The forest was no longer a place of nature; it was a cathedral of carnage. The stench of ozone from Arthur's spells mixed with the copper tang of goblin blood, creating an atmosphere so thick it felt like breathing silt.
Arthur leaned against the charred remains of an oak tree, his knuckles white as he gripped his notched blade.
His vision swam, the "Mana Depletion" warning flashing a rhythmic, mocking crimson in the corner of his peripheral vision.
He was a level 150 warrior who had just performed a level 300 miracle. The price was being extracted from his very marrow.
[Don't close your eyes, boy], Madra's voice rasped in his mind, devoid of its usual condescension. [A king does not slumber in the presence of his enemies. Look. The vermin are emboldened by your exhaustion]."
Madra was right. The Goblin Lord had fled, but the shattered remnants of his horde—nearly a thousand strong—were beginning to realize that the 'demon' who had sliced the horizon in half was now swaying on his feet.
From the darkness, yellow eyes began to blink back into existence. Low snarls rippled through the underbrush. They were closing in for the kill.
Arthur tried to raise his sword, but it felt like it was cast from lead.
Then, the ground began to tremble. It wasn't the chaotic scuttle of goblins. It was the rhythmic, thunderous heartbeat of heavy cavalry.
A streak of violet light tore through the canopy, followed by a roar of thunder that shook the leaves from the trees.
"Lightning Bolt: Grand Sequence!"
A massive pillar of electricity slammed into the center of the regrouping goblins, vaporizing dozens in a flash of blinding white.
Arthur squinted through the glare to see a familiar figure hovering a few feet off the ground, his robes billowing in a magical gale.
Earl Ashur had arrived. And he wasn't alone.
Flanking him on the ground were two flashes of silver and blue—Alfia and Meteria.
Alfia moved with the grace of a predator, her hands glow with magic, while Meteria stood back, her hands glowing with the soft green light of the spirits she had so recently mastered.
But it was the man leading the charge on foot who drew Arthur's fading focus.
He was an older man, his hair a shock of iron-gray, wearing simple leather armor that looked decades old.
Yet, the way he held his greatsword—a massive slab of silver-etched steel—commanded the very air around him.
This was Airgid, the girls' father, a man who claimed to be a "retired" and now just an "Inn keeper", but moved with the lethality of a god of war.
"Arthur!" Meteria's voice was a frantic bell. She sprinted toward him, ignoring the goblins lunging from the shadows.
A goblin champion, surviving the initial blast, leapt at her with a rusted cleaver. Before it could reach her, a silver blur intervened.
Airgid appeared as if he had teleported, his heavy blade moving in a casual, upward flick.
The goblin champion didn't just die; it was bisected vertically, the force of the blow sending its two halves flying twenty feet in opposite directions.
"Focus on the boy, Meteria!" Airgid barked, his voice like grinding stones. "I'll handle the trash."
Arthur felt Meteria's cool hands on his shoulders. A wave of refreshing, earth-scented mana began to flow into him.
"You idiot," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears even as she smiled. "You absolute, wonderful idiot. You tried to take them all alone."
"I had... a schedule to keep," Arthur managed to joke, though it came out as a cough.
Beside them, the battle reached a fever pitch. Earl Ashur's personal knight unit—the "Azure Vanguard"—had slammed into the goblin flanks.
These were elite soldiers, level 250 and above, moving in a steel phalanx that ground the goblins into the dirt.
However, it was Airgid who truly commanded the battlefield.
Arthur watched, mesmerized, as the "retired" swordsman moved. Airgid didn't use the flashy, explosive techniques of the Undefeated King.
His style was one of absolute efficiency and overwhelming physical pressure. Every step he took crushed the skulls of fallen foes; every swing of his silver sword carved a path of silence.
"He's fast," Arthur muttered, his eyes tracking Airgid's movements.
[He is a Great Swordsman] Madra's voice echoed in Arthur's mind, sounding genuinely impressed for the first time.
[His 'Heart Sword' is nearly formed. He doesn't waste mana on the air; he focuses every ounce of his intent into the edge of his blade. Watch him, Arthur. This is what mastery looks like without the crutch of a system.]
Airgid was surrounded by fifty goblins. He didn't flinch. He lowered his center of gravity, his blade held horizontally.
"Silver Moon: Crescent Reaping."
It wasn't a magical skill. It was pure technique. The blade moved in a blur, a perfect 360-degree circle.
The air pressure created by the swing acted like a vacuum, pulling the goblins inward only for the steel to find their throats. In a single breath, fifty bodies hit the floor.
Alfia, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of precision. She stayed near her father's shadow, her wind cutter magic darting into the gaps of his massive swings, finishing off any monster that managed to survive Airgid's wake.
Above the fray, Earl Ashur was a god of destruction. He wasn't just a teacher or a politician; he was a Great Magician who had earned his title through blood.
"You dare bring this filth to the gates of my city?" Ashur's voice boomed, amplified by mana.
He raised both hands, and the sky above the forest turned a violent shade of crimson.
"Meteor Shower: Miniature Scale!"
Small, fist-sized rocks of molten mana began to rain down with the speed of bullets. They didn't just burn; they exploded on impact.
The forest floor became a literal hellscape. The remaining goblin army, trapped between the Earl's magical bombardment and Airgid's relentless attack, finally broke.
The "military precision" they had shown earlier was gone. They were no longer an army; they were prey.
Within thirty minutes, the forest went quiet. The only sound was the crackle of burning brush and the heavy breathing of the Azure Vanguard.
Earl Ashur descended, his feet touching the blood-soaked grass with practiced grace. He approached Arthur, his expression a mix of fury, relief, and profound shock.
He looked at the three-hundred-yard scar in the forest—the remains of Arthur's 50,000 Army Swordsmanship'.
"Sir Arthur," Ashur began, his voice trembling slightly. "I sent my knights because a merchant girl claimed the forest was moving. I expected a skirmish. I did not expect to find a wasteland."
He looked at the hundreds of cloven goblin bodies. "This technique... it is not from any school of magic or swordplay I recognize. Who are you truly?"
Arthur, supported by Meteria and now Alfia, stood up slowly. His mana was recovering, but his body felt like it had been put through a grain mill.
"Just a man trying to keep a promise, My Lord," Arthur replied.
Airgid approached, wiping the black goblin ichor from his silver blade with a piece of cloth. He looked at Arthur with a piercing, analytical gaze.
The "Inn Keeper" facade was gone, replaced by the sharp, dangerous aura of a man who had reached the pinnacle of the sword.
"You have the foundation of a monster, boy," Airgid said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But you're forcing it. Your soul is trying to swing a sword that your body hasn't earned yet. If you keep using that technique without strengthening your vessels, you'll shatter like cheap glass."
"I know," Arthur admitted. "That's why I'm going to the Northern End Caves. I need the frost-tempering my gear."
Airgid nodded slowly. "A dangerous path. But perhaps the only one for a man who carries such a heavy shadow."
He looked at his daughters, then back at Arthur. "You saved my daughters' friend. You saved this city. For that, you have our gratitude."
[Quest: The Crimson Night of Patrian – Completed!]
[Rewards:]
* Level Up x5 (Current Level: 155)
* Affection with Alfia and Meteria has reached 'Unbreakable Bond'
* Earl Ashur's Favor: Maximum
* Airgid's Recognition: The path to 'Sword Master' is revealed.
Ashur stepped forward, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "The city is safe, thanks to you. We will handle the cleanup. My knights will be ready to depart for the Northern End Caves in three days. Until then, you will stay at the manor. You will rest, you will eat, and you will let my wife thank the man who gave her back her life and her city."
Arthur looked at the group—the powerful Earl, the retired great swordsman, and the two sisters who were looking at him as if he were the sun itself.
He felt the ring on his finger vibrate one last time before falling silent. [Not bad, Arthur,] Madra whispered. [Not bad at all.]
As they began the walk back to the city, the citizens of Patrian were already lining the walls, having seen the magical fireworks and the devastation from afar.
They didn't know the details yet, but they knew one thing: a new legend had been born in the dark of the woods.
Arthur looked at the rising moon. He was level 155. He had the backing of an Earl and the respect of a Great Swordsman.
The Northern End Caves were waiting. And for the first time, Arthur felt like he was truly ready to face the frost.