Chapter 65: The Assassins' Gambit

  Vira barely managed to deflect a second attack, her sword clashing against an unseen force. Boruk bellowed in fury, launching himself from his mount, his axe already swinging into the darkness.

  Figures emerged from the blackness—cloaked in Psycha distortion, their forms flickering, their movements barely tangible. It was as if reality itself bent around them.

  Kael stepped forward, his voice like silk woven with steel. "Marcus Elder. Your time running free ends tonight."

  Marcus pulled himself into a stance, fists raised, Ki flaring to life. His breath was steady, but his mind raced. This was different. This wasn’t a brawl. This was a hunt. And he was the prey.

  The Psycha assassins attacked with surgical precision, moving like specters in the night. Marcus barely caught their forms as they flickered between reality and illusion, their bodies twisting and distorting with unnatural speed. They weren’t just fast—they were unreadable.

  Marcus clenched his fists, focusing on his senses. Ki, Psycha, and Mana all thrummed within him—but something was off. His vision warped, the battlefield shifting unnaturally. Vira and Boruk appeared in multiple places at once, their movements lagging or jumping ahead unpredictably.

  Marcus ducked as a dagger whistled through the space where his throat had been seconds earlier. He twisted, launching a counterpunch, but his fist met nothing but empty air. The assassin had already moved, their presence flickering two feet to the left, as if reality itself had adjusted to mislead him.

  Vira snarled as she swung her sword in a perfectly timed arc, aiming for an enemy's exposed ribs. But at the last second—they weren’t there.

  Instead, a second, identical figure appeared behind her.

  Marcus barely had time to shout a warning before a dagger raked across Vira’s arm, opening a shallow wound.

  Boruk roared, bringing his axe down in a vicious overhead strike. The sheer force tore through the illusion of the assassin standing in front of him, only for the real attacker to materialize behind his back, twin daggers gleaming.

  Marcus threw a sharp right hook into the air, aiming at a flickering figure closing in on Boruk. His Ki-infused punch detonated outward, forcing the assassin to blink sideways in an unnatural, almost twitch-like movement.

  They weren’t dodging him. They were anticipating him.

  Marcus’ mind raced. This wasn’t just speed—it was Psycha at work.

  Kael, still standing in the shadows of the battle, watched with a patient smirk. “You have power, Marcus Elder,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “But what is power without control?”

  Marcus moved—too late.

  A figure flashed into existence beside him. Before he could react, icy fingers pressed against his exposed side.

  A nerve strike.

  Marcus’ world crashed into darkness for a split second.

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  His limbs locked up, his breath stalled, and his Ki violently fluctuated. It felt as if someone had severed his connection to his own body. His arms refused to lift, his legs trembled under him, and for the first time in this world—he couldn’t move.

  A Psycha echo pulsed around him. His vision distorted further, the assassins multiplying into dozens of flickering images.

  He saw Vira fighting Boruk.

  No. That wasn’t real.

  He saw himself, standing beside Kael, his own face twisted into a cruel grin.

  Not real.

  He saw an assassin sinking a dagger into his chest.

  Was that real?

  Marcus struggled against the oppressive weight crashing down on him, but his body refused to obey.

  Panic clawed at the edges of his mind.

  Then, Stem’s voice cut through the fog.

  "Marcus. Focus."

  "Your instincts are stronger than their illusions."

  "Trust them."

  Marcus gritted his teeth, forcing his senses outward.

  He couldn’t rely on sight. His vision was compromised.

  He couldn’t rely on Ki alone. The assassins were disrupting it.

  But he could still feel.

  Marcus exhaled slowly, listening to the battle with a fighter’s ear.

  The scuff of boots against dirt. The subtle shift of air before a strike. The barely perceptible sound of breath.

  And then—he moved.

  An assassin lunged for his exposed side. Marcus twisted sharply, throwing a back-fist.

  A solid impact.

  The illusion around the assassin flickered, breaking for a moment as Marcus’ strike connected. The cloaked figure staggered backward, their Psycha trickery faltering.

  Marcus didn’t stop.

  He fought blind.

  He let his instincts lead, his body reacting before his mind could second-guess.

  A dagger whispered past his ribs—Marcus turned with the movement instead of against it, minimizing the damage.

  A shadow lunged for his back—Marcus shifted, catching the assassin’s wrist mid-strike and slamming his knuckles into their gut.

  The illusions weakened around him. They weren’t untouchable.

  Kael’s smirk faded slightly as he observed.

  “Interesting,” he muttered.

  But then—Kael made his move.

  The assassin leader blurred into existence right in front of Marcus, his movement impossible to predict. No sound. No warning.

  Too fast.

  Kael’s hand touched Marcus’ shoulder.

  A second nerve strike.

  Marcus froze as his entire body locked up again.

  "Damn it."

  Kael leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are worth more alive than dead. But that depends entirely on whether you resist.”

  Marcus’ muscles screamed, his vision pulsing with static as the Psycha suppression intensified.

  Then, his willpower flared.

  The paralysis weakened.

  The illusions flickered.

  His instincts sharpened—Psycha interference or not, he was still a fighter.

  Kael’s confidence wavered.

  Marcus moved.

  A brutal headbutt crashed into Kael’s face.

  The assassin stumbled, his Psycha focus breaking for a fraction of a second—but it was enough.

  Marcus launched himself into motion, forcing his Ki into his limbs like igniting a dying fire. The oppressive weight against his body shattered as his energy roared back to life.

  “Not so invincible now, are you?” Marcus growled, wiping blood from his lip.

  Kael chuckled, but his gaze was sharper now. “You are more troublesome than I thought.”

  Marcus barely had time to react as Kael’s fingers twitched.

  A final Psycha pulse rippled outward.

  Marcus staggered, his balance slipping for a single second.

  And in that second—Kael struck.

  A poisoned dagger carved a deep gash across Marcus’ side.

  Marcus barely felt the pain—at first. Then the burning started.

  Kael stepped back, nodding slightly. “You’ll live. But not for long.”

  Then, he and his surviving assassins vanished into the night.

  Marcus collapsed onto one knee, the poison setting fire to his veins.

  Vira caught him before he could fall completely.

  Boruk snarled, still seething from the fight. "Damn cowards."

  Vira checked Marcus’ wound, her jaw tightening. "We don’t have time for this. We need to get him to the Stronghold. Now."

  Boruk nodded, lifting Marcus onto his mount.

  Through the haze, Marcus forced himself to mutter—

  “…We’re not done.”

  Vira tightened her grip on the reins.

  “No. We’re not.”

  At the Orc Stronghold, Miran stood his ground.

  His axes dripped with fresh blood, his body battered and bruised from fighting off the Xenorian invaders.

  The Thane’s army was relentless, but so were the Orcs.

  Another wave of soldiers rushed the gates, and Miran let out a battle cry, swinging his axes with all his might.

  For now, he held.

  But as he wiped the blood from his brow, his mind drifted to one question—

  "Where is Marcus?"

  The war raged on.

  The stronghold and Marcus were running out of time.