Battle for the Warborn
The night erupted into chaos. The moment Kyle signaled the ambush, the village defenders struck, loosing a hail of arrows and spears from hidden vantage points. The first row of Black Legion soldiers faltered, caught in the barrage, but their hesitation lasted only seconds.
The Legion adapted with terrifying speed.
Their front-line shields locked together, forming a solid wall, their spearmen lowering their weapons in perfect unison. They weren't just killers. They were soldiers—trained, disciplined, and ready to counterattack.
Kyle didn't wait. He moved.
His feet barely touched the ground before he was in the fray, the Fallen King's Blade already swinging in a brutal arc.
The first Legionnaire met him head-on, raising his sword just in time to block. But Kyle was stronger—his blade slammed against the soldier's weapon with a bone-rattling impact, the force alone knocking him off balance.
Kyle didn't give him a chance to recover.
He twisted his body, using his momentum to drive his knee into the soldier's gut. The man choked, his stance faltering, and Kyle followed through, bringing his blade downward in a deadly cleave.
The sword cut through his armor, biting deep into bone and flesh. A spray of hot blood hit the ground as the Legionnaire collapsed, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him.
Kyle barely had time to pull his sword free before two more came at him.
The one on the left wielded a polearm, the one on the right a short sword and shield.
Kyle's mind processed the attack in an instant.
The polearm was the greater threat—it had reach, and if they pinned him between them, he wouldn't last.
He moved first.
The polearm-wielder stabbed forward, aiming for Kyle's chest. Kyle dodged left, letting the spear whistle past his ribs, then lunged forward, closing the distance.
Before the soldier could retract his weapon, Kyle grabbed the shaft with his free hand and yanked it toward him. The sudden force threw the soldier off balance—just enough.
Kyle drove his elbow into the man's throat.
The soldier let out a wet gasp, staggering. Kyle didn't hesitate. He ripped the polearm from his hands and turned it on him, ramming the bladed tip straight into his chest.
The man let out a strangled cry before crumpling to the ground, unmoving.
The second soldier was already attacking, his short sword slashing toward Kyle's exposed side.
Kyle barely got his own blade up in time. The swords clashed, sparks flying as steel met steel. The Legionnaire pressed forward, pushing against Kyle's guard, trying to overpower him.
Kyle gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance.
The Fallen King's Blade was heavier, its balance different from the weapons he had wielded before. But his strength had increased, his speed had sharpened, and his instincts were faster than ever.
He didn't try to match the soldier's brute force.
Instead, he angled his blade just slightly—and let the man's own momentum carry him forward.
The shift in weight sent the Legionnaire stumbling, and Kyle immediately capitalized on the mistake.
He twisted, bringing his sword down in a brutal diagonal slash.
The blade cut deep, splitting through armor, flesh, and bone, and the soldier collapsed with a wet gurgle.
Another one down.
Kyle exhaled sharply, pulling his sword free, scanning the battlefield.
The fight had escalated fast.
The villagers fought hard, using hit-and-run tactics, striking from rooftops, alleyways, and barricades. But the Black Legion was relentless—even when caught in an ambush, they moved like a single, unbreakable unit.
Kyle watched as a group of villagers tried to flank the enemy's formation—they failed.
The Legion responded instantly, their spears and shields cutting them down with ruthless efficiency.
Kyle cursed under his breath. The villagers weren't warriors. They were survivors. And survivors could only hold out for so long.
If he didn't break the Legion's momentum, they were going to slaughter everyone.
A new warning flashed across his vision.
---
Battle Progression Update: Black Legion Reinforcements Incoming.
Time Until Arrival: 10 Minutes.
---
Kyle's blood ran cold.
They had more coming.
If they didn't end this soon, it wouldn't matter how well they fought. They would be overrun.
His mind raced, searching for a way to turn the battle. His eyes locked onto the Legion's formation, the way they moved, the rhythm of their attacks.
Then he saw it.
A weakness.
The Legion relied on tight formations, on their shields and spears keeping them in a controlled perimeter. But they had one major flaw—if they lost their cohesion, they would crumble.
Kyle gritted his teeth. He knew what he had to do.
But it was risky.
He turned to Rin, who was perched behind a stack of wooden crates, watching the fight unfold with wide eyes.
"Get the villagers back!" Kyle ordered.
Rin frowned. "What? You want to fight them alone?"
Kyle didn't answer. He turned toward the Legion, planting his feet firmly against the ground. His breath slowed, his focus sharpening.
The Fallen King's Blade hummed in his grip.
It was waiting.
The system pulsed.
---
Weapon Status: Fallen King's Blade – Power Locked
Condition Not Met: Battle Momentum Required.
Trigger Battle Momentum: Disrupt Enemy Formation.
---
Kyle's lips curled into a fierce grin.
The blade was waiting for a real challenge.
Then he'd give it one.
He charged.
The Legion didn't expect it.
One lone warrior, rushing headfirst into their ranks? It wasn't just reckless—it was suicidal.
But Kyle wasn't fighting like a normal soldier.
He was fighting like the Warborn.
He crashed into the frontline with terrifying force, his blade carving through shields and armor, breaking their perfect synchronization.
A Legionnaire thrust a spear at his gut—Kyle knocked it aside, twisting the weapon into its owner's throat.
Another soldier slashed toward his back—Kyle stepped into the attack, deflecting the blade with his own before driving his knee into the man's ribs.
The Legion's formation began to falter.
This was it.
A final notification exploded across his vision.
---
Battle Momentum Achieved.
Fallen King's Blade – Power Unlocked.
Ability Gained: Warborn's Wrath.
[Passive] Each enemy felled strengthens the blade. [Active] Unleash the absorbed power in a single devastating strike.
---
Kyle felt it immediately.
The blade pulsed with raw energy, a heat that spread through his arms, his chest, his entire being.