A low, guttural snarl rolled across the battlefield, thick enough to vibrate through shields and ribs. Soldiers who had begun cheering froze mid-breath. Dust swirled around the creature's silhouette as it forced itself upright, runes along its half-shattered armor flickering in chaotic pulses.
Ryn exhaled behind the cracked edge of his mask.
"Tch… of course."
The Orc slammed its cleaver into the ground and roared — a deafening, tusk-baring howl that shook dirt loose from the ramparts. Its muscles bulged unnaturally, veins darkening to pitch black as the runes etched across its armor blazed like molten metal.
[Berserk]. A skill exclusively available to General Type monsters.
Ryn stepped forward to try and gain a better position—but was a heartbeat too slow.
The cleaver's shockwave hit him sideways, slamming into his ribs before he'd fully braced. Pain burst across his chest.
[HP: 90/100]
He stumbled, boots grinding furrows into the dirt as he barely kept his footing. The mask rattled against his cheekbone, cracks starting to form.
"Ryn!" Amelia's voice cracked behind him.
He didn't look back.
The Orc lunged again, cleaver sweeping horizontally. Ryn saw the trajectory via Aquila and barely managed to duck underneath it. But a follow-up kick caught him in the shoulder, sending him flying into a nearby monster corpse.
Ryn coughed, a bit of blood flowing from his mouth.
He checked his status.
[HP: 60/100]
[MP: 70/110]
Shit. I've got two more uses of Aquila.
Ryn pushed himself upright and forced air back into his lungs. The Orc lumbered toward him, dragging its cleaver, eyes burning with feral intelligence.
Another slash, Ryn barely managed to parry the cleaver, blade screaming under the force. The impact sent him sliding backward several feet.
I can't kill it like this, he realized.
Think Ryn.
Using [Enhanced Senses], he sharpened his eyesight and analyzed the Orc General.
Then he caught the missing detail. The enchanted armor was held on by a loose strap that looked like it could be easily broken. That was it—if the armor fell, Amelia could easily wipe the monster with her firepower.
Ryn found his winning condition.
He blurred forward, boots tearing through loose dirt as the Aquila roared to life. The Orc General reacted instantly, snarling and swinging its cleaver in a vicious downward arc—predictable, heavy, and exactly what Ryn needed.
He didn't dodge early. He ran straight at it.
Amelia screamed his name.
At the last fraction of a heartbeat, Ryn dropped his center of gravity, skidding into a low slide that carried him beneath the cleaver's killing path. The blade whistled overhead—
—and struck the ground with a thunderous CRACK.
The impact drove the cleaver several inches into the earth, the entire battlefield jolting with the force. The Orc General wrenched its arm, trying to pull the weapon free, but the cleaver was lodged too deep.
Ryn exploded upward.
An acceleration that tore the dust apart under his boots. He sprinted straight up the length of the Orc's trapped arm, using the monster's own bulk as footholds.
The Orc roared, trying to swat him off with its free hand, but the angle was impossible. Its muscles strained, cleaver jammed into the ground, balance off-center.
Ryn reached the shoulder.
There—the strap that anchored the runed chestplate. A thick band of reinforced leather and metal that held the armor in place.
The same strap he'd noticed earlier. Ryn dragged his blade across it in a brutal diagonal cut.
Steel met leather.
The strap severed with a sharp snap, the entire right half of the chestplate dropping to the ground with a sharp THUD.
The Orc staggered, chest exposed—the weak point finally visible.
Ryn landed behind it, breath ragged, blade shaking in his hand.
There. Now I can kill you.
Aquila agreed. An exact path toward the Orc's chest had been drawn…all he needed now was to commit.
And he did.
Ryn lunged forward, blade flashing. A clean vertical slash tore through the exposed skin, spilling dark blood across his mask and arm.
Now.
"Frost Bloom."
A surge of cold aura erupted from the wound. The entire slash mark crystallized in an instant. Jagged frost spread from within, forcing the wound open wider as the cold exploded through muscle and tissue.
The Orc's roar cut off, replaced by a monstrous, choked gasp as its body convulsed around the freezing bloom.
The frost spread in sharp, luminous veins across the Orc's chest—
A glowing, unmistakable weak point.
Without needing to look her way, his fiancée had understood his intentions.
The final searing column of flame rippled across the battlefield, slamming directly into the frozen wound.
The frost-flower shattered, turning the blast into a shockwave as steam curled into the air.
The Orc's chest burst open.
The creature was launched backward, crashing into the dirt in a smoking crater.
Silence swallowed the field.
It stayed down, for good this time.
Ryn dropped to one knee, exhaustion consuming him. He plunged his blade to the ground, using it as a support.
Then the system hit him.
A muted chime echoed inside Ryn's vision.
[Aura: 2 → 4]
[Mastery: Aquila 1% → 2.5%, Arctis Sword Technique 25% → 28%]
The crisp sound of his stats increasing gave him the dopamine to stand, or else he would've fallen over already. That and another sound coming toward him—
"Ryn!"
Amelia sprinted across the field, boots slipping in the churned soil as she reached him. She grabbed his arm with both hands, pulling him upright before he could collapse any further.
"You idiot—" she breathed, voice trembling. "You absolute—why did you—just—gah!"
He blinked once, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder.
"Heh…I did good, didn't I?"
She bit her lip and said nothing, still gripping his sleeve even though the danger had passed.
Around them, whispers began spreading across the broken line.
"That… masked guy…"
"Did you see how fast he moved?"
"I swear he ran up the Orc's arm."
Amelia helped him up, supporting him with her body.
"Let's get you treated," she sighed, finally.
"Mhmm."
***
Warm lamplight washed over rows of cots and makeshift bandaging stations. The air smelled of herbs, smoke, and iron. Ryn sat shirtless on a low bench while a healer dabbed antiseptic along the cut on his ribs.
"Hold still," she scolded.
"I am," Ryn said, flinching anyway.
"You're very bad at it."
Amelia sat on the bench beside him, arms crossed so tightly her knuckles were white. Her glare hadn't softened since they walked in.
"You said you'd be fine," she muttered.
"I am fine."
"You always say that," Amelia snapped. "Then you do reckless things."
The healer glanced between them awkwardly.
"You two—uh—want a moment?"
Ryn and Amelia both said, "No," at the same time.
The healer wisely continued in silence.
Ryn let out a slow breath as the medic examined the bruise along his shoulder. It hurt, but it wasn't serious.
Then the realization hit him—the fight might be over, but the problems weren't.
"Actually, uhmm," he said, turning toward the medic. "Could you give us a moment? You know… privately."
The medic froze.
Blink. Blink.
Her face went red instantly.
"O–oh! Of—of course! Of course!" she sputtered before practically sprinting out of the tent like someone had lit her boots on fire.
"WHY'D YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT?!" Amelia yelled, face burning.
Ryn raised his hands in surrender, smiling sheepishly behind the mask.
"Sorry, sorry! That's— that's not what I meant."
He took off the mask, letting himself breathe some fresh air.
Amelia huffed once more, but finally relented.
The two of them sat in the quiet of the infirmary tent, separated from the chaos outside by nothing but a flap of canvas and a few hanging lanterns.
Ryn lowered his hands and leaned back slightly, testing the bandages around his ribs. They pulled, but didn't hurt too badly.
"…Alright," she said at last, arms crossing again—but not as tightly as before. "We need to talk about the plan."
Ryn nodded, expression hidden behind the mask. "Yeah. We do."
"…Do you think it's over?" she asked quietly.
"No. The wave was just a distraction."
He glanced toward the tent flaps, where faint footsteps and muffled voices drifted in. "We need to check the result."
Amelia swallowed. "Lira."
"Yeah."
The name alone tightened the mood, but neither said anything more. The decoy plan was already in motion—they just have to hope it worked.
Then Ryn continued, voice low, almost cautious:
"And after we check… we should leave town for a while."
Amelia looked at him sharply. "Leave? Why?"
Ryn met her eyes.
"The cult isn't going to stop. And right now, the city's loud. Chaos is the best screen after all."
"I want to explore the northern Deimos mountains. We'll likely find some clues there."
Amelia blinked. "You're suggesting—"
"Just a few days," Ryn said. "Long enough to train. Regroup. Figure out who's targeting you and why."
Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face.
"Just the two of us?"
"Safer," Ryn replied.
She looked away quickly, ears turning red.
"I—I didn't say it was a bad idea."
"Good," Ryn said. "Because we'll need every advantage we can get."
The moment stretched, warm and tense—until heavy footsteps pounded toward the tent.
An Arctis knight pushed aside the canvas flap, pale and shaking.
"There's—there's news," he stammered, eyes darting between them. "About the decoy."
Ryn and Amelia froze.
The knight swallowed hard.
"It's Lady Lira."
His voice cracked.
"She's…dead."