Dammit.
Despite the hopelessness of the situation, my mind was already racing through options. Without my ax, I'd need to rely on my Class skills and combat training. That didn’t matter. The disadvantages were something I had to work with.
I couldn't afford to lose here, impossible. Not with Ragna fighting for her life against those mercenaries. I’d promised her mother.
Allister lunged like a bull. I pivoted, attempting to dodge using the same footwork that had thrown seasoned barbarians in our sparring match. But it wasn’t useful. His blade still caught me, slicing across my side.
Pain flared, hot and blinding, but I forced myself to roll with the momentum rather than collapse.
"[Strike of Honor]! [Strike of Honor]! [Strike–!"
His skills hammered into me, every blow driving me further back. I found it grimly ironic that his skill was named after honor when there was nothing honorable about his betrayal.
Despite the pain radiating through my body, I kept my eyes on Ragna's battle, watching her struggle against overwhelming odds. I couldn't see properly with my blood-strained eyes; was she wearing some kind of armor...?
She needs me. I promised to protect her. The thought burned brighter than any pain.
Maybe if I'd listened to her request and let her separate from me, she wouldn't be in this danger…?
I blocked what I could, trying to channel [Elemental Fury] through my bare hands, but without my weapon as a focus, the energy flickered inconsistently. I gritted my teeth. Is the gap between two Ascension rankings?
Allister's pace increased, and eventually a particularly brutal strike sent me to one knee, coughing blood.
"Is that all?" he sneered, raising his blade for a killing blow.
“Are you really asking?” I smirked up at him, my lips bloody. I must find an opening. Anything. If not…
I glanced at Ragna again. She was bloodied but still fighting fiercely. Then I looked at Borric's seemingly lifeless body. His finger had twitched earlier. Borric might still be alive. I have to get through this.
My vision sharpened through the pain.
Not only was Ragna counting on me, but even Borric might still be saved. Two lives hung in the balance, not just mine. Then the Princess as well.
“What a surprise, your eyes still burn,” Allister said. “Is this a Barbarian’s will? I’ve heard legends of it.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. "Should I show it to you in person, then? I haven't even shown close to my all," I growled, focusing my remaining strength.
It was a bluff. But I had to use something. If I could take this bastard down quick enough, maybe I could still save them both—
“You say that, but you're too injured to get up. Barbaric stubbornness.” Allister sneered, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Let’s see how your girlfriend is doing,” he said, turning to the side.
The sight made him freeze. I followed his gaze.
On the side, near the carriage, a figure who looked more beast than woman fought against a horde of men.
Blood splattered in the air as the edge of her wings cut the skin of men as she moved around. Her scale-covered skin kept her safe from most attacks. Even I found my eyes widening as the red woman with wings, two horns, and a tail tore apart her enemies in a wild frenzy while she protected a princess behind her.
She ultimately had to withdraw her wings when they caught some stray attacks. She wasn’t used to fighting like that.
She hadn’t told me what her [Class] was. ‘It’s a surprise,’ she’d said. Now, I knew what it was. That had to be it. She, just like me, had gained a Dragon Class.
—
[Dragon Aspect Champion] - Unique
Role: Draconis Warrior
Description: This class allows the user to temporarily gain the physical traits of dragons, including scales, claws, and wings. They become fierce melee fighters, wielding these dragon aspects to overpower enemies with raw physical might and durability.
Abilities:
- Claws of the Wyrm
- Dragon’s Gaze
- Wings of Fury
- Scaled Armor
—
“She’s a Half Dragon?! No… no, then a Dragon Class? Impossible!” Allister spat out in shock, momentarily stunned. “This is crazy,” he said. “Dragon Classes are incredibly rare. Few manage to slay one before choosing their Class, after all. I take it back.”
“What…”
He smirked down at me. “Your partner is the more dangerous one between you two. Her whole body is a weapon. Compared to her, you're nothing. She's a walking weapon, and you’re just pathetic.” He raised his blade, the edge glinting in the moonlight, ready to bring it down and end it. “I’ll need to take care of her. So… goodbye.”
“....”
I glared up at him. But I didn’t have any way to block his attack. Letting out a sigh, I braced for it.
Allister’s blade descended. Suddenly, a heavy weight slammed into my side, shoving me clear. It wasn't a powerful charge. No, it was the dead-weight stumble of a dying man. A barely alive Borric collapsed on top of me, having somehow pushed me away from the sword's trajectory. He coughed, blood spattering my face.
"Healing... potion..." he rasped, his hand fumbling inside his coat. His fingers were slick with blood, his movements weak. He pressed a small vial into my hand, his grip surprisingly tight for a moment.
"Win," he choked out, his eyes pleading. "For... my daughter…”
"What the–" Allister froze in shock. At that exact moment, Ragna charged in like a wild beast, bloody and battered but still fighting. She plowed straight through the mercenaries, forcing Allister’s attention off me.
I suddenly understood the situation.
A merchant with a talented daughter. A merchant with no wife. From the little Borric had told me about his daughter, Zerina, I could imagine a situation where she talked him into always carrying some healing potions. My eyes flicked to where he was lying on the ground earlier. An empty healing potion remained there. That must be how he’d survived.
I stared at him, my chest tightening, my vision becoming red for a moment. "Please..." Borric whispered. "Even if I drink it, I’m not making it out of here. It has to be you, Thorvyn. You’ve got to win. Please. My daughter… she’ll be crushed if you don’t."
Then his hand fell away, and he went limp, his breathing a shallow, ragged whisper. He’d somehow survived death, but he wasn’t far from it. Borric was going to die.
A father’s plea. Which would be a dying wish if I were to fail.
Rage exploded in me, hotter than anything I'd felt. But it wasn’t wild. It sharpened into something focused, clear. Like my mind finally realized exactly what needed to be done. I raised the potion to my lips.
“Hah! No you don’t!” Allister shouted, moving past Ragna and pouncing at me with his blade. I didn’t budge. I’d overlooked something this whole time… something that’d give me a huge advantage.
[Bloodline Skill - Osmotic Evolution (X) - activated!]
[Since you’ve only killed one human, it has been selected as your Source for the next 24 hours.]
Time froze. The world bled to gray. Before me hovered the skills of the dead Wolfsbane captain. A cold knot formed in my gut. This wasn't a monster. It was a man. For a split second, the philosopher in me recoiled at the grotesque intimacy of it, absorbing a part of a human soul.
But then the image of Borric's bloodied face, his whispered plea for his daughter, burned away the doubt.
An enemy is an asset, the cold voice of the soldier in my head supplied. In a fight for survival, there is no room for sentiment.
First of all, I downed the potion in one gulp, the liquid burning as it slid down my throat, the pain in my side lessening, and strength flooding my limbs once more. Strength rushed back through me. One moment I'd been bleeding out, ready to collapse, and now it was like my whole body had just woken up pissed. Honestly, I wasn't complaining.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Thankfully, in this frozen world, I could interact with potions, even though I couldn’t move from my spot. Otherwise, I’d have tried killing Allister right here.
I focused on the list of traits… skills… instead.
[Which Skill do you want to borrow?]
- Veil of Shadows [B]
- Heartseeker Strike [A]
- Critical Eye [B]
- Shadow Dash [B]
- Escape Artist [C]
- Smoke Shroud [B]
- Moonlit Execution [A]
Damn, he's got a lot.
My eyes flicked through the list, each option sending a pulse of intrigue through my mind. I didn’t have much time—ironic, considering the frozen state of the world around me—but every choice felt significant.
Veil of Shadows sounded useful, especially if it could conceal my movements, giving me an edge in any ambush. But did I need stealth right now? Probably not.
Heartseeker Strike? It had a dangerous ring to it. If it meant dealing fatal blows, it could end fights fast. Yet something about it felt redundant. It was bothersome that I couldn’t see the skill descriptions, but I somehow got a vague idea. That idea said this wasn’t suitable.
Quickly moving past the others, my eyes fell on the Moonlit Execution. Its name alone sent a chill down my spine. It spoke of finality, of a decisive, deadly strike beneath the cold gaze of the moon—a powerful blow, a statement of raw, undeniable power.
Yeah. That was exactly what I needed right now.
My decision solidified, determination swelling within my chest.
[Selected: Moonlit Execution]
[Osmotic Evolution (A) - Moonlit Execution.]
[Loading the Trait into your physiology…]
Immediately, colors flooded back into the world, sounds rushed into my ears, and the sword resumed its deadly path toward my throat.
I dodged like a bullet with [Leap], almost flying backward. I landed several paces away, putting some distance between us. Allister stared at me, mouth agape, confused and angry.
To him, it must have been confusing how the potion had vanished from my hand and then my wounds were gone too. Time had skipped for him. I grinned, seeing his expression shift. “What the…”
My body felt… different. Stronger. Alive. Moments ago, I'd been convinced this was the end, helplessly sprawled on the dirt, barely able to breathe. And now? The potion patched my wounds, but that borrowed skill boosted my confidence under the moonlight.
Anger still burned, but beneath it, I felt strangely calm, like a storm waiting patiently to unleash its fury. Allister was still strong, still dangerous, but now, for the first time, I saw the cracks. His confidence was gone, replaced by confusion and a hint of panic.
Good.
I was done being his punching bag.
I took a stance, standing over the shattered remains of my ax still on the ground, and my hands clenched into fists.
“Ragna,” I said softly, “I got this now.” The girl was injured already, and Allister had made it worse. Our eyes met, and she fell back, the crowd surrounding her again.
Allister stepped away from her, clicking his tongue as he turned to me. His eyes narrowed, his smug grin fading. “What? Argh. A Healing Potion?”
I roared, the sound tearing from my throat, echoing through the forest, the storm around me intensifying, the fire in my veins flaring to life. “[Elemental Fury]!” I shouted, my fists glowing, flames licking along my skin, the heat radiating off me in waves.
I didn’t stop there.
Allister was too strong, a damn Knight. If I wanted this done, it had to be done right. It was time to use that [Moonlit Execution] skill I borrowed.
Like it heard me, the moonlight broke through the canopy overhead, splashing silvery light all around. Shadows stretched out in weird angles, and my draconic power practically roared in my veins, matching the energy swirling around me.
At the same time, ice spiked out of my knuckles. It mixed with the flame, releasing mist as it grew cloudy around me. Didn’t he just say Ragna’s whole body was a weapon, unlike mine? Well, he was in for a nasty surprise.
I lunged, my first strike catching Allister across the chest. He crossed his arms. The impact sounded like an explosion, and its force sent him stumbling back, his armor denting beneath the blow. “Crap!” He shouted in pain, but I didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate.
I was stunned by how powerful the skill was. How the hell did that captain die so easily?
Another strike, then another, each punch landing with the force of a hammer, each one fueled by Borric’s words, by the image of his daughter—the hope in his eyes.
Elemental Fury was a Passive Skill. And just like Dragon’s Eye, where I could pour mana into it to increase its intensity, the same could be done here. While passively, it perhaps let out bursts of wind or flames from me, now it flared up in intensity as my emotions raged. I poured more mana into it.
I decided to kick things up even higher by switching Elemental Fury.
A raging storm took form at my fists—lightning, ice, and that blue-ish flame mixing in some insane combo. It was [Tempest Strike] dialed up to eleven, being used at the same time as [Moonlit Execution]. A combo.
The skills surged through me like they were made to pair perfectly with each other. No idea if this combo was even supposed to work, but right now, it felt too damn good to question.
I jumped, and the moonlight seemed to coalesce around my fist.
This was a borrowed power but it sang like my own. Allister, recovering from his shock, brought his blade up in a desperate parry. The impact was a thunderclap of steel and raw power. The force sent a shockwave through my arm, reminding me that he was still a 5th Ascension Knight. The potion had healed my wounds, but it hadn't erased the gap in our levels.
"You dirty savage! You think one trick will save you?" he snarled, disengaging and coming at me with a flurry of strikes, his swordsmanship a blur of deadly precision.
But something had changed. My [Dragon's Eye] saw the paths of his attacks, and my body, now free from the harsher injuries, could finally keep up. I blocked, I dodged, I countered. It wasn't a beatdown; it was a desperate dance on a knife's edge.
I used the raw power of the [Moonlit Execution] skill not to overwhelm him, but to create the openings. The CQC fundamentals they'd drilled into me during basic training, techniques I'd been too weak to use properly back then, finally had a body strong enough to execute them, and I had no plan to hold back.
[Moonlit Execution—Tempest Strike!]
Allister raised his blade, and it lit up with a Skill. But I grabbed his wrist, twisting it until I heard the snap of bone, his scream filling the night. I wrenched the weapon from his grasp, tossing it aside, my rage blinding, my vision red.
My punch hammered into his chest with crazy speed. It felt like I’d just punched straight through him, the energy slicing his armor apart like paper. The guy’s mouth opened in a silent scream, breath knocked out of him, eyes wide with panic.
“Thorvyn, stop!” Someone shouted—Isolde, her voice distant, barely breaking through the haze. “We- we can question him!”
But I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after everything. No time to gloat—I pivoted instantly, riding a swirling gust as I slammed upward.
[Moonlit Execution—Tempest Strike!]
That next hit collided with his jaw. The elemental blast blew out in a shockwave of bright flame. I heard a bone snap, and he got launched into the air for a heartbeat, limbs flailing like a rag doll. Blood flew off, catching the pale light like little sparks of red.
He crashed down, wheezing, clearly terrified as he tried to get up again. I stepped in close, the storm whipping around me, stoked by my anger, feeding off my need to end this.
“This one’s for Borric.”
Lightning coiled around my hand, flames flared in this eerie silver glow, and ice sharpened at my fingertips. The whole thing felt guided by the moon’s wrath.
[Moonlit Execution—Tempest Strike!]
My final blow smashed him into the dirt, and a wild eruption of ice, fire, and lightning lit up the night. For a second, the whole forest flashed white.
When the glare faded, everything went dead quiet.
Allister lay there, twisted and limp, eyes staring blankly at the sky. The storm died away bit by bit, leaving only a few last wisps of elemental energy floating around, and me—still standing—under that silent, unblinking moon.
…It was over.
[You’ve slain a Level 62 Human.]
[You’ve earned experience points.]
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You’ve leveled up!]
[You’ve reached Level 35.]
[Class Draconis Stormborn has Levelled Up!]
[You’ve unlocked a new Class Skill!]
-
Active: [Thunderclap Crash]:
- Leap into the air and slam down on your enemies, releasing a concussive shockwave of lightning and wind that knocks enemies back, stuns them briefly, and deals AoE damage.
- Category: Area Control
-
[Your Valtherian Physique has ranked up to [C] for you've endured a lot. You’re a step closer to its true rank!]
The storm around me died, the fire fading, leaving only the quiet of the night, the distant rustle of leaves, the heavy breathing of those still standing. I stood there, my chest heaving, my hands trembling, blood dripping from my knuckles.
I turned, my gaze searching for Ragna. She stood a few paces away, her club resting on her shoulder, her eyes scanning the clearing, her breath coming in heavy pants. Around her lay a wave of dead mercenaries, their weapons scattered, the ground littered with the evidence of her rage. Her draconic features slowly vanished as she nodded at me.
“Thorvyn,” she called, her voice softer now, her eyes meeting mine. She looked down at Allister, who… lay at my feet, his body still, his eyes wide, empty.
****
Ragna and I moved to the carriage, where we found Princess Isolde lying, her face pale, her eyes half-closed, her breathing shallow. “Sorry, guys,” she said, breathing heavily as she managed a small smile. “Since I tried to cast a spell while being Mana Poisoned, I am pretty much a cripple for a good few hours.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ragna said softly as she knelt, carefully lifting her. “I’ve got you. But we need to move—this noise will draw more trouble.”
“Thank you,” Isolde sighed, closing her eyes as if to rest.
I also smiled before something urgent hit me. I turned sharply to Borric, the merchant lying on the ground. His eyes were closed, his breathing barely noticeable. But… he was breathing, yes. He’d done enough—more than enough. I quickly rushed to him and lifted him, his body limp in my arms, his head resting against my shoulder.
From the shadows, a sound came right then. A rustle, then a growl. Goblins, their beady eyes gleaming, their forms shifting between the trees. More of them, gathering, watching, waiting.
“What now?” Ragna grumbled, her eyes narrowing as she looked around.
I clenched my jaw, adjusting my grip on Borric. Our horses were nowhere to be seen. They’d probably been set free or fled due to the commotion. We had no choice but to move by ourselves. “We run.”
Ragna nodded, although I saw her hesitation. She must be tired after such an intense fight. But what else could we do? First, I wrapped the obsidian head of my ax in a cloth, putting it on my back. Then, we took off, our feet pounding against the forest floor. The dark shapes of goblins moved in the shadows, and the trees blurred around us.
We ran into the night, the forest closing in around us, the shadows growing darker. The distant howls of pursuit grew louder behind us, but what truly chilled my blood was the sight ahead. Dozens of glowing eyes watching from the trees, waiting for our approach.
Picture of Ragna in this Chapter:
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