In the three days since learning these techniques, Cassian had dedicated every waking moment to mastering the sword forms. Each was a carefully crafted sequence of movements, designed to mimic the wind's many facets - the way it could scatter dry leaves in playful spirals one moment, then gather into hammering gales the next. While true mastery would take months, he'd achieved a working proficiency with several forms.
One such technique was Gale Strike.
Cassian saw his opening. With a sharp thrust, he channeled swirling wind energy along his blade's edge until the air itself seemed to vibrate around the steel. The moment his massive opponent overextended on a hammer swing, Cassian released the built-up energy in a concussive blast aimed squarely at the brute's midsection.
For the first time in their duel, the mountain of a man staggered. His hammer arm dropped as he took two unsteady steps back, his breath coming in a surprised whoosh from the impact. The strike hadn't drawn blood, but it had done something more important - it had broken his opponent's rhythm.
Cassian's lips curled into a smirk as he prepared his next technique. "Phantom Gust," he whispered, just as the cloaked warrior recovered and charged again with terrifying speed. The massive hammer came thrusting forward, forcing Cassian to give ground. He barely managed to deflect the next swing, feeling the wind of its passage sting his face as it missed by inches.
Seizing the opening, Cassian's blade flashed horizontally, striking the hammer's shaft to redirect its momentum while simultaneously sliding toward the warrior's exposed arm. The man's eyes widened in panic as suddenly—Cassian's sword seemed to blur, its outline becoming hazy before vanishing entirely.
A fraction of a second later, the weapon reappeared—already at the warrior's throat. But instead of cleanly slicing through, the impact sent the massive figure flying backward into a supply carriage, reducing it to splinters from the sheer force.
Cassian stared, his hands still vibrating from the strange recoil. It didn't cut him? The sword itself remained flawless—a testament to its quality—yet it had failed to pierce what should have been a killing blow.
As the warrior rose from the wreckage, tattered cloak falling away in places, Cassian saw why—beneath the fabric, the man's skin had taken on a rough, stony texture. 'A circle warrior ability?'
Cassian had nearly forgotten—like his own healing and pain immunity, every circle warrior possessed a unique ability. The cultists he'd killed before hadn't shown theirs; two fell to ambushes, and the third had been too consumed by rage to activate his before Cassian ended him.
But this warrior? He wielded his gift masterfully.
The brute rose from the wreckage, eyes alight with battle lust as he stared Cassian down. "That sword technique of yours," he rumbled, voice thick with amusement. "Was that your best?"
Cassian gave a curt nod, already analyzing the stony armor encasing the man's body. 'No obvious weak points. Damn.'
"You're skilled, I'll give you that," the warrior admitted, rubbing his neck where the Phantom Gust had struck. Only a faint chip marred the stone skin. "Without my Earthshell, that strike would've taken my head." He hefted his hammer effortlessly, the massive weapon looking weightless in his grip. "But now?" A grin split his face. "Let's see how long you last."
The ground cracked under his charge. Cassian barely raised his sword in time as the hammer came crashing down like a landslide.
"Should we help him?" Theon called out, ejecting a spent mana cartridge from his rifle. He'd just finished clearing a group of trapped soldiers, while Robert and Althea had picked off at least a dozen cloaked attackers scaling the cliffs. Their initial assault had stalled—now it was just scattered skirmishes, like the lone cultist Robert was currently putting down with a precise headshot as Althea covered his flank.
Lumine's hands glowed with residual magic from her latest spell. "He'll be fine," she said, eyes flicking toward Cassian's duel before scanning the battlefield. "Focus on keeping our forces intact—this fight's ending soon."
Above them, the sky pulsed with concussive booms, each one louder than the last. Distant flashes of light erupted near the vanguard—signs of the commanders' high-level clash—but here, the ambush had clearly been designed to overwhelm through numbers, not power. No circle warriors. No elite mages. Just enough chaos to bleed them dry.
The expedition had been announced just that evening, and the army had marched under cover of darkness. The number of high-circle warriors and mages was supposed to be secret—yet the ambushers had come ready, as if they'd known exactly what forces Magisteria would deploy.
Someone had leaked the intel.
But despite their preparation, the tide was turning. The attackers' low-level grunts were falling in droves, and Magisteria's circle warriors were gaining ground. The battle wouldn't last much longer.
"Healing potions—now!" Wanni's command sliced through the battlefield's roar. As the de facto leader of their six-man unit—with no higher-ranking officers in sight—she took charge not just off her team, but the scattered soldiers around them. A quick scan confirmed her suspicion: aside from Cassian's ongoing duel, no other circle warriors or other mages were engaging nearby. They'd been strategically isolated.
"Stabilize the wounded and get them fighting again," she ordered, ice crackling around her fingertips. "We're cutting down every last one of these fuckers."
Her words dissolved into action as she thrust both hands forward. A magic circle erupted, unleashing a storm of ice shards that impaled three cloaked attackers mid-charge, their bodies jerking like marionettes before collapsing in a spray of crimson.
"Just surrender and let me smash your head like a ripe melon," the brute growled, leaping forward with his hammer raised high. Cassian sidestepped the crushing blow and countered with a sharp kick to the ribs—drawing a pained grunt from the warrior.
'Good. The stone skin doesn't protect his insides.' But Cassian knew his raw strength wasn't enough to rupture organs—not without a proper technique. He needed time to adapt.
And adapt he had. After exchanging dozens of blows, Cassian could now predict every swing—the horizontal sweeps, the overhead slams—as easily as breathing. When the warrior unleashed another wide arc, Cassian didn't just dodge.
He leaped, soaring high above the hammer's reach.
The brute could only stare as Cassian's blade flashed mid-air. "Wind Blade!"
A crescent of emerald energy slashed downward—not at the warrior's stone-plated face, but at the one vulnerable spot Cassian had noticed: his eyes.
The brute realized too late.
A wet splatter of blood. A howl of pain. The massive warrior staggered back, his meaty hands clamping over ruined eye as thick blood oozed between his fingers.
Cassian landed lightly, his smirk sharp as his sword. "Should've armored those too."
Cassian landed in a crouch, his smirk as sharp as the sword glinting in his grip. "Should've armored those too," he taunted, watching the brute flail.
"GAAAH! MY EYE!" The warrior bellowed, his voice raw and animalistic. Blood poured between the fingers clamped over his ruined socket as he staggered in drunken circles. "Filthy cheat! Damn you!"
Cassian didn't wait. He dropped into a low stance, blade angled precisely. "Still Wind - Piercing Stab!" In a flash of movement almost too fast to follow, he became a blur - sword thrusting straight for the brute's chest.
This time, the blade didn't deflect off the stone skin. It passed through unnaturally - not cutting or piercing, but dissolving into wind as it met the hardened flesh, only to reform instantly inside his chest. One moment the sword tip touched stone, the next it had materialized inches deep, already buried in his heart. No visible cut, no resistance - just sudden, fatal penetration.
The warrior gasped wetly, his remaining eye widening in shock. His massive body wavered, then collapsed like a felled tree.
Cassian stood over the corpse, yanking his sword free with a wet schlick. The stone skin faded in death, blood now pouring freely from the fatal wound. His killing domain buzzed with satisfaction, the energy around him growing brighter with each victorious pulse.
Something massive hit him like a runaway battering ram. The world spun violently as he hurtled backward, crashing through a cloaked soldier before smashing into a supply carriage. Wood exploded outward in a shower of splinters, the impact sending tools and supplies scattering across the battlefield.
"YOU DARE KILL MY BROTHER, YOU BASTARD? HOW...HOW?!" The enraged shout cut through the settling dust as Cassian struggled to his feet, his head still ringing from the impact. Wooden splinters protruded from his back and thigh - one particularly large shard buried deep in his leg. Without his healing ability, the injuries would have been crippling.
With a grimace, he yanked the largest splinter free, tossing it aside as blood welled up but quickly slowed - his healing already at work. As the dust cleared, the figure standing where he'd been moments ago made his skin crawl. The sheer killing intent radiating from the man pressed down like physical weight.
Cassian's jaw tightened. A third-circle warrior. "Damn it...not again," he muttered, wiping blood from his lip. His fingers curled tighter around his sword as he took stock - his weapon still intact, his body battered but functional, and between him and this new threat, nothing but open ground and vengeance.