Chapter 72: The Breaking of a Warlord

  Boruk led the charge.

  The battle against Commander Dresk erupted in full force, a brutal, coordinated assault between Boruk, Vira, Ragn, Thalron, Vealeth, and Arixa. They were battered, exhausted, but far from broken. The weight of the war, the bloodshed, the fallen—it all came down to this.

  Dresk’s sword shimmered with dark energy, his Psycha-laced aura warping the battlefield around him. Every strike he made left fractures in the air, distortions that disoriented those who got too close. But Boruk was undeterred.

  With a guttural war cry, the orc warrior swung his war axe, the sheer brute force clashing against Dresk’s dark Psycha-enhanced blade. Sparks erupted as metal met metal, the impact sending shockwaves across the battlefield.

  “Press him!” Boruk bellowed, his stance unshaken despite Dresk’s overwhelming strength.

  Vira followed his lead, darting around the enemy commander like a crimson blur. She capitalized on the moments Boruk forced Dresk into a defensive stance, her wind blades carving quick, precise arcs aimed for weak points in Dresk’s armor.

  Dresk twisted, his blade a blur of counterattacks, but Ragn was already there. He lunged from behind, his twin daggers flashing in the firelight, aiming for the tendons in Dresk’s exposed side.

  Dresk barely turned in time, deflecting Ragn’s strike with a sharp backhand swing, but the delay was enough—

  Thalron moved.

  The half-elf’s rapier and dagger struck in tandem, elemental mana dancing across his blades. A streak of ice, a flash of flame, an arc of wind—all combining in a perfectly calculated assault. Dresk’s movements slowed as the elements clashed against his Psycha barrier.

  Vealeth reinforced their attack, his Psycha bending the battlefield itself. Dresk’s footing slipped ever so slightly, his next counterattack missing its mark—

  Arixa struck.

  The war hammer hit like a mountain collapsing, the weight of Unyielding Rage driving the force behind it. Dresk’s armor bent inward, the force of the impact sending him skidding back for the first time since the battle began.

  A fissure of dust and debris rose where he had been standing.

  Boruk grinned, gripping his axe tighter. “He’s feeling it now.”

  Dresk exhaled sharply, his eyes flicking between them. His confidence, once unshaken, was beginning to crack.

  For the first time—he was being overwhelmed.

  The Battlefield Seemed Silent Around Them.

  Where once there had been the clash of steel and the roar of warriors, now there was only the wind—hot, thick with the stench of smoke and blood, swirling between two men locked in battle.

  Marcus stood, fists raised, Flow State guiding his every breath, his every movement.

  Across from him, Thane Vulgaris remained standing, the embodiment of unshaken dominance.

  The two warriors studied each other, every muscle coiled like a steel cable ready to snap.

  And then—they moved.

  A flicker—Marcus vanished from his spot. His foot barely touched the ground before he launched himself forward, Ki exploding in his legs, driving his momentum with unstoppable speed.

  His right hook came first—sharp, calculated, aimed directly for Vulgaris’ jaw.

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  Blocked.

  Vulgaris’ forearm snapped up, absorbing the blow. The impact shattered the ground beneath him, but he didn’t budge.

  Marcus twisted mid-air, his left fist shooting toward the ribs. A crackling charge of lightning Mana infused his knuckles, warping the air around it—

  Countered.

  Vulgaris didn’t just block—he redirected. A subtle shift of his arm sent Marcus' strike glancing off, the force dispersing into the air instead of landing flush.

  Marcus touched the ground for barely a second before he disappeared again, weaving around the Thane, his footwork liquid, unreadable.

  A sudden burst of Spacial Footwork, an impossible step—and he was already behind Vulgaris.

  A devastating uppercut. Ki surged through Marcus’ arm, his fist blurring as it soared toward the Thane’s exposed chin—

  Only for Vulgaris to turn.

  Marcus' fist collided with an open palm.

  The warlord had caught it.

  And then—Vulgaris gripped Marcus’ wrist.

  Marcus’ instincts flared, warning him—too late.

  Vulgaris twisted, hurling Marcus like a ragdoll. The air shattered as Marcus was whipped through the battlefield, his body colliding with a stone pillar, the sheer force of the throw sending cracks spiderwebbing through the structure.

  He barely had time to breathe before Vulgaris was already there.

  A blackened boot crashed into Marcus’ ribs.

  BOOM.

  The shockwave alone sent him through the wall, his body ragdolling across the dirt, skidding through the rubble before he caught himself, rolling onto one knee, panting, shaking, bleeding.

  But he was still up.

  Vulgaris strode forward. "I see now," he mused, wiping a thin streak of blood from his lip. "You're better than most."

  Marcus spat a mixture of blood and grit. "You talk too much."

  The Thane’s expression darkened. "And you’re still too weak."

  Vulgaris moved—faster than he should have been able to.

  A fist crashed into Marcus’ gut, folding him over. He barely saw the next strike—an elbow to the spine, a knee to the ribs, a backhand to the jaw.

  Each blow was brutal, sending Marcus careening across the battlefield, the dirt carving trenches beneath him.

  He couldn’t win like this.

  Vulgaris wasn't just strong—he was overwhelming. Every attack was perfect. Every counter, instinctive. Every movement, refined from decades of battle.

  Marcus pushed himself up, his vision swimming. His body screamed, his chest burning.

  Then—Stem’s voice echoed in his mind.

  "You’ve held back for too long." "Your body can handle it." "Feel the power in you." "Let your Mana, Ki, and Psycha spill." "Unleash everything."

  Marcus exhaled.

  And then—he let go.

  Every ounce of Ki, Mana, and Psycha rushed from him like a wave. The energies swirled around the battlefield like a gale wind, coalescing, turning into one.

  Marcus inhaled—

  And the energy crashed back into him.

  With an exhale, he opened his eyes and assessed himself.

  For the first time—his Ki, Mana, and Psycha balanced perfectly.

  It didn’t just feel like using his energy.

  It felt like creating something new.

  A sudden pulse of energy erupted from Marcus' core—a phenomenon never seen before.

  His Ki, normally raw and explosive, began to fold into his Mana, weaving through the magical circuits in his body, sharpening its control.

  His Mana, once volatile, melded into his Psycha, reinforcing his very spirit, making his intent absolute.

  And his Psycha, the hardest to tame, found discipline through his Ki, turning raw instinct into divine precision.

  The three forces—**normally separate, unyielding in their individual natures—**melded together into something greater.

  A New Force.

  Marcus felt everything.

  The vibrations in the air as Vulgaris took his next step. The invisible shift in gravity as his stance adjusted. The pulse of magic in the ground, the trickle of energy flowing through every soldier around them.

  Nothing was hidden from him.

  Vulgaris froze.

  For the first time—the warlord hesitated.

  Marcus vanished.

  No hesitation. No doubt. No fear.

  Just perfect motion.

  His fist slammed into Vulgaris’ ribs.

  A ripple of pure destruction exploded outward.

  Vulgaris staggered.

  Marcus was already moving again.

  A right hook—so fast it distorted the air. Vulgaris barely raised his arm in time to block—

  Marcus phased through his own afterimage.

  The real punch landed directly in his jaw.

  A stiff straight crashed into his gut. A left hook smashed into his temple. A Kī-laced right cross, boomed through his guard, sending him skidding backward.

  Thane Vulgaris fell to a knee.

  Stunned.

  Confusion.

  Silence.

  The battlefield froze.

  The Thane couldn’t remember the last time he had been forced to his knees.

  Vulgaris exhaled, tasting blood in his mouth. He looked up at Marcus.

  He expected death.

  But Marcus stepped back.

  He didn’t strike the final blow.

  Vulgaris’ eyes narrowed. "You hesitate?"

  Marcus exhaled sharply, his stance relaxing. "No," he said simply.

  "Death is too easy."

  Vulgaris frowned.

  Marcus wiped the blood from his lip. "You did everything to crush the orcs. To make sure they could never grow."

  He gestured toward the battlefield—toward the Orc Stronghold that still stood.

  "But you failed."

  Vulgaris’ expression darkened.

  Marcus smirked. "Killing you means nothing. You...are nothing, and now I command you to watch this stronghold grow into something greater than you could ever imagine?" He tilted his head. "That’s a real punishment."

  The Thane stared at him for a long, silent moment.

  Then—he departed.

  Without a word, the Xenorian forces followed.

  The war was over.

  Marcus exhaled—

  A feeling of accomplishment washed over him.

  Before—

  His body finally gave out.

  And Darkness took him.