Clank!
Clang!
Boom!
A sudden sound broke through the rush of the wind.
Michael turned his head sharply.
Far to the east, just beyond a jagged outcrop of trees, flickers of light danced erratically against the dark canopy.
Shadows shifted wildly in uneven bursts.
There were no torches that deep in the woods. No fires.
Something was happening there.
Gale slowed at his command, circling once as Michael narrowed his eyes.
Another loud crash echoed through the night.
Michael didn’t hesitate.
“Go there.”
Gale tucked its wings and dove, a blur in the sky as they rushed toward the source of the chaos.
The wind howled past him.
As they approached, Michael saw it clearly now: a man, standing alone in a clearing, surrounded by four monsters.
It was Verren.
The knight’s blade danced in the dark, tracing arcs of silver as it clashed against claw, scale, and shadow
He moved with skill and grace.
However, there was a slight issue.
Verren was outnumbered.
Part of the group of monsters also seem to cause him a bit of difficulty.
Two of the monsters were thick-skinned, lumbering brutes.
Their hides were etched with deep gashes from Verren’s sword, but they remained standing, snorting steam from their flared nostrils.
The other two on the other hand were faster, thinner, weaving in and out of Verren’s range with disturbing coordination.
But they were weakening.
One had lost an arm; the other limped as it circled, dripping black blood.
And though Verren’s chest heaved with effort, there was a sharpness in his gaze—he hadn’t lost control.
“He’s not even close to his limit…” Michael murmured.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Verren had been baited here.
Four Rank 2 monsters didn’t just appear out of nowhere.
The black tentacles littering the ground—ones that should’ve been severed by Verren—made their origin all too clear.
This was the monster’s doing.
It had to be.
“Where is it?” Michael muttered.
He didn’t descend to assist Verren.
Instead, he turned Gale midair and flew off, soaring low over the battlefield, eyes scanning the forested shadows and cracked earth beyond.
Below, the battle raged on—steel clashing against claw and fang, torchlight flickering madly against dark silhouettes.
Michael paid it no mind. He had a singular goal now.
To find it.
Verren twisted, parrying a claw strike and driving his blade into the gut of the limping monster.
It screeched as it fell backward, body convulsing before collapsing into the grass.
Three left.
Verren didn’t pause.
As the first monster fell, he pivoted sharply, ducking under the swipe of one of the brutes.
Its claws tore through the air where his head had been just a breath ago.
The old man retaliated with a precise upward slash, the edge of his blade dragging a arc across the creature’s chest.
The faster one lunged from behind, but Verren was already spinning.
His heel dug into the ground, kicking up dirt as he brought his sword low—then whipped it upward in a diagonal slash that cleaved through the beast’s remaining leg.
It toppled to the ground with a heavy thud.
Verren’s breathing grew sharper, but his form never wavered.
His stance remained steady.
The brute charged again.
Verren’s gaze sharpened.
His sword began to hum.
The faint sound grew louder with each heartbeat, resonating with the air around him.
Wisps of white light flickered along the edge of the blade, like threads of mist gathering toward a center.
Then—he moved.
One step. Two.
He ducked under the charging monster’s arm, planted his foot—and struck upward with a clean, fluid motion.
“Sword Qi: Crescent Line.”
The blade erupted with light.
A shining arc tore through the brute’s torso, slicing cleanly through bone and flesh.
The impact hurled the creature backward like a broken doll.
It hit a tree, snapped it in half, and didn’t get back up.
This was the realm of intent that came in the perfect stage.
Qi was the outlook of the wielders intent.
The remaining monster froze.
But Verren didn’t stop.
His left foot slid back as he raised the sword high, light gathering more intensely than before. His entire body seemed to glow, like a star compressed into flesh and steel.
The monster charged.
Verren exhaled.
“Sword Qi: Final Cut.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the ground beneath him cracked.
He dashed forward, faster than before—his entire form becoming a blur of motion.
The sword descended in a single, devastating stroke, bisecting the monster from shoulder to hip.
Black blood sprayed into the night, and the beast collapsed.
Silence returned to the clearing.
Verren stood still, sword pointed downward, steam rising from its glowing edge.
Then he exhaled, body trembling just slightly from the exertion.However, just as Verren was about to move from his position, he paused and turned toward a particular direction.
A genuine smile spread across his face.
“Haha. This is good. Bring more if you want. It’s been years since I’ve had a proper warm-up.”
Far off in the distance—yet still within his keen sight—Verren spotted a monster approaching.
Its aura was vastly stronger than the four he had just slain.
But to the old knight, who believed a life lived by the blade should end by the blade, a stronger foe was nothing short of a blessing.
After all, only the kind of challenge that made him break a sweat was worth facing.
Of course, even if he didn’t fear death, he refused to die a disgraceful one.
Flawed as he might be, this Grand Knight still embodied what a knight should be.
High above, Michael still saw no trace of the monster, and frustration gnawed at him.
Then, a thought struck him—one that made him abruptly pull Gale to a halt midair.
Though subdued, Gale’s aura was still faintly present—any creature with keen enough senses would notice.
Michael narrowed his eyes.
“Is it scared of coming out?”
Michael’s thoughts drifted back to Verren.
He was facing four Rank 2 monsters now.
Though their auras were weaker than Gale’s, the fact that they carried traces of that monster’s influence spoke volumes.
Something with the power to control monsters of that caliber couldn’t be weak.