Chapter 51 – Shattered Will
The first soldier went down with a crack of bone and steel, Ethan's blade biting deep, tearing through the chest plate until the hollow armor clattered to the ground. He barely had time to breathe before the other nine surged forward, faceless and relentless.
His body moved on instinct, weaving between spear thrusts and sword arcs, each dodge scraping away the last of his stamina. He cut down a second, then a third—steel ringing, his breath ragged.
By the fourth kill, his body screamed. His chest heaved as though fire lived in his lungs. His legs, once darting like shadows, dragged against the stone floor, heavy and clumsy. Blood trickled from cuts that covered his arms and sides, soaking into his already shredded clothes.
The sixth one died with a desperate slash, but Ethan staggered, barely able to stand. His once-fluid movements turned into sluggish jerks. His agility, the only thing keeping him alive, was gone.
The seventh clash nearly broke him. He caught a blade with the edge of his own and felt the shock rattle through his bones. His vision blurred. He didn't know how he killed it—whether it was skill, luck, or pure madness. The eighth fell in a brutal exchange that left him limping, his thigh gashed open.
When the final soldier dropped, Ethan collapsed to his knees, his sword dragging limply across the ground. His clothes were no longer clothes, just rags glued to his skin with sweat and blood. His own breath sounded alien in his ears—harsh, ragged, choking.
S–shit… no more…
If another comes… I'll really die…
The words weren't spoken, but screamed inside his mind, tearing through his crumbling will. His body trembled, every muscle refusing to move, his hands slipping on the hilt slick with his own blood.
Then—
The air shifted.
The atmosphere thickened, pressing against his skin like invisible chains. The battlefield's silence turned suffocating, broken only by the pounding of his heart. A crushing weight spread over him, and for the first time, Ethan's instincts whispered something worse than death was coming.
Ethan's vision swam, his eyelids heavy. He was barely holding on, consciousness fraying with every heartbeat. Then—he felt it.
The air itself shifted, drawn toward a single point, as though the world was holding its breath. It condensed, twisting and swirling until a shape began to form.
He forced his head up, jaw clenched, his pale face betraying the blood loss. His body screamed to lie down, to surrender, but sheer will made him straighten his back. He would not bow. Not now not ever.
And it appeared.
Not another soldier. Not the hollow, empty husks he had slaughtered.
A knight.
Its form solidified, clad in armor of silver-black steel, the plates sharp-edged and gleaming faintly under the dim light. The knight gripped a longsword in one hand, the blade exuding a faint, unnatural chill. Unlike the faceless soldiers, this one bore a head.
No helmet.
A face.
But not a living one.
Its skin was deathly pale, stretched tightly over its features, the lips colorless, the eyes dull—vacant, devoid of humanity. A corpse's face, animated only by some unseen will. No hatred. No anger. No intent. Just a blank puppet of death standing upright and unmoving, yet suffocating in its silent menace.
Ethan's thoughts spun. This… this is different…
His chest heaved, his body swaying as his wounds screamed louder than his spirit. He wanted to raise his blade, to meet this figure's empty gaze, but his strength had finally betrayed him.
The last of his consciousness flickered away.
Just before the dark swallowed him whole, a sound cut through the suffocating silence.
A voice. Cold and empty.
"I will wait for you here… Come back later, stronger."
The knight's words lingered in his fading mind as everything turned black.
The knight's words echoed faintly in his fading mind as its form slowly disintegrated, dissolving like dust caught in a thin, unforgiving wind.
And then… nothing.
Ethan's body finally gave in. He collapsed. Every muscle, tendon, shred of willpower surrendered. Darkness claimed him completely.
When he opened his eyes, it was absolute blackness—pitch black, endless and suffocating. He was floating. Not a muscle obeyed him. Not a single thought of movement could pierce the fog in his mind.
Then—far ahead, a tiny point of light.
It shimmered, distant and fragile, like a dying star. And yet, it grew, expanding slowly at first, then with sudden acceleration, engulfing everything. The black void became a canvas, consumed entirely by that brilliance.
And then he saw it.
A battlefield.
Hundreds of grotesque creatures surged across the field, each more monstrous than the last. Red and black flesh, limbs twisted, claws tearing at anything that moved. The ground trembled under their sheer numbers, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood and sweat.
Against them stood a human army, clad in gleaming silver-black armor. Each breastplate bore a dragon sigil, its eyes lifted toward the sky where a crown balanced delicately on the nose of a hovering dragon—threatening to fall, yet never falling.
The clash was absolute chaos. Steel tore flesh, screams filled the air, and yet… Ethan's gaze was drawn to one figure.
A commander.
He moved with terrifying precision, cutting through the monsters with a grace that was almost effortless. His presence radiated power, confidence, and masculinity—a raw, unshakable force that anchored the humans around him. Every movement was decisive; every command felt like a decree of destiny.
Ethan's mind couldn't help but react. This… this man is extraordinary.
He saw the way the soldiers rallied at his presence, how the monsters recoiled even as they pressed forward, how the commander's strength, skill, and sheer will seemed to bend the chaos itself. If one were to witness true greatness, this is it… the very essence of a man forged in fire and war.
He admired not just the power, but the magnetism of his masculinity, the kind that demanded respect without needing to shout, the kind that made allies fight harder and enemies hesitate. Ethan's chest tightened, a mixture of awe and envy washing over him. What a man… what a presence… what a force. If ever there was someone to aspire to, to challenge, to even follow with absolute faith, it would be him.
Ethan tried to reach for him, to move, to somehow intervene, but he remained suspended, powerless, a silent witness to the commander's perfection amidst carnage.
Then—the vision abruptly ended. Darkness returned, thick and heavy, pressing against him like a living thing.
Two points of light appeared, sharp and piercing, staring directly into his soul. Eyes, impossibly bright, burning into him with judgment and intensity. They lingered, until—
They closed.
The void returned. But now it felt different. Full of expectation, of challenge and truth Ethan could not yet grasp.
And then… nothing.
And then
A force like an invisible vortex tore through the void around him, pulling at his very essence. His stomach lurched, his chest constricted. He tried to resist, to brace himself—but before he could do anything, his eyes snapped open.
He gasped, rasping, as if every breath burned his lungs. Perspiration soaked his brow, mingling with the dried blood crusted across his face. His body ached like never before—muscles screaming in protest, joints stiff and raw, every fiber of him rebelling against the smallest movement.
He forced his neck to twist, forcing his gaze around. The battlefield was gone. No enemies. No grotesque creatures. No commanding figure in silver-black armor. Only the familiar terrain of his surroundings.
Looks like I'm safe… for now.
Relief washed over him in tremors, and for the first time since the soldiers appeared, he allowed himself to relax, letting his body sag against the uneven ground. He gazed up at the sky, stars scattered across the velvet black like distant embers, their cold beauty indifferent to his suffering. He drew a slow, ragged breath, steadying himself despite the ache that screamed through his ribs and shoulders.
He just breathed.
And then—
Ding!
The sharp, crystalline chime of the system cut through the quiet.