Chapter 69: The Relentless Vanguard

  The battlefield had changed.

  What was once a slow, grinding war of attrition had turned into a massacre.

  The arrival of Vealeth, Arixa, and Thalron had shifted the momentum like an unrelenting storm crashing into a crumbling dam. The Orc warriors, battered and bloodied, could barely keep up as the three warriors waded through the enemy lines with terrifying efficiency.

  The Xenorian forces hesitated for the first time in the siege. Fear crept into their ranks.

  Thane Vulgaris, watching from his elevated command post, scowled. His lips curled in mild annoyance. "Where in the hell did these three come from?"

  Commander Dresk, standing beside him, watched the battlefield with sharp, calculating eyes. "That’s Vealeth," he murmured, his voice tight with something bordering on concern. "Drake blood… and a Psycha specialist. We knew he was powerful, but I didn’t expect him here."

  Vulgaris' expression darkened. "And the other two?"

  Dresk’s grip on his sword tightened. "Arixa of the Unyielding. A System-blessed Ki warrior. Endless stamina, endless power. And Thalron… that damn half-blood wields elemental-infused swordplay better than most noble-born mages."

  Vulgaris’ fingers drummed against the hilt of his weapon. His battlefield had turned chaotic. He didn't like chaos—unless he was the one causing it.

  He exhaled slowly. "Then it’s time we remind them who owns this battlefield."

  But first, he watched.

  Vealeth stood at the center of the carnage, controlling the flow of the battle with sheer willpower.

  The air around him shimmered, vibrating with invisible force. Psycha energy pulsed outward in waves, an unseen force dictating the very movement of the battlefield.

  Enemy soldiers slowed. Their strikes faltered. Their formations broke.

  Each time a Xenorian warrior tried to step forward, an unseen force pushed them just slightly off-balance. Each time an archer loosed an arrow, it veered just a few inches off course. Each time a mage raised their staff, their spell fizzled half a second too late.

  Vealeth’s mind stretched outward, reading every movement, adjusting every action.

  "Too slow," he muttered as he sidestepped an incoming halberd, his shield slamming into the attacker’s ribs with bone-crushing force.

  Another soldier lunged—Vealeth’s Psycha bent reality around him, making his presence blur. The attack missed completely, as if the warrior had aimed at a ghost.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  With a flick of his shield, he redirected a fireball mid-air, sending it crashing into the enemy’s own backline.

  The battlefield was his to command.

  But Psycha burned fast. He could feel the weight of his power pulling at his stamina, the constant battlefield manipulation draining him.

  Still, he pushed forward.

  Because beside him—Thalron and Arixa were carving through the enemy like a force of nature.

  Scene 3: Thalron’s Dance of Death

  Thalron moved like flowing water, his rapier gliding effortlessly through the gaps in enemy armor.

  His elemental mana surged, each stroke enhancing his strikes.

  A Xenorian battlemage raised his staff—Thalron twisted, his rapier slicing through both the spell and the mage’s throat in a single movement.

  Another mage launched a barrage of wind blades toward him. Thalron didn’t move. Instead, he twirled his dagger, redirecting the wind spell with a flick of his wrist, sending the razor-sharp magic hurtling back toward its caster.

  The mage barely had time to scream before being sliced apart by his own attack.

  A spear came for his ribs—Thalron spun, his rapier deflecting the blow before he retaliated, running his blade through the soldier’s heart.

  For every three warriors that rushed him, three fell.

  For every spell cast against him, it was turned back onto its owner.

  His half-elven agility and dwarven endurance made him untouchable, his swordplay borderline supernatural.

  Yet still—even he was beginning to slow.

  And so, Arixa stepped in.

  Where Vealeth controlled the battle and Thalron weaved through it like a shadow, Arixa simply crushed it beneath her feet.

  Her war hammer—massive, unwieldy for most—moved in her hands as if weightless.

  Her System Blessing, "Unyielding Rage," turned her into an unstoppable force.

  Endless Ki. Endless power. Endless fury.

  Arixa didn’t dodge.

  Arixa didn’t retreat.

  She advanced.

  A Xenorian soldier, nearly twice her size, swung down at her. She caught his sword mid-swing with one hand.

  With zero hesitation, she crushed his skull beneath her hammer with the other.

  A trio of spearmen rushed in formation—she shattered all three weapons with a single horizontal swing.

  Fireballs rained toward her—she simply ran through them, the flames licking at her armor but never slowing her steps.

  She wasn’t fighting.

  She was annihilating.

  And together, with Vealeth’s battlefield control, Thalron’s precision swordplay, and Arixa’s devastating might, they turned toward the next Titan.

  It saw them coming.

  It adjusted its stance, locking onto the three warriors.

  But Vealeth reached out, bending its movement just half a second too slow.

  Thalron lunged forward, his rapier slicing into the Titan’s exposed mana circuits.

  Arixa leapt into the air, her Ki-infused hammer raised high—

  And then she brought it down.

  A deafening explosion rocked the battlefield.

  The Titan collapsed.

  For a moment—silence.

  Then—a thunderous cheer erupted from the orc ranks.

  But the three warriors did not celebrate.

  Because they were tired.

  Vealeth’s Psycha was draining him fast. Thalron’s mana reserves were running low. Arixa’s muscles burned, her Ki struggling to keep up.

  And that was when Thane Vulgaris and Commander Dresk finally moved.

  Thane Vulgaris, the massive gorilla beastfolk drew his weapon. A massive, rune-etched great sword, ornate, and black as the void.

  Dresk the Lion beast folk followed, his own blade humming with dark energy.

  The battlefield grew quiet as the Xenorian forces stepped back, watching their leader descend toward the battlefield.

  Vulgaris cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he took his first step forward.

  "So," he muttered, almost amused. "They weren’t so weak after all."

  He lifted his sword, pointing it at Vealeth, Thalron, and Arixa.

  "You three have done a lot to piss me off, you slaughtered many of my men and managed to fell one of my engines."

  "But let’s see if you three can survive me."

  The final phase of the war had begun.