Draven Didn't Flinch
The sword came down—clean, fast, merciless.
CLANG.
Steel met steel.
In a blur of motion, Draven twisted his body. His dagger flashed up—deflecting the blow with a sharp parry that sent sparks skimming through the air.
In his other hand, steady as stone, the Spirit Egg stayed untouched—cupped like something sacred in the middle of all the violence.
He didn't stop.
He pushed forward—driving past the first captain with raw, snapping speed. Leaping from the branch, flipping through the trees in a wild, graceful arc.
But—
SHHHK—
Another blade sliced the air.
The first captain.
The one from the crater. He appeared like a phantom—already there before Draven landed. His sword swung wide, aimed straight for Draven's throat.
Too close. Too fast.
Draven twisted midair, tucked tight—let the blade skim past. A hair's width from slicing him clean.
He hit the ground low, crouched in the dirt, and slashed upward with the dagger to keep the captain back.
Blades met again—
A blur of silver and shadow.
Then—
A standoff.
Both captains now stood before him.
Two shadows in armor. One forged for speed. The other built like a wall.
Silent. Still.
The forest around them shifted—movement in every direction.
Draven's eye flicked sideways.
More knights.
Stepping from the trees—slow, steady, deliberate.
Forming a circle.
No words.
No commands.
No wasted movement.
A net tightening.
---
> "Tch…"
Draven straightened—surrounded.
The two captains hadn't moved again. Not yet. Not fully.
But the circle was tightening.
Step by step.
Blade by blade.
His breath came slow. Controlled. A burn he'd trained for.
One dagger.
One egg.
Dozens of blades.
> This is starting to piss me off...
His fingers twitched around the dagger's hilt—reversing the grip. Sharp edge now glinting down his forearm. A close-quarters stance. Meant for carving ribs. Slipping under armor.
> They just keep coming. Swarming me like damn flies. How many more do they think it'll take?
His gaze flicked to the Spirit Egg—still in his left hand.
It gleamed softly. Untouched. Perfect.
Too perfect.
> This thing... it's not just tough. It's important.
Can't let it break—
Can't lose it either—
He scowled.
> Better to keep it safe.
Without breaking eye contact with the captains, he slid the Egg into the inside knicker pocket—tucking it with precision. Like placing a final piece on a warboard.
The moment it disappeared—
A knight behind him lunged.
Steel sang.
Draven heard the blade before he saw it. A whistle of wind, fast and high, swinging for his shoulder.
He didn't dodge.
Didn't turn.
He caught the sword.
Bare-handed.
Metal met flesh with a sharp clang—but the blade stopped dead in Draven's grip.
Sparks flew from the impact, flashing off the knight's sword where it met the black glove.
Draven didn't flinch.
Still holding the blade, he turned his head. Slowly.
And the knight saw them:
His eyes.
Burning red. Cold as death.
No rage.
No fear.
Just stillness.
> "Fucking moron," Draven said, voice flat as stone.
"The first to strike doesn't always mean you win."
"Dumbass."
The knight tried to pull back—
Too late.
Draven moved.
The dagger slipped clean through the gap in the knight's neck armor—right beneath the helmet rim.
Slick. Fluid. Final.
Blood sprayed as Draven yanked the blade free.
The knight dropped like a sack of armor—limbs twitching once before going still.
Silence.
Draven stood over the body, dagger dripping, face unreadable. He looked at the others—captains included.
A slow breath.
The forest held still.
> What the hell was he thinking?
They were all standing—no one moved, not even the captains—and this dumbass just charges in like a dog off its leash?
He kicked the corpse aside with his boot and stepped forward.
His voice came low.
Colder than before.
> "That was a warning."
"Next one who tries something stupid dies just like him."
"I don't care who you are."
"I don't have time for this shit."
"It's best if you all fuck the hell off."
He stood there.
Cold. Waiting.
Eyes cutting the ring.
Silence.
Like a held breath.
Then—
They moved.
Three knights lunged.
Mana surged.
Blades flashed, fast and sharp.
Draven's eyes narrowed.
Surprise flickered.
Then vanished.
> "Fucking dumbasses."
The three knights surged—mana crackling, blades flashing.
Draven moved.
Effortless.
He weaved between their strikes, body low, eyes sharp. One swing passed above. Another missed his side. The third came in wide—
He grabbed the knight's sword arm mid-swing.
Using it for balance, he leapt—kicked off.
His foot smashed into the knight's helmet—driving it down. The knight's head hit the dirt with a brutal crack, body folding under the force.
Another knight came at him—blade slashing from the front.
Draven sidestepped.
A second slash from behind.
He caught it.
His grip locked. He pulled sharply—dragging the knight forward—and drove his dagger through the visor straight into the knights throat seam. The blade slid in clean. Blood sprayed.
Before the knight dropped, Draven snatched the sword from his limp hand in one motion—just in time to block the last attacker's swing.
CLANG__
Their blades met.
He caught it with his dagger—steel-on-steel, stopping it cold.
Draven twisted—the sword he snatched already turning—driving the point directly through the knight's eye slit.
Steel pierced flesh.
More blood.
The body dropped.
Draven turned to the first knight—the one still twitching in the dirt.
No hesitation.
He stepped forward. Raised his leg. Brought it down.
CRACK.
The helmet split. Skull shattered. Blood burst across the forest floor.
Silence.
Now he stood still, blood dripping from both weapons.
Dagger in one hand. The knight's sword in the other.
His red eyes scanned the circle..
The remaining knights were frozen—ring unbroken, blades trembling in their hands.
Draven's eyes burned crimson.
Cold. Absolute.
He tilted his head slightly, voice low, steady—every word cutting through the quiet like a blade.
> "I don't do empty threats."
"Since you all want to die so badly…"
He raised the dagger.
> "Let's make it quick."