"Damn it, Simon! I told you not to charge in!" a young man with dark hair and striking purple eyed mage shouted, struggling to maintain the mana shield around himself and the two archers beside him, who were firing off arrows as fast as they could.
"I'm running out of arrows—Lucian, toss me some of yours!" one of the archers called out, desperation creeping into his voice.
Lucian, a brown-haired girl, let another arrow fly and nailed a rat mid-leap, but when she reached back for another, her hand grabbed nothing but air. "I'm out too..." she muttered grimly.
"Shit..." the other archer cursed, yanking the sword strapped to his back as Lucian did the same.
Meanwhile, the young mage gritted his teeth, frustration boiling over. "That arrogant fuck! I told him we should coordinate with the other teams and hit the den together—but no, he just had to play hero!"
Simon—apparently the name of the Circle Warrior leading the charge—was fighting with everything he had. Each swing of his long knives unleashed sharp arcs that tore through rats and gouged deep slashes into the ground, even cutting through nearby trees. But no matter how many he cut down, it wasn't enough. The swarm felt endless.
He was already wounded—one rat had sunk its teeth into his shoulder, another had managed a nasty slash across his thigh. The pain only fueled his fury, and the constant cursing from his co-leader in the back wasn't exactly calming him down.
It was his mistake. He'd rushed in without waiting for support. Deep down, he probably knew that. But in his mind, he still believed he could finish off the whole horde on his own. The only real problem? His teammates might die in the process—while he'd walk away merely injured.
While his co-leader kept shouting from behind the shield wall, the rest of the team fought to hold their ground. One of the melee fighters used a heavy tower shield to protect the group, trying to keep the rats from overwhelming them. The other two fought beside him, slashing down the creatures that got too close. They were clearly trying to carve a path for escape—but the rats, dumb as they seemed, had enough instinct to start circling them, cutting off every exit.
"Damn it... I shouldn't have come here..." Simon muttered through gritted teeth, kicking away a rat that lunged at him and sending it crashing into another with a sickening thud.
One of the three melee fighters, stationed ahead of the mage and the two archers, had strayed just a bit too far from the group. That was all it took.
The rats swarmed him like a flood, instincts kicking in as they sensed a weak spot. Two leapt straight onto him—one sank its teeth deep into his thigh, the other tore a chunk out of his lower leg.
"Aaaargh!" the man screamed in agony, swinging his sword wildly but too late to stop the pain.
The others snapped their heads toward him. The young mage's face went pale as he shouted, "Karl!" and hurled a fireball at another rat that was seconds from clamping down on the man's remaining leg. The spell struck true, sending the creature tumbling back in a scorched heap—but there were too many. He didn't have time to cast again.
There was no one close enough to save him. No one fast enough.
Then—A rush of wind. A blur of motion. A presence like a crashing wave tearing through the sea of vermin.
Cassian slammed through the rat horde like a living storm, his sword carving wide arcs that flung bodies through the air. Rats flew like rag dolls, squealing as they hit trees or slammed into the ground. In mere seconds, he cleared a path and skidded to a halt beside the injured man, Karl, who stared up in shock.
The entire team froze, blinking in disbelief.
"W-who the hell...?" one of the archers murmured, watching the rats scatter like leaves before Cassian's presence.
Cassian landed beside Karl like a dramatic gust of wind sent by the gods themselves—or at least that's how it felt to Karl, who was still bleeding and very confused.
Sword dripping with rat blood, Cassian didn't even look down as he asked, "Can you still stand?"
Karl, blinking through the pain, managed a nod. "Y-yeah, I think so… Who are you?"
Cassian, with every intention of sounding like the mysterious hero of a legend, replied while casually adjusting his stance, "I'll explain after I make this place a bit… less noisy."
SQUEEEE! SKREEEE! CHITTERCHITTER!
As the chorus of squeaks rose again, echoing all around like some kind of deranged rodent opera, Cassian stepped forward like he was walking onto a stage. With a dramatic sigh, he muttered—half to himself, half to the rats, "Alright, let's quiet things down a bit."
The rats charged.Cassian charged harder.
They collided—well, they tried to. Cassian's sword swung in a wide arc, releasing a massive green crescent that sliced clean through the oversized vermin like hot butter. In one move, he did what Simon had been struggling to do for a full minute. The rats barely had time to squeak a farewell.
But Cassian wasn't done. Oh no, he could feel the eyes on him. Praise, awe, maybe even a little envy—and he was absolutely living for it.
"Might as well make it look good," he thought smugly, throwing in an extra spin, a little shoulder roll, and a flashy backward slice that wasn't entirely necessary but looked damn cool.
Then came the finale.
With a smirk, he gripped his blade tightly and called upon the only named move he'd managed to master so far from the Whispering Gale swordsmanship style.
He stabbed his sword forward—and like the name promised, a whirling tornado shot out from the tip. It roared to life, scooping rats up like they were leaves in a storm. But this wasn't just wind—it was a blender. A giant, sword-powered, rat-shredding blender.
Fur, teeth, and general rat chaos spun around in a beautiful display of controlled violence. Tens of them were sliced apart mid-air, the others scattered in terror—well, as much terror as a rat could manage.
Cassian lowered his sword slowly, exhaled with just the right amount of drama, and didn't even pretend he hadn't timed that move for maximum effect.