Chapter 50: The System's Cruelty
The three armored soldiers closed in, steel boots clanging against the stone floor, the sound echoing like a death knell in the chamber. Their visors hid their faces, but their intent was clear—blades drawn, formation tight, movements sharp and purposeful.
Ethan's grip tightened around the longblade, its weight both foreign and familiar in his hands. He inhaled sharply, steadying himself, eyes locked on the oncoming threat.
Do I have to kill them? he thought, teeth gritting. They attacked first. No one can blame me.
He lowered into an offensive stance, knees bent, blade angled forward. The air between them was tense, humming with the metallic promise of violence.
The first soldier lunged, steel flashing. Ethan parried, but the impact rattled through his arms, forcing him back a step. Before he could regain balance, the second soldier swept in from the side, blade arcing low. Ethan twisted just in time, sparks flying as steel screeched against steel.
"Damn—!" he hissed, staggering.
The third soldier moved immediately, their coordination seamless—like a single body with three blades. The strike came from above, forcing Ethan to raise his sword hastily. The impact nearly drove him to his knees.
Their rhythm was relentless, every strike timed to open him up for the next. Ethan's breath came ragged as he tried to keep up, the air ringing with the harsh chorus of clashing metal.
"They're not stronger than me…" he muttered under his breath, backpedaling as another strike grazed his side, tearing fabric and leaving a stinging line of blood. "…but their technique—dammit—it's like they've trained together for years!"
The first soldier's blade glanced across his shoulder; pain flared hot and sharp. Ethan winced, his footing nearly faltering and arms trembled under the ceaseless pressure.
For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in. I can't block them all…
And then—something shifted.
Deep within, the Will of the Crown stirred. A steady flame of clarity burned through the haze of panic. His vision sharpened, his thoughts steadied. The soldiers' once overwhelming flurry began to reveal its rhythm—the predictable cadence of drilled formations.
Ethan exhaled slowly, focus narrowing.
The next strike came. Instead of simply blocking, he twisted his blade, diverting the soldier's momentum. Sparks burst as he slid into a counter, slashing across their chestplate. The armored figure staggered back.
"Got you," Ethan muttered, lips curling into a grim smile.
The other two didn't pause—they pressed harder. Their coordination remained deadly, but Ethan's movements grew sharper, his instincts honed by the crown's will.
A downward slash—he sidestepped.
A sweeping strike—he ducked, blade lashing upward to cut across an exposed arm joint.
Their rhythm wasn't flawless anymore. He was breaking into it.
"You think I'll just roll over?" he spat, sweat dripping into his eyes. "Not a chance!"
One soldier lunged too predictably. Ethan turned, his blade flashing in a clean arc. Steel bit through the armored figure, the soldier collapsing before dissolving into thick mist that curled away like smoke in the wind.
The remaining two faltered for the briefest second. Ethan seized it.
A parry. A feint. A sudden thrust. His sword pierced through the second soldier's chestplate, shattering their stance. They vanished into the same eerie mist, leaving nothing behind.
The last soldier striked in desperation. Its blows were heavier now, reckless, each one crashing down with a metallic roar. Ethan blocked, countered, sweat and blood stinging his wounds.
Finally, with a guttural shout, he drove his blade upward, sliding past the last soldier's guard. The figure stiffened, then melted away like the others, fading into nothingness.
Silence fell.
Ethan staggered, chest heaving, sweat soaking his back. The chamber was empty once more, save for the fading wisps of mist curling into the air. His blade hung loosely at his side, the adrenaline ebbing, leaving behind trembling exhaustion.
"Haa…haa…" He panted, almost laughing bitterly. "They weren't stronger... But damn… their coordination—" He glanced at his bleeding arm, wincing. "—it nearly killed me."
He tightened his grip on the longblade, staring at the empty floor where the soldiers had fallen. A shiver ran through him—not from fear, but from the thrill.
"Guess I passed your little test," he muttered into the silence, voice low and ragged.
Ethan's chest still heaved when the air rippled.
The mist coiled and thickened again—then solidified. Five armored soldiers materialized before him, identical to the first three, only this time their number blotted out his line of retreat.
The blood drained from his face.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
Their visors tilted up, swords rising in perfect unison.
"Shittttt!" Ethan cursed, stumbling back into stance, his ribs aching with every breath. His shoulder throbbed where the last blade had glanced him, and his side was already sticky with blood. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright.
Potions. I just need potions.
He willed the interface open—familiar blue screens flaring in front of him. He rushed to the inventory. But just as his fingers hovered over the health potion icon—
[System Functions cannot be utilized during Class Quests]
The message flashed coldly across his vision, cutting off any hope.
"What…? What does this mean?" His voice cracked in disbelief. "Fuck! You've got to be kidding me!"
No backup. No healing or any shortcuts.
The soldiers advanced.
Ethan exhaled shakily, tightening his grip on the longblade. His arms trembled from fatigue, but his eyes sharpened, burning with stubborn will.
"Fine then… come on."
The five struck.
This time, the battlefield felt smaller. Their swords moved in a deadly rhythm—two pressing high, two circling low, one driving center. Sparks flew as Ethan parried desperately, his blade ringing like a bell under the assault. His heels dug grooves into the stone as he was pushed back step by step.
"Gh—!" A sword nicked across his thigh, hot pain searing up his leg. Another strike grazed his ribs, opening flesh. His breath came ragged, his vision shaking from the impact of every clash.
Too fast. Too many. If I slip once—I'm done.
But the Will of the Crown flared again, anchoring him. The pattern revealed itself—this wasn't chaos, but rhythm. If he survived the storm, he could break through.
He roared, parrying two blades in a cross-guard, then twisted, his longblade slashing across one soldier's waist. The figure staggered—vanished into mist.
"Four left…" he growled, blood dripping from his lip.
They pressed harder. The two flanking soldiers struck simultaneously—one sweeping high, one low. Ethan ducked under the first, driving his knee into the second's chest to knock it off-balance. His sword flashed in a brutal stab, piercing through the helm of another. Mist consumed it instantly.
Every kill cost him blood. His forearms burned, his legs screamed from the strain.
The third soldier's blade bit across his back, shallow but blazing with pain. He staggered forward, vision swimming, but gritted his teeth. He refused to fall.
"Not… yet!"
He pivoted, blade arcing wide in a desperate counter. The steel cut clean across another soldier's chest. Mist.
Two left.
They came at him like wolves. Ethan roared, blocking one strike, shoving the blade aside, and slammed his pommel into the soldier's helm before plunging his sword through the gap in the armor.
One left.
The last soldier struck with everything, blows crashing down like hammers. Ethan barely kept pace, arms numb, body screaming. His own blood slicked the hilt. He waited—watched for the opening.
It came.
The soldier overextended on a downward slash. Ethan sidestepped, teeth bared, and drove his blade upward, splitting through its chestplate. The figure stiffened—then dissolved into mist like the others.
Silence again.
Ethan collapsed to one knee, gasping, his blade clattering against the stone floor. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with blood. His body felt carved out, every nerve raw.
"They… were tougher…" he rasped, spitting blood onto the ground. "Five of them… more trouble than those three combined."
He leaned on the longblade like a crutch, chest heaving. His vision blurred at the edges. If it keeps going like this…
Ethan barely had time to catch his breath before the air rippled again. The mist surged like a tide until it condensed into not five—
—but ten armored soldiers.
Ten blades gleamed in the dim light, their steel catching and throwing back a cold shine that made Ethan's skin crawl.
His stomach dropped. "...You've got to be kidding me."
Ten faceless helms turned toward him in unison, the weight of their presence crushing the air around him. Ethan's knuckles whitened around the hilt, his shoulders trembling from exhaustion.
A bitter laugh slipped out, half-choked.
"Is this what you want, system? To kill me here?"
The glowing message from earlier still burned in his mind. System functions cannot be utilized during Class Quests.
So this is it… huh? You're testing me—or you really want me dead.
His jaw clenched, sweat dripping into his eyes. He forced himself upright, blade raised. This time, though, he didn't lower into a heavy stance. No… that would only get him crushed under ten blades.
"No more head-on," he whispered to himself. "If I fight their rhythm, I'll drown in it. I'll use speed… cut at the edges… break them apart."
The soldiers moved as one, charging in a deadly formation.
Ethan exhaled and sprang sideways, boots scraping across the stone floor. Blades crashed where he'd been a heartbeat ago, the impact cracking the ground. His body screamed in protest, but he kept moving—sliding, weaving, darting in at angles.
One soldier overextended. Ethan slashed quick and shallow, enough to stagger it back, before retreating again. He wasn't trading blows anymore—he was cutting and running, forcing them to split, keeping them from surrounding him.
The clash of steel rang again and again, sparks bursting in flashes. His breath came ragged, his muscles burning, every step a knife of pain. But his eyes burned with sharp clarity, each movement chosen to survive just a second longer.
"Ten against one…" he muttered between clenched teeth, rolling away from another strike. His blade lashed out, cutting one soldier's leg. The figure staggered—then collapsed into mist. "...Doesn't matter. I'm not… dying here!"
Nine remained, pressing harder.
Ethan's lungs seared, his wounds tore wider with every twist, but he grinned through bloodied lips. "Come on… if you want me dead…then its not going to be easy."