A man clad in heavy iron armor stood amidst a sea of death, his greatsword arcing through the air with thunderous weight. Each swing cleaved through two or three Neu with a single stroke, sending gusts of displaced wind howling across the battlefield. The sheer force of his movements stirred the ashes and blood-soaked earth, while mages and undead horrors swarmed in like an ever-churning tide.
Within the iron confines of his helmet, two pairs of royal blue eyes gleamed with grim resolve. There was no fear, no hesitation. Only purpose.
Vikram felt his heartbeat thunder like an engine roaring to life. It wasn't just a pulse. It was a forge bellows, igniting something primal within him. His entire body resonated with that rhythm, and from its depths, he felt a budding energy stir, one that he could mold, shape, and wield.
He focused.
Channeling the modified Inner Gang Technique, Vikram guided the energy from his heart through his shoulder, down his arm, and into the hilt of his greatsword. A moment later, an ethereal blue aura ignited around the blade, sharpening its edge and imbuing it with a potent force that vibrated with restrained fury.
He swung.
The air shrieked as the greatsword tore through it, a horizontal arc of violence cutting across the field. Five Neu were cleaved down in a single motion, their bodies splitting apart before they even realized death had come. The arc did not end with the swing. A crescent of blue energy detached from the sword and continued forward, silent and merciless, carving through the horde in its path.
That spectral blade of energy was a manifestation of raw lethality. It was beautiful in its precision, and terrifying in its finality. But Vikram knew all too well the cost.
The moment his aura detached, pain lanced through his veins like molten iron. His nervous system flared, pushed to its limits by the blue particles coursing through his blood. Every inch of his flesh screamed in protest, as if he were being flayed from within. His grip tightened. He grit his teeth until he tasted iron.
Still, he did not falter.
A flicker in his vision caught his attention, a translucent bar in his peripheral view, nearly empty and flashing red. On the left side of the display, the icon of a meditating figure sat surrounded by a faint blue glow. He understood the warning. He was burning through his reserves.
With a deep breath, Vikram slowed the flow of energy within. The royal blue radiance that had engulfed his body dimmed to a low shimmer. He shifted his stance. Where once he had been a hurricane of steel, now he stood like an immovable fortress.
His movements became precise and defensive, conserving strength with every step. Each parry was deliberate. Every block was absolute. His greatsword moved not with fury, but with mastery, an iron wall that refused to yield.
Even as the Neus around him burst into flames and clawed at his armor, Vikram stood firm. The searing heat that radiated through his plate should have cooked him alive. The iron carapace had become a furnace. But his aura, passive yet vigilant, insulated him. The temperature barely registered as discomfort.
He was no ordinary warrior. His training as a Barbarian lent him monstrous endurance, but it was the resilience of a Knight that protected him now, resistance to fire, to infection, to the frailties that claimed lesser men.
The bar on his panel stabilized. The warning light faded. And the moment it did, Vikram surged back into motion.
He roared as he swung the blade again, carving down Neu after Neu. Each strike was a declaration. Each step, a march toward dominion. He was no longer a man. He was a force of nature wrapped in iron and willpower.
Hours passed in blood and chaos.
And when silence finally returned to the scorched battlefield, only one figure remained standing. A lone man in crimson-stained armor, surrounded by the mangled remains of hundreds. His greatsword was planted into the cracked soil like a monument to carnage. Blood dripped from its edge in a slow, steady rhythm.
Vikram clenched and uncurled his fingers. The joints of his gauntlet creaked with protest. Every muscle in his body trembled with exhaustion, but his back remained straight. His head remained high.
He had cleared the final stage of the village under the [Knight] class.
Around him, the flames crackled softly, casting eerie shadows across the battlefield. Distant cries echoed through the night, the last gasps of dying foes. Vikram's breath came ragged and slow, his lungs scorched from the heat of battle.
He lifted his hand and brought up his panel.
[Name: Vikram Rathore]
[Existence: Pre-Existence]
[Realm: None (Supreme Foundation)]
[Souls: 213]
[Techniques:]
• Great Turtle Sword Style – Major Accomplishment (!)
• Sentient Gang Technique – Major Accomplishment (!)
• Crescent Reaving Slash – Major Accomplishment (!)