It’s quiet.

  Zethir lay on the ground, his eyes closed, his chest gently rising and falling. The cold gray floor chilled his back, the narrow walls and low ceiling snuffing out his air.

  But then, out of nowhere, a drop of blood dripped from the ceiling, landing directly between his eyebrows. Trickling down his eyes, the blood left no stain on his pale skin.

  With the soft trembling of his eyelids, he uncurtained his eyes, revealing their dull hue of red. It was as if a thousand years had passed, bleaching away his eyes’ gem-like brilliance.

  Sitting up, he glanced around the familiar room. If it could be called that. There was nothing inside, bar the droplets of blood falling from above.

  And so, he tilted his head up, squinting as another drop of blood fell between his eyebrows.

  “It’s cold.”

  But blood was supposed to be warm. Lifting his hand, he wiped the drop of blood and looked at his hand.

  There, he saw nothing, he thought. Just a chunk of human flesh in the shape of a hand.

  “It’s empty,” mumbling, he formed a fist with his hand. And yet, he felt nothing, as if the hand was not his.

  “There’s nothing here,” he closed his eyes, laying back down and letting the blood drip on his face.

  Until the blood formed a carpet on the floor, leaving everything soaked but him.

  Until the blood reached his ears, and he was half submerged. Yet his body didn’t feel wet.

  Nothingness, that was all there was, nothing more, nothing less.

  .

  .

  .

  “RUN!” Marco roared, dashing past Augustin. The latter was frozen stiff on the ground, staring cross-eyed at the arrowhead that nearly penetrated his head.

  Instead, it simply kissed the tip of his nose, like a lover’s touch.

  Marco’s [Protection] magic was crudely formed, and the barrage of arrows easily penetrated it. If there was one more arrow shot, he would’ve been dead.

  “Z-zethir’s in danger!” Coming to, he shoved the arrow aside, making it fall with the rest as the green barrier magic crumbled to dust.

  As soon as he glanced at the battlefield, he saw a spearhead slicing at Zethir’s back, making his blood fountain out. But as if he felt no pain, Zethir twisted his body, nimbly avoiding the encirclement of the dozen spearmen. Finally, he raised his sword, swinging it at a spearman’s neck.

  Unfortunately, all his sword met was air as the spearman easily dodged back.

  “Do you think I’m blind?!” Marco cursed in front of him, raising his hand as he prepared arcane energy.

  Standing up, he gritted his teeth and started preparing his own arcane energy. However, unlike Marco, who was already surrounded by faint green light, he was barely able to gather the energy from the air.

  At the same time, Zethir’s eyes burst with a fiery red light, as though torches inside his eye-sockets. He charged ahead, twisting his torso to let a spear pierce his left shoulder.

  “Wha—” Startled, the spearman let go of his spear and tried to jump back.

  But it was in vain.

  Zethir swung his sword like it was lighter than a twig, a red glow surrounding it. The veins in his arm were glowing like magma had replaced his blood, and his eyes were shining brighter and brighter.

  In that split second, Zethir’s sword severed the spearman’s arm, and lusted for the spearman’s neck.

  But alas, this wasn’t a fair battle. Feeling death blowing at the back of his ears, he retreated back and parried a spear strike from one of the spearmen. Then, the battle came to a rare halt.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Zethir warily eyed his enemies, and they did the same to him.

  “Are you okay?” A spearman whispered to the one-armed spearman, who was clutching his shoulder.

  “Tch, what’chu think?!” Annoyed, the one-armed spearman gripped his spear tightly. With one arm, his combat ability was as good as gone.

  “Surprised?” Zethir grinned, the fiery glow in his eyes dying down for a moment. He stood unfazed, but inside, his body was starting to fail him.

  Even though he didn’t feel anything, not yet.

  “Come, let’s keep this up. Let me kill you too,” he chuckled, his laughter tickling the spearmen's ears.

  “[Telekinesis].”

  Startled, the twelve spearmen flinched at the lullaby-like chant. Glancing at the source, they found Marco, veins bulging around his arm and twisted face. Then, they saw a wave of green energy pass them.

  Before they could process what happened, the fortress not far from them started to rumble. Chunks of stone lifted to the air, and a part of the fortress was dismantled in seconds.

  “Spellcaster?” One of them wondered aloud. “Keep an eye on him,” the same man said.

  Spellcasters were infamous for being lethal. But that was if there was enough firepower. To them, a spell like [Telekinesis] was like a squirrel throwing a pebble at their leg. It might bruise, but it was neglectable.

  Zethir’s sword was much more deadly in comparison. Suddenly, they remembered such a fact, hurriedly facing Zethir once again.

  Luckily, not even a breath had passed. Zethir was fast, and he moved like a ghost, his feet soundless. In their instance of distraction, they were already within striking distance with him.

  But before they could retaliate with their spears, Marco chanted another spell.

  “[Piercing]!”

  This time, their eyes all widened in shock.

  Most spellcasters can’t combine their spells, this was a known fact. Combination spells weren’t a simple one plus one, as each spell had a different structure and “rules.”

  It was similar to mixing oil and water. One slight error, and the spell would become too unstable to work.

  As the floating fist-sized rocks picked up speed and shot toward them, a green energy slowly coating its surface. However, as it did, the rocks started falling one by one, until only 20% remained.

  When less than a dozen were left, the coating elongated into a pointy shape—akin to stalactites bulleting toward the dozen swordsmen.

  “RETREAT!”

  One of the spearmen yelled, and all twelve retreated. All of them tried to, anyway.

  The sharp rocks all pierced the soil except one.

  “Argh!” The one-armed spearman stumbled back before falling to his knees, clutching the energy-coated rock that skewered his abdomen.

  With a cough, blood spurted out of his mouth. But before he could take another breath, his bloodshot eyes widened as a hand penetrated his chest, his heart being held at the back of his body.

  Raising his head, he met Zethir’s gaze, the latter’s amused, almost lustful expression painting his vision.

  “This is mine now,” Zethir whispered gently. Then, he yanked his hand out of the one-armed spearman’s chest and walked a few steps backward.

  Looking at the fresh heart in his hand, he crushed it without hesitation. Feeling a hard object in the middle of his palm, he grinned, chucking it into his mouth.

  There were usually two places for warriors to form their energy cores. One was in the abdomen, suited for fine energy control. The other was in the heart, suited for vitality and endurance. Seeing the one-armed spearman’s stubborn vitality, Zethir guessed where the energy core would be.

  After swallowing the spearman’s energy core, he felt a burning sensation in his stomach, followed by a burst of mania. His eyes throbbed uncomfortably, and he could feel blood trickling down his eye sockets. Not only that, his heart was beating too fast.

  But did he care?

  He didn’t. He never did.

  “Who’s next?” Zethir growled, his grin turning more and more feral. Crouching down, he dashed toward another spearman.

  But one step in, and he heard arrows whistling down from above, forcing him to halt. Frowning, he stepped aside.

  When half a dozen arrows penetrated the soil, making dust rise, the remaining spearmen rushed at Zethir.

  However, Zethir was looking at a different direction—the place where the arrows came from. From there, behind dozens of trees, he sensed several people moving places.

  But their presence was rapidly diminishing, a trademark of archers as they concealed themselves.

  “Tch,” annoyed, Zethir gripped his sword tighter, eyeing the remaining spearmen. By now, they were only a few steps away from him.

  Wasting not a second, he shoved energy into his sword. The iron surface cracked, but a red glow instantly filled the gaps. Afterward, the entire sword was shimmering crimson, a faint, red mist swirling around the blade.

  “Tch, start running! You’ll get us killed!” Marco screamed from afar, before waving his outstretched hands in a rectangular pattern. “[Enhancement: Clear Headed]!”

  As soon as his words dawned, Zethir’s head was blessed with a green glow. He paused for a moment, and came to just in time to avoid being poked to death.

  Jumping several times backward, Zethir tried to flee, but the spearmen were hot on his trail. Gritting his teeth, Zethir pushed through the pain all over his body and swung his sword, releasing all the energy inside of the metal.

  The spearmen instantly scattered, those a little slow in the retreat being gifted cuts on their torso and arms.

  Meanwhile, Zethir tried to regain his bearings. Marco’s spell made him lose focus, and also drove away all the adrenaline in his body. Now, each limb felt like a heavy rock he had to move.

  Not only that, a searing pain traveled from his stomach and back through his spine. Looking down, he saw that his stomach was nearly sliced open, blood gushing out like a river. He guessed that his back was in the same condition.

  “Urgh—”

  But the worst feeling was the toll of energy on his body. Having overloaded his body with too much energy, his veins felt as though they would all explode at any second.

  “Ha….” He glanced around, watching as the spearmen stood upright, surrounding him.

  “We can’t retreat,” Zethir said, feeling his grip on his sword wavering. “Keep fighting!” He yelled to the two mages.

  “Damn it!” Marco cursed under his breath, but didn’t object. He might know more about energy than warriors, but he had no idea of the limits a warrior had.

  If Zethir thought escape was impossible, then he would rather believe it. Of course, it was mostly because of his spell, which made Zethir regain his reason, that he trusted the man’s judgement.

  Zethir’s decision wasn’t unfounded either. If they turn around to run, the archers would easily bombard them, and the spearmen surely wouldn’t stand still.

  “Hooo,” Zethir half-closed his eyes, his focus mostly on the energies in his body. There were three energies now—his own, the archer from before, and the most recent, the spearman’s.

  Usually, those energies would slowly assimilate with his own and increase his rank. But now… he riled them up, violently mixing them up as though he was stirring a hotpot.

  And then, he used his crystal clear mind to deceive his own perspective. The world around him started spinning, and the faces of the spearmen changed. Now, they became demons, similar to his mother and fathers, and the countless people he killed.

  From afar, Marco frowned when his connection to the spell was cut.

  “What the hell is wrong with his mind?” he couldn’t help being perplexed.

  Since they were the same rank, Zethir shouldn’t be able to easily break from the enhancement.

  But no, it was severed like a twig under a giant’s foot—effortless.

  Zethir, his eyes bloodshot, charged toward the remaining spearmen.

  The spearmen swiftly gathered, raising their spears to stab Zethir, whilst getting ready to follow up their move.

  However, they never expected Zethir to willingly let his entire torso become a pincushion.

  “ZETHIR!!!” Augustin called out in shock. Meanwhile, Marco didn’t think twice to grab Augustin’s collar and run away.

  Zethir discarded his sword while the spearmen were unable to react, pushing energy into his right hand.

  The veins in his hand glowed a vibrant red, and he shoved it inside one of the spearmen’s torso. His reinforced hand searched around the spearman’s body, making the latter vomit out blood in an attempt to scream.

  “Fuck! KILL HIM!!!” A spearman yelled and tried to retract his spear.

  But to their surprise, the spears didn’t budge.

  Feeling their attempts, Zethir cackled madly, jumping back with the spears still lodged inside his torso. In his hand, he had another energy core and threw it in his mouth, before swallowing as hard as he could.

  His heartbeats were slowing down, and he couldn’t even breathe.

  But his enemies made a fatal mistake.

  They didn’t aim for the head.