Men and women clutch their throats, their veins turning black as agony spreads through their bodies. Some collapse, convulsing violently, while others stagger forward before their legs fail them.
"Shit—! I can’t—!" One man drops his sword, falling to his knees as foam bubbles from his mouth.
Groth stands further down the wall, his hands glowing with flames. Unlike the others, his attack isn’t meant to kill. Not yet.
He raises both hands and begins hurling fireballs into the approaching army—but only Tier 1 spells. Small, weak, almost laughable.
Yet, that’s the point.
"Ha! This monster is weak as hell!" A warrior laughs, batting away one of the fireballs with his shield. "This ain’t even—AAAGH!"
The moment his guard drops, an arrow finds its mark in his exposed neck. Blood gushes from the wound as he collapses, gurgling.
Groth smirks. "Idiot."
The low-tier spells are nothing but a distraction. Annoying, harmless on their own—but they force adventurers to react, to move erratically, to leave openings for real attacks.
Veltha, watching the battlefield unfold, grins. "Not bad."
Down below, the adventurers push forward, their rage drowning out their caution. The initial surprise of the ambush is wearing off, and now, they’re adapting.
Grath, still on horseback, swings his massive greatsword downward, cutting a flaming arrow in half before it reaches him. His face twists in a snarl.
"Enough of this bullshit! Push forward! Get to the damn walls!"
With his command, the adventurers rally, breaking into a full sprint toward the gates and scaling ladders.
Sorin watches them come, her eyes glinting.
She draws her blade.
"Now," he mutters. "The real battle begins."
The clang of steel, the roar of spells, and the screams of the dying fill the battlefield. The adventurers push forward, scaling the walls, smashing against the defenses like an unrelenting tide.
Among them, the five silver-ranked adventurers carve their way through the chaos, each one locking onto their target.
Derek, the battle-hardened warrior, charges toward Nyssara, his massive war axe gleaming in the light. His grin is wild, eager. "Come on, spider bitch! Let’s see how tough that exoskeleton really is!"
Marik, his spear spinning effortlessly in his hands, moves toward Thurn, eyes sharp, stance light. "Poison, huh? Annoying, but let’s see if you can keep up."
Gavin, his broadsword resting on his shoulder, eyes Groth with a smirk. "Against a mage? This’ll be fun."
Joran, dagger in hand, disappears into the shadows, circling Veltha like a predator. "Let’s see how well a monster can see in the dark."
And then, there’s Grath.
His boots crush the dirt as he steps forward, eyes locked onto Sorin.
He takes his time, his gaze sweeping up and down her body—her lean, powerful frame, the inhuman sharpness of her features, the way she grips her sword with effortless confidence.
He grins, licking his lips. "Damn… you’re even better up close."
Sorin’s expression tightens, her grip on her weapon twitching. "I’m going to carve that tongue out of your skull."
Grath laughs. "Feisty. I like that." He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck. "Come on, then. Show me what you got, monster."
With a burst of speed, Sorin launches forward, her dual dagger blur as it arcs toward his throat.
Grath barely manages to twist out of the way, her strike carving a deep gash into the air where his neck had been. He steps back, his greatsword swinging in a powerful counterattack.
Sorin doesn’t meet his attack head-on—she vanishes.
A flicker, a blur of motion, and she’s gone from his sight.
Grath’s instincts scream at him, and he twists just in time to catch the glint of steel aiming for his ribs. He slams his armored gauntlet down, knocking her blade aside, but the force of her strike sends a numbing shock through his arm.
"Fast," he mutters, eyes narrowing.
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Sorin doesn’t give him a second to recover. She shifts her stance, feet barely touching the ground as she twists, spinning like a shadow. The second dagger flashes toward his exposed side.
Grath lets out a sharp breath.
"Reinforce!"
A faint blue aura flickers around his armor—a Tier 2 defensive skill. Sorin’s blade slams into it, deflecting just enough for him to pivot away. She clicks her tongue, annoyed.
"I’m going to enjoy this," Grath says, his smirk returning. He swings his greatsword in a powerful horizontal arc.
Sorin ducks low, sliding beneath the massive blade with effortless grace. Before he can react, her knee drives up into his gut.
A solid hit.
Even through his armor, Grath feels it—air forcibly leaving his lungs. But he’s no rookie. He grits his teeth, grounding himself before she can capitalize on the moment. His gauntlet snaps out, aiming for her skull.
Sorin sees it coming. She twists mid-air, her body flipping backward in a tight motion, barely avoiding the crushing strike.
She lands lightly, sliding back a few steps before raising her daggers again, her eyes sharp and calculating.
Grath exhales, rolling his shoulders. A slow grin creeps onto his face.
"I guess I underestimated you," he admits, flexing his fingers. His aura flares, and the ground beneath him cracks.
"Greater Enhanced Strength!"
A deep, golden glow erupts around his body, the Tier 3 buff skill reinforcing his muscles, making him stronger, tougher, and more relentless. His already massive frame seems to swell with power, veins pulsing with raw strength.
But he doesn’t stop there.
"Razor Reflex!"
"Quickened Perception!"
Two Tier 2 skills activate in succession, his eyes sharpening, his movements becoming eerily fluid.
Sorin’s pupils narrow.
He’s faster now. Not as fast as her—but no longer slow enough to toy with.
She exhales. "Fine. Let’s not waste time."
Her own aura surges.
"Phantom Step!"
A Tier 3 speed buff. Her body lightens, her movements becoming so swift they blur at the edges, as if reality itself struggles to contain her.
Then, she stacks on more.
"Shadow Agility."
"Wind Walker."
"Flowing Blade."
Three Tier 2 buffs. Speed, mobility, fluid motion—all enhancing her already inhuman agility.
Grath’s eyes glint. "Now we’re talking!"
And then—
They clash.