
It was survival.
And survival, for him, had always meant moving forward. No matter the cost.
A short distance away, Arthur cut through the advancing horde with brutal grace. Ghouls fell one after another to his blade, Ashbreaker. The crimson glow of the sword pulsed like a heartbeat, resonating with his movements.
Arthur watched Julian's assault with narrowed eyes. He'd seen through him—thanks to his Appraisal skill. A legendary-level technique.
He wasn't shocked.
Because within the Valerian family, his family, there existed two legendary-level skills.
The world knew skills from Rank-F to S+. But above that… were the true anomalies—Legendary and Mythical. Legendary skills were the trump cards of the most powerful individuals and families. Mythical skills? They only existed in theory.
Arthur looked down at Ashbreaker, smirking.
"You enjoying this?" he muttered.
The sword responded, its crimson light pulsing brighter—almost like a yes.
Arthur grinned. Then turned to Julian.
"Hey, Julian! Sixteen minutes have passed. These ghouls… they're evolving. I saw one break into the 9th mana circuit already. Stronger ones are coming."
Julian's grip tightened around his spear. His breathing was heavier now—he had burned through much of his mana. Even so, he nodded.
"Then we hold the line together."
Arthur raised Ashbreaker, eyes glinting.
"Let's regroup with the others. Take up defense."
Julian fell in beside him.
No pride. No rivalry.
Just warriors preparing for the next wave.