Chapter 79 – Clash of Auras
The Burning Sky
The evening sky was drenched in red—not only from the setting sun, but from smoke, dust, and the spray of blood that clouded the battlefield. The ground was no longer brown earth; it was painted crimson with the corpses of men and horses alike.
And at the very center, silence fell as two figures became the focus of tens of thousands of eyes.
Fenrir Eisenwald, the Crimson Wolf, stood battered and bloodied, his thigh gashed open, his shoulder fractured, his sword trembling in his grip. Yet around him, crimson aura erupted, molten and violent, like lava breaking through stone.
Opposite him stood Count Valgaard von Eisenmark, older, stronger, far more experienced. His aura blazed dark blue, steady and oppressive, like the depths of a midnight sea pressing down on all who dared approach.
The two forces collided invisibly at first—heat against cold, fire against ocean. The air cracked. The ground itself shuddered beneath the clash of their wills.
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Fenrir roared with every ounce of will he had left. "RAAAHHH!"
He charged, sword blazing with crimson light. Valgaard met him head-on, his greatsword swung in a monstrous arc, his aura detonating like a tidal wave.
BOOOOM!
The impact sent out a shockwave that flattened grass, threw men off their feet, and sent nearby soldiers tumbling through the air like ragdolls.
Fenrir was knocked back, his knees buckling, blood gushing from reopened wounds. But he did not fall. His molten eyes stayed fixed on the man before him.
Valgaard sneered, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You dare pit your dying body against my aura? Foolish child—you hasten your own end!"
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Behind their duel, Eisenwald's soldiers fought with bleeding hands and burning lungs.
Viktor's infantry, once 1,800 strong, now stood at 1,350, their shields dented but their formation unbroken.
Selene's archers had dwindled to 400, half now wielding blades instead of bows.
Garrik's cavalry, reduced to 280 riders, still hurled themselves into desperate charges.
Lyra's scouts numbered 70, slipping behind enemy lines to slit throats in the dark.
Every man and woman in Eisenwald's army kept glancing at the duel. Their Baron, their wolf, stood between life and death. If he fell, so too would their hope.
A young infantryman screamed hoarsely as he parried a spear thrust. "If our Baron still stands, then so do we! Hold the line!"
Their cries spread, like sparks across dry straw, fanning into fire.
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Fenrir slashed with desperate fury, each strike carrying molten aura. His blade looked like a river of fire carving through the night.
Valgaard countered with effortless brutality. Every swing of his greatsword sent vibrations through the earth, his aura pressing down like the weight of mountains.
"You are nothing but a wolf cub gnashing its milk teeth!" Valgaard bellowed.
Fenrir coughed blood, his vision swimming. His thigh burned, his shoulder screamed in agony. If I keep this pace, I'll be crushed. I must bait him… force him to overcommit.
He let his blade dip, his body swaying as if collapsing. Valgaard surged forward instantly, convinced of victory.
At that moment, Fenrir lunged, his sword slicing into Valgaard's knee. Blood spurted, forcing the Count to stumble.
But Valgaard's hilt smashed into Fenrir's ribs, cracking bone and sending him sprawling through the mud.
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Fenrir's body trembled on the ground, darkness eating at the edges of his vision. For a heartbeat, he considered staying down.
Then—his mother's voice echoed in his mind, Elena's soft embrace. "My son… you swore to protect this land."
And then his father's stern voice, Celdric's limp silhouette with cane in hand. "You are the fang of Eisenwald. Never retreat, even if the world crushes you."
Fenrir's lips peeled back in a bloody grin. "I… am that fang!"
His aura exploded again—lava-red, wild and uncontrolled. The ground cracked beneath his feet as the power surged through his battered frame.
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Valgaard raised his greatsword, aura billowing like a stormy ocean.
Fenrir lifted his trembling sword, aura blazing like a volcanic eruption.
Both roared and charged.
DOOOOOOM!
The clash tore through the battlefield. Men screamed as the shockwave hurled them like leaves. Horses panicked, arrows veered off-course, and even distant soldiers paused to witness the titanic impact.
Crimson and blue collided, lava against sea. Fire roared, water surged. The world itself seemed to split as their blades locked and their auras battled for dominance.
Fenrir screamed, pouring all his pain, rage, and determination into the clash. His aura sputtered and flared, but he held.
Valgaard pressed harder, his face a mask of fury and shock. This boy should have fallen long ago—yet he still stood.
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Fenrir was driven back, blood soaking his chest, his sword barely in his grip. But still—still—he did not fall.
Valgaard staggered too, his own blood streaming down his armor, his breath ragged. "You're stronger than I imagined, boy. But you will still die here."
Fenrir spat blood, his crimson eyes blazing. "If I die… I'll drag you with me."
The battlefield hushed. Tens of thousands watched as two auras continued to consume each other, the fate of armies suspended in the clash of two wills.
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Status Panel – Fenrir Eisenwald
Name: Fenrir Eisenwald
Title: Baron of Eisenwald, The Crimson Wolf
Age: 17
Level: 15
EXP: 5,800 / 26,000
(drastically reduced by grievous wounds and aura clash exhaustion)
Aura: 150 → 80 ( -70 )
Stamina: 148 → 88 ( -60 )
Strength: 112 → 85 ( -27 )
Cunning: 198 (unchanged)
Charisma: 125 (unchanged)
Mental Fortitude: 172 → 180 ( +8 , steeled by life-and-death resolve)
Condition:
[Heavy Bleeding] → -15 Stamina per hour if untreated
[Fractured Shoulder] → -27 Strength until healed
[Aura Clash Exhaustion] → -20 Aura while duel continues
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