'What kind of monster are we even dealing with?' the third hooded man thought, cold sweat pouring down his back.
Unfortunately, he was already too invested to back down now.
He let out a sigh and dove into the thick cloud of dust.
***
"What is going on outside?" Maya wondered out loud as she evaded a punch thrown her way. She grabbed her opponent's arm before twisting it in the opposite direction, the sickening crack that followed making it clear the man's arm was broken.
"I don't know. I just hope it wasn't caused by our enemies," Freya responded, grabbing one of the hooded men and slamming him into another. The force behind the impact was so overwhelming that it sent both of them flying across the hall like lifeless dolls.
She didn't know how to fight with refined technique like her daughter did, but Freya's monstrous strength made it nearly impossible for the hooded men to even lay a finger on her.
They were still inside the auction hall, and all around them battles continued to unfold, but the chaos was rapidly dying down thanks to Kradwell, Earl Drickon's old guard and the other two Level 5 fighters present.
Kradwell, was especially responsible for most of the devastation among the hooded men. With his illusion ability, he twisted their senses, turning allies into enemies and causing them to slaughter one another in confusion, drastically reducing the pressure on his comrades despite the overwhelming number of attackers.
'Bunch of fools,' the old man thought as he watched another group of cloaked men attempting to surround him. He truly despised people like them. They were so weak he could kill them by accident if they merely brushed past him, yet they still dared to come for his life. In his eyes, they were no different from ants, and so he cut them down in droves, his expression devoid of even the slightest trace of pity.
He glanced toward the unconscious Earl before shifting his gaze to his three fellow guards and clicking his tongue. 'Incompetents,' he thought. 'If only I had brought her with me, things would have been far easier…' His expression darkened further. 'Especially when dealing with that scourge known as Arcanor.'
'Maybe I should call for her,' he considered, but after a brief moment he dismissed the idea with a small shake of his head and returned to cutting down yet another wave of hooded men attempting to surround him once more.
***
"Commandant, what are your orders?" a man asked. He had pale orange hair and wore a standard military uniform bearing the insignia of the Drazen family.
The man appeared to be addressing his superior, but despite the catastrophe looming ahead, he looked calm—too calm in fact—but that was simply his nature. As long as he could remember, he had rarely, if ever, allowed any emotion other than calm, cold rationality to show on his face.
Before him stood a woman dressed in the same military uniform, her gaze fixed on the colossal tide of beasts rushing toward the city.
She had fiery orange hair cascading down her back, and her tantalizing curves could easily draw the attention of anyone nearby.
Her second-in-command and the other soldiers behind her, however, knew better than to stare.
"Woahhh," the woman exclaimed, her orange eyes widening with both surprise and interest.
"We should take action instead of admiring the enemy, don't you think, Commandant?" the man asked.
"Oh, silly me, of course you're right," she said, scratching the back of her head. "But goodness gracious, I've never seen such an accumulation of beasts gathered in one place," she added, her gaze lingering over the endless tide stretching out before them as it surged toward the distant city.
"If we don't act now, there won't be a city left to protect," the man pressed, his tone calm but firm as he reminded her of the situation's urgency.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the Commandant replied, taking a slow breath. In the next instant, her aura shifted, turning dangerous. "Take the rest of the men with you and engage the beasts. Kill as many as possible. It should be easy, considering they only have eyes for the city."
"And you? What do you plan to do?"
The Commandant's gaze locked onto several powerful mana signatures hidden within the beast tide, and a dangerous smile spread across her face. "I'm going on a little hunt."
She paused as if remembering something, then glanced toward the massive cloud of dust near the city's inner walls. "After that, I'll pay the city a visit. I want to know why they aren't doing anything to defend themselves—and what the hell is happening over there."
As all of these events were unfolding, deep within the gigantic cloud of dust…
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Sounds of metal clashing echoed through the surroundings as Alex and his opponent collided head-on. One wielded a double-headed scythe, while the other matched the assault with claws as solid as forged steel.
They separated for the briefest instant before crashing into each other once more. Sparks burst into the air, and the sheer force of the exchange forced both of them to take a step back.
They clashed again, claws and steel colliding in a violent storm of sparks.
Alex pressed forward, swinging in tight arcs, forcing his opponent to react instead of attack. The werewolf answered with brute strength, meeting every strike head-on until, with a sudden shove, he broke away and leaped backward.
He landed several meters away, skidding across broken stone.
His arm lifted, and the air twisted violently around it.
A compressed blade of wind tore across the street, shattering the pavement where Alex had been standing moments earlier.
Alex shifted his footing and charged.
They met again in a thunderous collision.
Clang! Crack! Clang!
The exchange was brutal and relentless. Alex aimed for the torso, then the legs, then the shoulders, changing angles constantly while his opponent countered with savage swipes, forcing him to block and twist away.
Slash!
A claw grazed Alex's side and blood surfaced briefly before smoke rushed in, sealing the wound beneath shifting darkness.
They broke apart once more.
The werewolf retreated several steps, breathing heavily and again, he raised his arm.
Another surge of wind erupted, tearing forward with violent force. A fallen barricade was blasted apart, while nearby stone fragments were violently ripped from the ground and hurled into the air like shrapnel.
Alex slid to the side and closed in before the debris had even settled.
Their weapons collided again.
They exchanged dozens of blows in seconds, sparks flying, stone cracking beneath every strike.
Blow after blow, Alex began to notice the rhythm forming. Every retreat was followed by the same movement. Every pause ended the same way.
He ducked under a wide swipe, twisted his body, and slipped past a follow-up strike.
'It looks like he can't use his wind ability while engaged in melee combat,' Alex remarked quietly as he leaned away from another slash.
'Either he doesn't have much affinity with it, or he lacks experience using it in close-range fights… or both.'
In either case, it was good news for him, because it changed everything.
Alex's stance shifted.
He shortened his steps, kept his center low, and tightened his grip on Marnak. Compressed smoke wrapped more firmly around his arms and spine, reinforcing every movement.
Then he advanced again.
This time, he didn't give his opponent the chance to step back.
He slipped inside his reach and struck from unexpected angles, using the curve of his scythe to lock and redirect instead of simply cutting.
Clang! Crack! Clang!
The werewolf tried to jump away.
Alex was already there.
He pressed in, forced exchanges, chained attacks together, denying every opening.
No pause.
No retreat.
Only close combat.
And slowly, inevitably, the balance began to tilt.
The werewolf growled and threw himself backward, trying to create space.
Alex followed.
He didn't rush blindly. He cut off angles.
A low sweep forced his opponent to jump, a reversed strike met him in midair.
Clang!
The impact sent both of them crashing back to the ground, stone exploding beneath their feet.
They moved again instantly.
Claws lashed out in a wide arc.
Alex twisted his torso, letting the attack slide past his smoke-covered armor, then stepped inside the opening and drove the shaft of his scythe into his opponent's ribs.
Crack!
The blow knocked the air out of him.
Before he could recover, Alex rotated his weapon and struck again, this time aiming for the shoulder.
Clang!
The werewolf barely managed to block, the shock traveling through his arm and making his fingers twitch.
He tried to retreat, but Alex didn't allow it.
Compressed smoke tightened around his legs, reinforcing every step, every push. He stayed glued to his opponent, forcing him into constant exchanges.
Clang! Crack! Clang! Clang!
Each collision grew heavier.
Each movement demanded more effort.
The werewolf's breathing grew louder.
His muscles burned.
Still, he refused to yield.
With a sudden burst of strength, he kicked off the ground and flipped backward, gaining several meters of distance.
For a split second, relief flashed in his eyes.
He raised his arm.
The air twisted violently.
Wind gathered around him, spiraling tightly, sharpening into a compressed blade aimed straight at Alex.
But before he had the chance to release his attack…
A black energy blade surged from the twin blades of Alex's scythe, slicing through the air with lethal precision, a dark line suddenly materializing directly in front of him.
For a fraction of a second, the werewolf didn't understand what it was.
Still...his instinct kicked in.
He thrust his arms forward, forming his wind to block, to protect himself.
The invisible barrier held… barely.
But only for a moment.
The black slash tore through it eventually, grazing his chest and shoulder. Blood sprayed, dripping down his torso and staining the cracked stone beneath him.
The werewolf staggered backward, gasping. Moments ago, that strike would have cleaved his head in two. He literally saw his life flash before his eyes.
Alex didn't give him time to collect his wits, though.
Smoke surged beneath his feet, solidifying into a spring. Using it, he propelled himself forward in an instant, closing the gap between them with terrifying speed.
Clang!
The scythe slammed into his opponent's arm, forcing claws aside.
Crack!
Another strike, aimed at the shoulder, forced the werewolf to twist, staggering again.
Alex stepped in even closer.
Hooked, twisted, pressed. His weapon controlled the fight, dictating every motion.
Clang! Crack! Clang! Clang!
Each blow left the werewolf off balance, his footing slipping. His arms were raised constantly, defending, defending, but unable to retaliate effectively.
'Damn it, what is going on?!' the werewolf screamed in his head, frustration boiling over.