A blinding flash lit up the swamp, sharp as a trumpet blast. Both sides lunged into the fray. "Kill them all!" "Take no prisoners!" Voices roared from every direction. Dark streaks of Night Sorcery sliced through the air, churning the foul water into a storm. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Night Shards clashed. Night Comets felled trees one by one. Both factions hurled the same magic at each other, turning the swamp into a boiling cauldron of stench. The barrage missed the center—neither side was that inaccurate, and both had reasons to avoid it. "A master!"
Throne charged forward, barefoot in the mud, clinging to the figure ahead. Swish—
Redmane flames swept the ground, igniting broken logs. Throne crossed his dual blades over his chest, spinning them into an unbreakable wall of steel. Clang. Clang. Clang. Sparks flashed and vanished. Invisible throwing knives ricocheted in all directions.
He glanced to his right and unleashed a Glintstone Arc. The sword's energy blazed bright. Trees over ten meters tall groaned and toppled. Mud sprayed from their roots as Throne pounced like a tiger, blades raised high. Falling Slash! Clang!! Another sharp metallic ring echoed. A figure appeared.
No mask. A square face. Brown eyes wide with shock. Royal's mind raced. As a 'Butcher,' he'd chosen the Redmane Knight as his first target. It made sense—Glintstone Sorcery users were fragile, needing cover. But the outcome was staggering.
This lecturer, Vane, was sharper than Redmane, his combat skills even deadlier. "You're not a sorcerer?!" Throne grinned, his face inches away, wild and arrogant. "Guess." Zing—
He twisted his blades, activating Bloodhound's Step, and flew backward.
The shield-bearing knight closed in, slashing repeatedly at Royal, whose 'Unseen Form' spell had failed. Throne crouched in the mud, splattered filth on his face. Instead of joining the attack, he sprang up like a coiled spring, smearing star-frost onto Moonveil. Invisible blade.
Applying what he'd just learned, he turned his three-foot blade into Unseen Form with Night Sorcery. He spun and slashed behind him. No figure, but his palm felt the resistance of steel cutting through flesh. Blood poured from above, drenching him like a crimson rain.
Chunks of meat landed on his shoulder, but the Sword Ghost didn't care. He stepped forward, pointing his blade at the dozen Night Sorcerers charging with staves raised, transforming into human machine guns. Swift Shard. Thop's Barrier. Cyan ripples shimmered, deflecting the clattering magic shards on impact.
For a moment, it was impossible to tell if there were dozens or hundreds. Trees around them turned into sieves. Sorcerers flanking from both sides fell screaming. "This isn't magic!" The attackers froze. Such firepower should've shredded even a heavy tower shield, yet the enemy stood unscathed.
A cyan magic projectile streaked toward them, snapping them back to reality. "Scatter!" Boom—
The Cannon of Haima exploded in the crowd, instantly blasting several people into minced meat. More assassins crumpled under the shockwave, their eyes filled with dust and residual magic. Before they could regroup, azure particles gathered once more in the cyan fog.
Starlight surged. Throne carved his path with decisive violence. His fighting style churned like a storm, each movement interlocking with the next. He glanced at a Night Sorcerer clawing its way up beside him, his wild arrogance blazing. Armed with the Thopss Barrier, he held every advantage over the so-called "sorcerer" profession.
When the hail of violent magic shards failed to kill him instantly, in pure blade-to-blade combat—
"You're not worthy!" He flicked his left hand; though half a meter away, the Night Sorcerer's head spun through the air. The sorcerer raised a short sword but couldn't track the trajectory of Moonveil.
As another sorcerer lifted a staff, Throne, standing meters away, lunged. Tiger Leap, Rising Carp! His sword followed his body; star-frost deflected the short sword, and Moonveil punched through the chest. A hole appeared in the body, the blade glinting with fresh blood.
Throne kicked the corpse away, sending it crashing into the crowd behind him. He pulled his blade free and leapt toward the next sorcerer raising a staff. Bloodhound's Step. Swish, swish, swish—magic shards fired in rapid succession, churning the mud pit. Throne zigzagged through the barrage.
His robes hung in tatters. The relentless rain of bullets sent adrenaline coursing through him. This is the feeling. A gash opened on Throne's cheek; the pain only fueled his excitement. He stopped abruptly, shifted direction, and burst forward, closing the distance in an instant.
The sorcerer stumbled back two steps, frantically raising his sword. Whoosh—
The blade sliced air. The enemy retreated several meters. The crouching swordsman locked eyes with the Night Sorcerer, whose green eyes flickered with uncertainty. A dozen assassinations had taught him to trust his instincts. He's charging up!
A pause. Then a violent eruption of blade light. Dozens of slashes filled the sorcerer's vision, leaving only one question—
How do you dodge this?? Secret Sword: Vortex Cloud Slash! Throne's dual blades unleashed a storm of light denser and brighter than the original technique, exploding into the crowd.
Swish, swish, swish—the blades cut through the air without pause, the blinding light drawing the attention of the entire battlefield. Royal, driving his short sword into a Redmane Knight's thigh, looked up. His pupils narrowed, reflecting the carnage.
The swordsman stood at the center of the mud pit, surrounded by dismembered limbs. The cuts were so precise they created a mist of crimson. He turned, shook his blade lightly, and smiled. "What makes you think I'd intervene?"
Within a kilometer of the swamp, blade lights and magic shards crisscrossed the air. One misstep meant death.
Night Sorcerers, allies mere hours ago, now slaughtered each other, stabbing blades into former comrades, striking from behind. Their high mobility scattered the battlefield. Once the fighting began, it descended into chaos.
No commands. None needed. Night Sorcerers fought alone, charging into the fray, employing every dirty trick in the book.
Here's the polished version with all content preserved and enhanced for clarity and impact:
Some slipped into Unseen Form, lurking in the shadows to pick off stragglers. Others perched in trees, striking like vipers. A few, blood burning hot, threw themselves into the fray blade-first. But nowhere matched the ferocity of the battlefield's right flank. Throne flicked his swords, sending twin arcs of blood spattering the mud.
A dozen Night Sorcerers fell in one motion—not a single corpse left whole. Royal lived up to his title: the Butcher of the Wise. He'd traded blows with a Redmane Knight, his robes charred but his flesh unbroken, while Aila gasped for air.
Blood crusted the knight's chainmail. His shield hung in splinters. He backpedaled, putting distance between them. Royal let him go, eyes locked on Throne.
"Who are you?"
"Battlefield Sorcerer Yug."
"Bullshit. I know that man."
"Fine. I'm his unrelated brother who shares a surname."
Throne shrugged, grinning, then jerked his chin at the knight.
"Can you stand?"
The knight glanced at the reinforcements surging toward them—understood he faced the enemy commander—and squared his shoulders.
"Yes."
"Good. Handle the rear. I'll take this one."
No wasted words. Throne leveled his blades and advanced.
"Wait."
The Redmane Knight didn't turn. Just raised his shattered shield and charged toward impossible odds.
"Make it count!"
His voice vanished under the shriek of magic shards.
Throne didn't look back. His pace quickened, boots skimming the mud as he closed on Royal's fading silhouette.
"Ready to die?"
Silence. The Butcher merely lifted his weapon, unfazed.
One step. Two.
On the third, Throne struck.
His blade carved a crescent through the air. Storm Art left a scar in the earth meters long. The Butcher dodged—mud still hung midair—when Throne twisted his wrist and unleashed a cyan ripple.
A black meteor, millstone-sized, slammed into it—then ricocheted skyward.
Royal's eyes widened.
Stealth. Evasion. Night Meteor. His signature combo had felled countless. Some dodged. Some tanked it. No one had ever swatted it aside.
Thopss Barrier—a rogue sorcerer's trick, deflecting tenfold the magic poured into it. The meteor packed force, but not enough to break Throne.
Bad.
Distraction cost him. He leapt from the tree.
Too slow.
Starlight flared behind him. A blade grazed his back—shhk—splitting robes, exposing the soft armor beneath. He hit the mud just as thunder cracked behind him.
Storm—
Wind coiled around Throne's legs.
His next step shattered a tree. The recoil launched him at Royal.
Falling Slash.
CLANG.
The impact drove through Royal's wrists, buried his calves in mud. Blade-to-blade favored the assassin not at all—but survival left no room for pride.
The impact wrenched him backward. He steadied himself, magic crackling at his fingertips, ready to unleash a close-range spell. Before he could release it, an unseen blade sliced through the air from his flank. He leaned back sharply, the blade's edge grazing the tip of his nose. His palms slammed into the ground for support as his legs lashed out in rapid succession. Each kick was a blur, too fast to track. Thwack. Thwack.
Throne grunted twice, low and muffled. His body absorbed the blows without faltering—no blood, no staggering. He planted Moonveil into the dirt, yanking it upward in a backhand slash. Mud erupted in a thick spray, drenching Royal mid-backflip. The mage's outline shimmered into view, his invisibility shattered.
Throne followed up with Bloodhound's Step, one blade cleaving downward, the other sweeping horizontally. The sword light crossed mid-air, slicing through the space between them. Shreds of fabric fluttered to the ground. Royal barely twisted out of the way, teeth clenched. This swordsman was a nightmare up close—agile, precise, a natural predator to an assassin like him.
Distance was the only advantage. Bombard him with spells, keep him at bay. But Throne's strange barrier made that impossible. How do you fight someone like this? Royal flipped backward, graceful as an acrobat, while Throne pressed forward, relentless and deadly.
The airborne mud froze mid-slice, cleaved by the invisible blade. It shattered into icy fragments as it hit the ground, frost spreading rapidly. War Ash? Royal leapt back, skirting the freezing range. He couldn't stop moving, but his mind stayed calm. At least I'm faster than him by a hair—Boom!!
The explosion cut his thought short. Frozen shards erupted into the air. Throne's eyes gleamed gold, his pupils narrowing to slits. Did you think I wanted to freeze you? He planted his feet, power surging through his body. His speed multiplied in an instant, closing the gap between them in a flash.
As if a slow-motion button had been pressed, Royal stared at the swordsman who had lunged into his space. Those golden slit pupils burned into him.