Unexpected Interference

The warrior of Dracknum wielded his massive claymore, its blade shrouded in a shimmering blue aura that flickered with every strike, as he traded relentless blows with Warwick. Each swing—whether a sweeping arc or a vertical slash—flowed with an almost ethereal grace, his meticulously precise movements contrasting with the restrained fury in his gaze. Despite the warrior's relentless assault, Warwick, his fists darkened to a metallic hue and enveloped in a burning orange aura, blocked and countered with surgical precision.

Every time the warrior of Dracknum attempted to push forward toward Darius and the disheveled-haired boy with golden eyes, Warwick was there, an unyielding barrier preventing any unwanted approach. The sharp clang of steel meeting steel and the reverberation of their clashes filled the air.

'Damn it, this is taking forever,' the warrior muttered in his mind, though his poised stance and refined technique betrayed none of the impatience gnawing at him. His eyes gleamed with determination—tinged with a flicker of frustration.

Glancing subtly around, he murmured internally, 'The opening has been there for a while. Why hasn't anything come through?'

Seizing a fleeting gap in Warwick's defenses, the warrior crouched low, attempting to slip past unnoticed. Yet before he could capitalize on the opportunity, Warwick spun with unnerving speed and precision. In a single, forceful motion, he grabbed the warrior by the collar, channeling the raw power of his aura-infused arms. With a swift pull and a powerful kick, he sent the warrior hurtling in the opposite direction of his intended path.

The Dracknum warrior recovered swiftly, his innate agility and dignified composure allowing him to sidestep Darius's incoming strike with ease. But even as their fierce exchanges continued, a strange thought crept into Warwick's mind—half surprise, half irony:

'This… feels odd. Why does it feel like I'm just play-fighting, like a child?'

As the battle raged on, each movement, every glance, and every shift in posture only deepened Warwick's unease. It was natural for fights to have fluctuating tempos—some brief, others drawn out—but this one felt... offbeat. It had been thirty minutes since the first strike had cut his arm, and apart from the wound that pierced his shoulder, neither of them had landed a decisive blow.

A growing sense of suspicion made Warwick instinctively take a cautious step back. Strangely, the Dracknum warrior no longer attacked with his usual ferocity. Instead, he held a cryptic stance, his intentions unreadable. Warwick narrowed his eyes, remaining on high alert, watching for the slightest opening.

Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted from the surroundings, shattering the tense rhythm of the battle. Warwick's perception shifted in an instant, and Darius snapped to attention. Without hesitation, Warwick, his instincts flaring in alarm, cast a sharp glance at the Dracknum warrior and swiftly raised his guard.

The warrior, sporting a smug grin, wasted no time. With a swift, vertical slash of his massive claymore—its blue aura gleaming with each motion—he followed up with a horizontal strike. The two attacks merged, forming a radiant cross of crackling blue energy.

From the direction of the scream, two boys came sprinting toward Darius and the tousle-haired boy with golden eyes. The pressure emanating from the warrior still lingered in the air, and their ragged breathing made them appear as easy prey. Yet, Darius, displaying an almost unnerving calm, barely reacted beyond a flicker of surprise—after all, what threat could a bunch of kids possibly pose?

Meanwhile, standing his ground, Warwick felt a cold shiver race down his spine. The glowing cross-shaped attack seemed to pass through him like a phantom, leaving an icy trail in its wake.

"Shit..." he muttered, attempting to recover and intercept the attack aimed at his ally and the fragile boy near the opening. But the Dracknum warrior refused to let him.

"Returning the favor."

In a mirrored act of retaliation, the warrior grabbed Warwick by the collar—just as Warwick had done to him moments before—and launched him in the opposite direction with a powerful kick. Not giving him a chance to regain his footing, the warrior pressed on with deadly precision.

The glowing blue cross surged forward, streaking toward the opening, while the two boys rushed toward the same spot.

— "Reinforce!" — one of the children bellowed, his voice brimming with urgency.

— "Fortify!" — He shouted again, gripping a makeshift bow, his eyes alight with fierce determination.

In a flash, the second child grabbed the first by the arms and began spinning him, as if playing with a ragdoll.

— "Breeze!" — he cried, releasing his companion and propelling him forward with a sudden burst of wind.

With a powerful gust, the boy shot forward, hurtling toward the opening with remarkable speed.

Both attacks converged upon Darius and the tousle-haired boy with golden eyes—one coming straight at them in the form of a radiant, cross-shaped burst of energy, the other from the side, carried by the boy sprinting at full speed, wielding a visibly crude dagger.

Darius, fully aware of his priorities, didn't need even a moment to decide on his course of action. Focused on channeling his mana into the scroll—using the young boy as a conduit—he knew that moving now could trigger catastrophic consequences. His vulnerability was clear, making him an easy target—or so it seemed.

As the two attacks closed in, Darius reacted with an almost instinctive precision. In one swift, deliberate motion, he sank his elongated, razor-sharp canines into his own lips. A thin stream of blood welled up, yet rather than behaving as expected, it defied gravity, rising into the air and coalescing before him into a pulsating crimson barrier. For a fleeting moment, his face grew even paler—but given his already ghostly complexion, the change was barely noticeable.

Thud!

The glowing cross slammed into the blood barrier with force, yet its momentum didn't wane. The blue energy continued to press forward, pushing against the crimson defense, which stubbornly held its ground, fulfilling its role as a shield.

Even as he maintained the barrier, Darius kept his focus divided. He tracked every shift in the ongoing battle between Warwick and the Dracknum warrior, stole quick glances toward the forming opening beside him, and remained concentrated on injecting mana into the young boy's body—all while meticulously managing the integrity of his blood defense.

Then, as the dagger-wielding boy closed in, Darius turned his attention to him, though only partially—his mind was already juggling too many simultaneous tasks. Quickly assessing the situation, he considered forming a secondary, smaller blood barrier to halt the boy's advance likely without even needing to move.

Acting on this thought, Darius reallocated a portion of the blood from his primary shield—taking advantage of the fact that the cross-shaped attack was gradually losing strength—and redirected it toward the charging boy.

However, the young attacker reacted with unexpected speed. His hand darkened and hardened in an instant, as if a layer of stone had formed over his skin, jagged protrusions emerging across its surface. The transformation extended to the dagger, which seemed to shift in both size and power.

— "Sharpen!" — the boy shouted with fierce determination.

A keen edge materialized along the dagger's blade. Then, before the newly formed blood barrier could fully take shape, the boy hurled the enhanced dagger with deadly precision.

The dagger flew through a gap that had formed in the center of the blood barrier. As it did, the boy crashed violently against the barrier, the impact so severe that a sharp, agonized scream escaped his lips:

"AHH!"

Still carried by its momentum, the dagger continued its trajectory toward Darius. For a brief moment, Darius relaxed his posture, certain that such a flimsy blade posed no real threat. However, his confidence was soon shattered—the dagger began to lose speed midair, subtly shifting course before finally striking its true target.

Swoosh!

The blade pierced a yellowed parchment covered in crimson inscriptions before clattering to the ground several meters behind Darius.

"Ow! Ow, OW!" the tousle-haired boy cried out, abruptly releasing the scroll with a frantic, uncontrolled motion. His trembling hands shot to his neck as droplets of blood seeped between his fingers, streaking his face with lines of pain, shock, and a silent, all-consuming dread.

"Damn it!" Darius cursed, frustration seeping into his voice as his eyes narrowed at the parchment.

In that instant, the document—now torn by the dagger—erupted in bursts of crimson lightning. At the same time, the already unstable opening began to shift erratically, distorting as if violently reacting to the disruption.

"HWWAAAAAAAH!"

A deafening, primal roar burst forth from the opening—not merely a scream, but a monstrous bellow that seemed to merge with the explosive reaction of the scroll. A violent shockwave of energy tore through the battlefield, sweeping everything in its path.

The blood barrier Darius had raised was instantly obliterated, its structure dissolving into a rain of crimson droplets and trembling particles. The tousle-haired boy, already writhing on the ground, now clutched his head in sheer agony, as though a thousand needles were piercing his skull. His cries escalated into tortured wails:

"AHH! AHH! AHH!"

Meanwhile, in the heart of the battlefield, Warwick and the Dracknum warrior had momentarily halted their exchange. Both turned toward the opening in unison. For the briefest moment, the Dracknum warrior's expression shifted—his face tensed, and a throbbing vein surfaced on his forehead, betraying the fact that things had spiraled completely out of control.

Warwick, ever perceptive and seasoned in battle, immediately grasped the growing peril of the situation. Without hesitation, he launched himself toward Darius, urgency driving his every step.

On the other side of the battlefield, the two boys who had interfered in the fight were now suffering the full force of the devastation. The one who had thrown the dagger lay sprawled upside down, his fists clenched as he struggled against the searing pain—not from his collision with the barrier, but from the sheer shockwave of energy unleashed by both the scroll and the opening.

The other boy,dark skinned and with his hand scorched,was on his knees. His arms hung limply at his sides, his mouth slightly open in a silent expression of disbelief. His eyes—now completely void of pupils—made it clear that his consciousness had already slipped away.

Darius and Warwick, on the other hand, had not been struck with the same devastating force. Though they felt the impact of the explosion and the sheer terror of that inhuman roar, and though the pulse of energy briefly threw them off balance, neither was rendered unable to move.

Without hesitation, Warwick grabbed the tousle-haired boy, who was still writhing on the ground, lifting him with ease and securing him under one arm as he closed the distance to Darius. Meanwhile, Darius swiftly focused his mana, his hands moving with almost mechanical precision as he worked to close the wound on the boy's neck, his touch cold and calculated.

"Useless brat," Warwick muttered, his voice laced with irritation and impatience as he scanned the chaos unfolding around them. Then, turning to Darius, he spoke in a rough, tense voice: "What now?"

Darius, his expression dark and his blood-red eyes flashing with frustration, didn't hesitate:

"We get the hell out of here."

Before they could make their move, Warwick gestured behind them.

"And what about that lunatic?" he asked, motioning toward the motionless figure standing in the distance—long black hair, golden eyes, a massive claymore in hand, completely still as he stared them down.

Darius let out a slow, heavy sigh. He hated to admit it, but the reality of their situation was inescapable.

"As much as I despise saying this… we can't take him on. Not like this. There are too many variables at play."

His gaze flickered toward the opening, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and resignation.

"Whatever comes out of that thing—let it deal with him."