The three men who climbed through the hole wasted no time. One dashed forward, engaging Kyren, while the other two stood still, mana swirling around them. Their muscles bulged, their bodies contorting as they transformed into monstrous figures.
Kyren raised his sword just in time to block the short dagger the first cultist pulled from beneath his robes. Metal clashed, the clang echoing through the massive room. The cultist staggered back from the impact, his blade knocked aside, but Kyren stayed on the offensive. His sword slashed downward, slicing through the man's robe and barely cutting the skin beneath. Without hesitation, Kyren followed up with a punch, sending the cultist flying backward toward the two fully transformed warriors.
The beastly cultists lunged forward, their newly enhanced forms rippling with unnatural strength. One met Kyren head-on, blocking his sword strike with a gauntlet-covered forearm—armor that had grown with his transformation. The other arm swung toward Kyren in a brutal punch. He barely had time to react before the impact slammed into his chest. A cold shock ran through him—ice spread across his armor in jagged patterns. Kyren's eyes flicked downward, noting the frost forming beneath the cultist's every step.
So, that's his ability. Ice armor.
Before the frozen cultist could attack again, Runa intercepted the other monstrous opponent. Her floating blades danced above her, striking down in perfect synchronization. The cultist raised his massive, gauntlet-covered arms, blocking one blade—but as his focus shifted, the second sword slashed toward him from the other side. He caught it in time, deflecting the strike, but Runa was already moving.
She dashed forward, her curved blade slicing downward. The grass-forged sword bit into the cultist's shoulder, but not deep enough. He grunted, ripping the blade free and throwing it to the ground. He tensed, preparing to charge—
But the moment his foot moved, the discarded sword shot past him, slicing across his heel before flying back into Runa's waiting hand.
The cultist stumbled.
Runa didn't hesitate.
She rushed forward, all three swords striking at once. Two slashed into his shoulders, forcing his arms up in defense. The third blade, aimed for his chest, was caught just in time. Runa leapt back, her swords hovering in front of her opponent—then they shot forward, becoming a whirlwind of relentless slashes.
The cultist dropped to his knees, unable to block the onslaught. His body was torn apart, collapsing beneath the barrage of blades.
Kyren, recovering quickly from the ice-covered cultist's earlier blow, could still feel mana coursing through him from his spar with Runa. He dashed forward, channeling energy into Lion's Requiem. His sharpened blade came down in a heavy strike, cracking the layer of ice shielding the cultist's arms. The sword dug into his gauntlet, splitting the metal up to the hand.
Too far.
Kyren activated Silverfang Surge—a translucent mana blade extended from the Eclipsingfang, doubling its reach. He slashed again, this time cutting straight through the ice on the cultist's chest, biting deep into his flesh. The frozen shell shattered down his torso, but even as it broke apart, new ice rapidly formed, rebuilding the armor.
The cultist swung at Kyren again.
Kyren ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow. He activated Black Fang Step—a path illuminated before him, his body instinctively following it before he could consciously react.
In an instant, he was behind the cultist.
His opponent's neck was left unguarded.
Kyren slashed with both blades in quick succession. Eclipsingfang and Lion's Requiem cleaved through flesh, severing the cultist's spine. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Lydel had joined the fight, facing the last untransformed cultist. The guards had taken his sword, but they'd left him his ring—and that was all he needed.
Lydel and his afterimage struck in perfect synchronization, each slash landing with calculated precision. He moved methodically, wearing his opponent down, attacking from one side while his duplicate mirrored him from the other.
A quick slash to the right shoulder.
As Lydel stepped back, the afterimage struck the same spot a second time, deepening the wound.
The cultist staggered, blood dripping onto the stone floor. Lydel didn't let up. His final strike dropped the man to the ground.
Meanwhile, Baldwin had taken cover like most of the villagers. The battle had been fierce—for the cultists. But for Kyren, Runa, and Lydel, it had barely been a warm-up.
Baldwin finally stepped out from his hiding spot, eyeing the wreckage.
"You're strong, I'll give you that," he muttered. "But they clearly don't think so. Only sending three mid-level guards?"
Runa raised an eyebrow. "Then let's make a bigger scene."
Lydel scoffed. "What do you mean, 'a bigger scene'?"
Runa grinned. "Ever destroyed a trade hall?"
Kyren smirked. "Not a trade hall. But me and Lydel? We've definitely destroyed some stuff."
Lydel cracked his knuckles. "So are we just gonna talk about it, or are we gonna go out there and tear some shit up?"
He stepped through the hole in the wall. Kyren and Runa followed.
The damp tunnel led them back to the hatch they'd used earlier. As they emerged into the trade hall, it was just as bustling as before.
Kyren kept his voice low but firm. "Only destroy the ones run by cultists."
They split up.
Runa's swords flew high above the market, cutting through wooden stands in sweeping arcs. Stalls splintered under the relentless assault, goods spilling onto the stone floor. Some cultists managed to dodge the attacks—others weren't as lucky, suffering deep gashes as they scrambled to escape.
Kyren moved swiftly, his blades carving through the marketplace, toppling stands and cutting down anything marked by cult robes. Lydel weaved through the chaos, striking fast, precise, and brutal.
Within minutes, panic took hold.
The crowd shrank as civilians fled. At least twenty stands were reduced to rubble. The trade hall, once full of life, was now in ruins.
Then the doors flew open.
A man in golden robes stormed in, flanked by five more men. His voice boomed across the hall.
"If you are not ready to die, leave this place now."
The last few civilians and even some cultists rushed for the exits, leaving the hall nearly empty. The only outsider who remained was Baldwin.
"I swear I can fight," Baldwin muttered. "I'm not defenseless."
Runa barely glanced at him. "Then stay. But we're not babysitting you."
Baldwin scoffed. "You won't have to."
The man in gold stepped forward, voice dripping with authority.
"Who sent you? Who seeks the downfall of my glorious castle?"
Kyren met his gaze. "No one sent us. No outside influence. We just want to destroy your sorry cult."
The golden priest's eyes narrowed. Behind him, his five warriors began to transform, muscles rippling under their robes. But unlike before, something was different.
The priest raised his hands. Black mana tendrils shot forward, latching onto the five warriors' spines.
Kyren's stomach twisted.
He's controlling them.
The priest curled his fingers, and as if pulled by invisible strings, the transformed cultists shot forward at unnatural speed.
Runa's swords met two of them mid-charge. Lydel was already engaging another.
Kyren dashed toward the one standing directly in front of the priest.
The real battle for the Zafeer outpost had begun.