Chương 88: Synthesis

Berg shouted a command that punched through the growing fear.

"Arany! Take yer squad and Berrick's lot! Pin that damn warrior and keep it off our backs!" The lieutenant didn't wait for a response, peering at the big serpentine shape perched on the ruins fifty yards away. He rallied the bulk of the soldiers, his eyes hard as flint.

"Rest of ya, on me! We got a lizard to put in the dirt!" The warriors of the expedition surged away with a battle cry, boots thundering against the ground as they charged the greater threat. The roar of the drake and the clash of shields against claws soon drifted into the background, becoming a chaotic accompaniment to the fight before Cal. His world narrowed to the enemy in front of him.

"Form up!" Arany bellowed, stepping into the void Berg left behind. Their two squads merged at speed and held their ground. Cal locked his shield with Berrick's on his left. To his right, Vane vibrated with restless energy, his shield barely held in position. The adventurer elite approached without a care for the drake and the legionaries who'd skirted it. It advanced straight on, undeterred from the direction it had taken since leaving the wall.

Armored feet sloshed across the corpse-strewn mire, splattering black sludge as it approached. The big rotter was silent as the grave. Just soulless meat and bone marching, a big axe held at the ready. Cal tightened his grip on the spear.

"Hold!" Arany strained, lacking Berg's confidence. The shield wall tensed. Cal planted his feet, feeling the ichor-slicked mud shifting beneath his boots. The elite closed the distance. Twenty yards. Fifteen. It started up the corpse berm. Vane abruptly stepped forward out of the formation.

"Vane!" Panic filled the call from Arany.

"Get back in line! Hold the formation!" Their champion ignored him. Planting his spear in the mud, he drew his short sword with a metallic hiss while his shoulders rolled, his neck cracking audibly.

"This is not the time!" Berrick roared from behind him.

"Boy, get yer ass back here!" Vane continued to reject his orders as a wide grin split his face. He leveled his blade at the advancing corpse.

"Come on, then!" His voice boomed across the clearing, drowning out his squad leader's repeated orders.

"Let's see what you've got!" A deep red flush bloomed across the exposed skin of his neck and forearms, while his muscles swelled with sudden density, visibly expanding until his armor's leather straps creaked under the strain. Steam vented from his body in ghostly tendrils, striking the freezing air and enveloping him in a personal fog bank. A bloodline! The elite reached the near edge of the pile. Vane burst forth. One moment the battle-maniac stood there, grinning and radiating heat.

The next, he blurred into motion and reappeared at the elite's flank. His sword became an argent smear, attacking in a torrent of strikes so fast Cal could barely track them. The sound was rapid-fire collision, a vicious tink-tink-tink-tink as the Rotbane-coated blade hammered against the elite's corrupted plate armor, trying to find gaps. The monster simply set its stance. The haft of its axe intercepted one thrust and the flat of the blade caught another, while a tiny pivot of the wrist deflected a third.

Each parry was a minimal correction, the creature expending little wasted motion or unnecessary force. The sound of Vane's assault changed from staccato pings to hollow thumps as the rotter began to repeatedly ward the blows. Vane's expression shifted from confident to intense to strained. His bloodline-fueled strength and speed poured into every strike, muscles bulging with effort as his body vented a denser cloud of vapor. Probing for a vulnerability, he attacked high, low, left, and right.

The elite gave him nothing. With the elite's attention completely consumed by Vane's assault its back was exposed to the shield wall. Berrick seized the opening and broke from the formation with a guttural shout, spear leveled as two other legionaries followed close behind. A moment later, the blue light in the elite's helm flared with sudden intensity. The elite's movements accelerated. Its axe head hooked Vane's shortsword mid-thrust, wrenching it from his grip with a violent twist that shattered his wrist.

Before Vane could register the loss, the elite pivoted on its front foot and drove its other heel into his breastplate. Armor caved inward, the metal collapsing into his abdomen. Lifting off the ground, his body soared backward through the air, arms and legs flailing limply. He slammed into a rotter corpse with a meaty thud, sending ichor and gore flying. The steam rising from his body dissipated in an instant, the effects of his bloodline blinking out. Cal took a moment to process the rapid change in speed.

The adventurer rotter whirled toward the three charging legionaries as they came on. The first legionary was a young recruit who had overtaken and passed Berrick, now trying to raise his shield in a desperate block. The elite's axe cleaved down in one smooth motion. Cutting through the iron-banded wood, the blade continued through the recruit's outstretched arm and torso. His body separated at the waist with a tearing sound, spraying blood in a wide arc from the violent bisection.

The second legionary froze, advance stuttering. His eyes widened, mouth opening in a wordless cry. Berrick saw the elite's follow-through, the savage backswing aimed at the paralyzed soldier. He didn't hesitate. With a roar, he threw himself forward, shield raised high.

"Get back, you—" Axe met shield and the iron-banded wood groaned, the metal boss caving inward under the overwhelming force. The impact drove the entire shield into Berrick's body, breaking his guard and driving him to the ground. Before he could even cry out, the axe blade splintered the ruined wood and buried itself in his chest. Blood burst from his mouth as it was ejected from his torso, but his eyes remained fixed on the young soldier behind him, his face locked with the echo of resolve.

The elite ripped the axe free and reset. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The second legionary staggered backward, face ashen, and turned to run. For a moment, blue light from the elite's helm tracked the retreating form before swiveling back to the corpse pile where Vane lay crumpled. The creature resumed its advance, each step displacing a thick wave of muddy ichor.

Vane stirred, his body shifting as he scrabbled weakly against the charnel heap. He managed to roll onto his side, his face slack and mouth hanging open as vacant eyes settled on Cal. The signature grin was gone. In its place were pain and confusion. After reaching him, the rotter planted its feet to straddle Vane's prone legs. The corrupted axe rose high, its blade still dripping with the blood of the fallen. No. Cal had dropped his shield.

Both hands tightened on his spear shaft as his thoughts crystallized into action. He pulled. Stamina flooded his muscles, the thrumming strain along his limbs confirming the meridian liner elixir's efficacy, countering the usual grating friction of his [Channel Erosion]. [Dash] The world blurred. Mud and ichor sprayed behind him as his boots tore into the slick ground. The gap shrank, distance collapsing as he hurtled forward while wind roared past his ears, vision narrowing to a tunnel.

The elite's axe began its descent. Cal arrived. He attempted to conserve his Stamina by driving his spear forward in a desperate [Breaching Thrust], power flowing from his technique and incorporating his Ability-driven momentum. He slammed the spear point against the flat of the descending axe blade mid-arc. A violent shock from the impact traveled up his arms and rattled his teeth. The force compressed his wrists, elbows, and shoulders. For a single, terrifying instant he thought his spear would shatter.

Driven off course, the axe's trajectory shifted, its blade plunging into the mud inches from Vane to split a corpse and sink deep into the corrupted earth. Cal's boots settled into the ground, momentum spent. He recovered his stance, raised his spear, and tried to slow his breathing. The elite's glowing blue eye slowly turned to him. His stomach dropped. The pressure of that gaze was both physical and spiritual, a strain that pressed against his aura and made his lungs tighten.

Up close, the creature was a nightmare. Exposed grey flesh wept ichor through gaps in the corroded plate. The iron of its armor was pitted and streaked with gore, old and new. Behind the helm's horizontal slit, that terrible blue light burned like a portal to death. The elite wrenched its axe from the muck and lifted it high overhead, pivoting to face him and stepping forward. The axe came down in a heavy chop, the blade descending with the inevitability of a guillotine.

Cal reacted on pure instinct, executing [Turning the Point] with a quick thrust. Twisting the weapon, he intercepted the flat of the axe blade with the spear's hardened steel tip. For a fraction of a second, steel scraped against steel. His slight redirection was just enough. The axe blade missed his shoulder, his deflection carrying it laterally to shear off his pauldron with a shriek of tearing metal, sparing his arm and sending a geyser of filth into the air as it buried in the dirt once more.

The glancing impact spun him halfway around, his boots skidding as he stumbled. The elite was already moving, its axe sweeping in from his right in a vicious horizontal arc aimed at his ribs. Cal burned Stamina on a desperate [Flicker Step], his body flashing backward and out of range. The giant blade cut through space, its passage shooting a spray of blood that splattered his helm and armor with foul-smelling sludge. Before he could recover, the elite thrust the butt of the axe haft forward like a battering ram.

Cal threw himself to the side, rolling through the filth. The haft whistled past his head, close enough that he felt the displaced air. He came up on one knee, gasping, spear raised in a shaky guard. The elite came on as Cal's [Combat Analysis] went into overdrive. Wait. That stance. It's identical. The axe began the familiar descent. This time, Cal held his ground, planting his back foot deep in the mud. He unleashed a defensive [Breaching Thrust], his spear lancing upward to meet the descending chop.

The point stabbed into the side of the blade with a crack of steel on corrupted iron, the blow knocking the massive weapon wide and driving it into the earth a full foot to his left. The cleave followed instantly. As the blade arced toward him, Cal hopped backward, setting his spear into [Phalanx Guard] mid-air. He met the blow with a cushioned catch, skillfully pulling his spear into his body as the axe traveled closer.

The force of the impact traveled through the braced shaft, its energy absorbed and redirected into his backward momentum, allowing the elite's own attack to propel him a safe distance away. The pommel of the axe came thrusting forward. With the extra space he'd created, Cal pivoted easily on his back foot. The wooden shaft darted past his shoulder, missing by a comfortable margin. He reset his [Iron Root Stance], breathing hard but controlled. It's a fixed pattern. Savage, but predictable.

And the transition between the chop and the sweep has a fractional opening. The elite began the combo a third time. As the overhead cleave descended, Cal executed a perfectly timed side-step that let the axe slam into the ground beside him. The horizontal sweep follows now. As the elite hauled against the momentum of its axe to pivot, Cal dropped his stance. He hooked the head of his spear tip behind the monster's lead ankle and wrenched the shaft backward with a grunt of exertion.

[Linebreaker Sweep] The technique found purchase, sending the elite's boot skidding across the slick mud. Its footing broke and the creature stumbled, its torso jerking forward as its hips stalled, killing the momentum of the impending sideways cut. The stumble froze the elite's arm in place for a heartbeat. Cal retracted his spear instantly, flowing from the disruption into the attack. He lunged forward, unleashing a surgically targeted [Decisive Strike].

His spear lanced through the space where the cleave would have been, aiming for the unarmored joint of the elite's wrist, the narrow gap between the gauntlet and the vambrace where grey flesh was exposed. The tip punched through. There was a satisfying bite as the Rotbane-coated blade bit into corrupted tissue and bone. The elite's grip faltered, fingers spasming as the alchemy sizzled its work. The axe dipped, its weight shifting as the monster's programmed attack sequence shattered.

Cal wrenched his spear free and shuffled back a few yards, preparing for the next exchange. The elite's glowing eye stared at him. Its damaged hand twitched, fingers flexing. It raised its axe again, slower this time, and began to reset its stance. A tone resounded in his mind. The quality was transcendent, tolling through the chaos of the battlefield like a bell in a cathedral. Cal's breath caught, and his focus split.

Notifications cascaded down his vision, the words glowing brightly golden against the backdrop of the ruined clearing.

[Old Skill Lost: Decisive Strike (F) - Expert] [Old Skill Lost: Breaching Thrust (F) - Expert] [Old Skill Lost: Iron Root Stance (F) - Expert] [Old Skill Lost: Linebreaker Sweep (F) - Expert] [Old Skill Lost: Turning the Point (F) - Expert] [Old Skill Lost: Phalanx Guard (F) - Expert] [New Skill Synthesis Achieved: Spear Mastery (F) - Low] The notification hung there for a heartbeat, and then something inside him shifted.

A profound internal rearrangement occurred, as though invisible dams had broken, releasing six separate rivers of knowledge. The barriers between the Legion's First Form Skills dissolved, their disparate techniques merging from separate compartments in his mind to a unified current of combat knowledge. Change ripped through him like a snapped cable. As his stance rooted him to the ground, unshakable, the spear in his grip found its perfect position.

Every micro-adjustment of his weight and each slight pivot of his wrist now functioned as part of a seamless whole. The six Skills were part of a larger integrated system. They were designed to work together, to flow into each other. The stance provides the foundation. Guarding and deflection manage the application of force, while the sweep aids in control. The thrust and the strike are the payoff. This is mastery! This is the path forward! His mind continued to work, analyzing*—* The world slowed.

It happened gradually at first, a subtle stretching of perception that he didn't immediately notice. The elite had started moving forward, but it traveled through the air with the languid grace of a falling leaf. The ever-present mist that swirled around the edges of their battlefield hung suspended in the air around him. A legionary's cry, somewhere distant, stretched into a drawn-out moan that started to scratch at his ears.

The flow of the battle seemed to congeal, each movement dragging against an unseen resistance. Cal's analytical mind, still processing the consequences of the synthesis, took another moment to register the external change. When it did, a spike of icy fear shot through his composed state. This feeling. I know this feeling. The white void. The disembodied voice. When he'd chosen his three Soul Impartments, when space and time had ceased to have meaning and he'd floated somewhere between existence and non-existence.

His mind raced toward the final conclusion. This is the System. It's— CHOOSE.