"Prepare to keep up."
Casting a glance at Akali and the others, Faen then fixed his gaze on Duocal in the distance.
While Akali and her companions were still wondering what he meant, Faen took a single step forward, and Akali's eyes were involuntarily drawn to his ankles.
The smoke screen—so dark that even the brilliant midday sun couldn't penetrate it—seemed like a standard tactical tool, but it was actually infused with a heavy concentration of magical herbs like Incense-thought Flowers and Godspeed Grass.
On their own, these substances did little, but when utilized by those specialized in the training of the Fist of Shadow, they massively enhanced perception and the speed of mana mobilization.
This allowed ninjas of the Fist of Shadow to maintain a visual advantage through sensory perception and explosive speed while inside the mist.
As his powerful thighs surged forward and his knees bent, it felt as though a great bow was being drawn to its absolute limit.
Terrifying energy surged through his tough muscle fibers, and in the instant of eruption, Faen became a blurred afterimage in Akali's vision.
The sheer force of his impact tore a jagged rift through the dense smoke that refused to close.
On the other side, noticing the members of the Kinkou Order, Duocal quickly realized this battle might not be as simple as he had imagined.
According to the records of the Warmasons, these armored warriors operating within the smoke belonged to a unique sect from the Shon-Xan Highlands in northern Ionia.
Unlike other Ionian sanctuaries, this sect fought monsters year-round and represented the most elite forces capable of influencing the tide of the war.
To counter them, Jericho Swain had dispatched a large number of core legions to besiege the Shon-Xan Highlands, attempting to eradicate them before the war fully broke out.
However, reports indicated that because the sect was so isolationist, their headquarters had yet to be located, leading to a stalemate.
Duocal never expected to be the one to encounter them first.
Despite this, Duocal wasn't nervous; instead, he felt a surge of excitement.
Up until now, he had encountered only civilians and refugees; the land's sensitivity to war was so dull it was becoming boring.
What was the point of a victory if it was won so casually? It wasn't a feat worth bragging about!
But now, with these troublesome opponents, he could claim far more glory during the post-battle review!
However, just as Duocal was lost in thought, a sudden chill flashed through his mind—a premonition of death.
Duocal snapped into high alert, turning his gaze toward the direction Faen was charging from.
In Duocal's sight, Faen's protrusion had already torn a massive hole in the supposedly iron-clad Noxian formation.
Still rushing at high speed, Faen's eyes fell upon Duocal with a look of utter contempt.
There wasn't much hostility or even bloodlust, but that silent indifference made a cold shiver run down Duocal's spine.
Without hesitation, Duocal swung his arm and barked, "Stop him!!"
At Duocal's command, the soldiers of the Noxian legion noticed Faen and immediately moved to intercept.
In the center of it all, Faen felt no pressure.
Even though Ionia's Spirit Realm was in chaos and he couldn't easily unleash the full power of the Joy Demon, even a fraction of Ashlesh's power was not something these soldiers could stop.
Specifically, with the arrival of war, all those thoughts related to "struggle"—which had gone unanswered in the past—began to erupt and respond to Faen's call.
Though his movements seemed minimal, on the other side of the veil, a surging tide of fury transformed into countless torrents of mana, pouring into Faen's body.
As Duocal's order fell, a Noxian heavy infantryman, built like an iron tower, raised a massive Black Steel Tower Shield.
The shield was as tall as a man and forged from black steel three fingers thick.
Countless barbs were inlaid on its surface, and the dried, black blood clinging to them proved it wasn't just for show—it was as lethal as it was heavy.
But in the eyes of the crowd, Faen didn't slow down at all.
He raised his right arm—one that looked almost frail compared to the fully armored giant before him.
Yet, the moment he swung his punch, a sonic boom roared through the air.
The black-armored brute was hit as if by a frontal strike from a siege ram; the sound of twisting steel was shrill and ear-piercing.
Under the instantaneous impact, the black-armored warrior and his shield were both buckled inward.
The crisp crack of the shield shattering and the dull thud of a collapsing ribcage exploded simultaneously.
As a modified helmet fell off, the face of a Minotaur with blades embedded in its horns was revealed.
Truly, the Minotaurs were the physically strongest of the Vastaya; even after such a horrific blow, he didn't die instantly.
He coughed up a massive amount of blood foam before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious—though still breathing, it was clearly the final flicker of a dying man.
Faen did not relax after the strike.
He reached back and caught a spear thrusting toward him, swinging it with one hand.
He used the spear and the soldier attached to it as a club, slamming them into a nearby ballista.
With a heavy thud, the steel rails of the ballista were visibly bent by the impact of flesh and bone, and the Noxian warrior fell unconscious on the spot with a sickening crack of his spine.
His muscles bulged as mana flooded his limbs, reinforcing his already tough fibers, while surging water-light formed an illusory armor around him.
Showing no intent to defend, Faen's body crashed directly into a forest of spears.
He snapped iron-wood shafts with his bare hands and, wielding the broken remnants, swung his arms in two blurring arcs.
Everywhere he passed, flesh exploded into a foul-smelling red mist!
Gazing then at the horrified Duocal, Faen let out a savage grin.
His speed surged again, and he charged straight for the commander like a thunderbolt.