Horde

Icarus appeared atop a tall building, silent and unnoticed.

Staring into the distance, he saw what had captured the attention of the entire town—a rushing horde of abominations, in the truest sense of the word. 

These creatures, twisted beyond recognition, were composed of smashed-up corpses, their bodies fused together in grotesque amalgamations of flesh and bone. 

Rotten blood trailed beneath them, allowing them to glide unnaturally across the ground, while jagged black bones protruded from their distorted figures, forming crude armor.

Some were humanoid, others beast-like, and some took to the skies with grotesque wings of tattered sinew. Along with them, a thick wave of dark essence rolled forward, corroding everything in its path, consuming the land itself. 

The people of Yggdrasil called them Soul Eaters—entities of pure corruption, pure slaughter, and pure, mindless hunger.

Icarus had only learned of them through Amalia and Henry, but even with his limited knowledge, he could recognize the magnitude of the threat before him. 

A tide of Soul Eaters at this level wasn't just dangerous—it was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

A gust of wind howled, and suddenly, beside him, Amalia, Henry, and Oberon materialized, their expressions grave. 

Close behind them, Jonah and his men arrived, silently standing at attention, waiting for orders. Amalia's golden eyes softened for a brief moment as she reached out, brushing her fingers against Icarus' cheek.

"Any feel for the situation?" she asked.

"Dangerous." Icarus responded immediately.

"Very much so. From what I can see, their numbers range in the millions at the very least, and they all seem to possess strength surpassing that of mortality."

A somber atmosphere settled over them at his words. 

Jonah and his warriors gripped their weapons tighter, their jaws clenched, yet not a single one of them doubted his assessment. Even if he was the youngest and the only mortal present, his insight was absolute.

"Their corrupted essence has formed a sort of domain around the region," Icarus continued, his eyes flickering with quiet calculation.

"Which means none of you will be able to replenish your reserves through atmospheric essence—unless your body can handle the corruption."

Henry exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening behind his back. "I see three main generals leading the hive mind. If we eliminate them, the rest will fall apart." His aura sharpened like a drawn blade, cold and lethal.

Amalia nodded slowly, her golden pupils swirling with thought. After a brief silence, she made her decision.

"Henry and I are in no state to fight directly, so we'll remain here at the backline. Icarus, you will dive in and kill their generals as fast as you can." Her gaze shifted to Jonah and his men.

"Jonah, I trust you and your warriors can hold back the horde while he handles them?"

Jonah hesitated. His broad shoulders tensed, and he exchanged glances with his men before turning back to her. "My lady… are you sure the boy can handle this? I know he's strong, but—"

She shook her head, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Do not worry about him. But again, can I count on you?"

Jonah exhaled before nodding, his gaze igniting with determination. "You have my word."

"Good." Amalia turned back to Icarus. "Go ahead."

With a single step, atmospheric essence coiled around his body, surging through his veins like liquid fire. Strength flooded his limbs, and in the blink of an eye—he was gone.

***

Cultivation in Yggdrasil was endlessly complex, a world Icarus had yet to step into. 

But beyond cultivation, the primary and truest path to power, there existed other paths—paths that complemented and elevated warriors beyond mortal limitations. 

These alternative disciplines, while not as exalted as cultivation itself, were nonetheless terrifying in their own right.

One such path was the Way of the Sword, a discipline that ranged from the Sword Apprentice realm to the fabled Sword God realm, a state of mastery so rare and terrifying that even among the most gifted, few ever reached it. 

Then there were paths even more specialized, forged by cultivators of boundless strength, shaping techniques tailored for unparalleled combat.

Icarus followed such a path—four paths, to be exact, each one forged by Amalia herself. A specialized set of swordsmanship, arcane mastery, alchemy, and essence control, designed to transcend the limitations of traditional techniques. But these weren't just any disciplines. To even begin practicing them, one had to first master their fundamental counterparts.

Only those who reached the Sword God, Arcane Overlord, Essence Meister, and Alchemical Childe realms could attempt these paths—realms that represented the pinnacle of their respective disciplines. 

The paths Amalia had created were unmatched across existence, serving to forge a foundation that would remain unparalleled across the endless eons of time.

As the sole disciple trained under her, Icarus met that standard. He was one of, if not the youngest, of Sword Gods, Arcane Overlords, Essence Meisters, and Alchemical Childes. 

But such power was poisonous to a body as young as his. 

To prevent his own strength from destroying him, Henry had placed a limiter on him—a seal that compressed and contained his power until the day he began to cultivate.

***

Icarus landed softly in front of the horde of Soul Eaters. 

His palm extended, and suddenly, atmospheric essence gathered around him, transmuting into a simple silver sword. The air shimmered as yet another wave of energy flickered around him, seamlessly blooming into Sword Essence.

Two of the most fundamental abilities in essence control—transmutation and sublimation. The former allowed one to shape essence into a tangible form, while the latter refined raw atmospheric essence into more complex types.

Icarus swung his sword gently through the air, a trail of silvery sword essence following its movement. His heartbeat slowed, his blood flowing in perfect rhythm, and his muscles loosened, essence cycling in and out of him as naturally as breathing. He was in tune with nature itself.

He lifted his gaze, staring ahead at the twisted horrors standing mere meters away. Yet his focus was not on them—it was on the three figures standing behind them all.

Each one stood tall, their humanoid forms sculpted from pure muscle, tightly wrapped in dark gray skin inscribed with glowing blue runes. 

Their long, white hair flowed behind them, contrasting starkly against the thick black bone armor that encased their forms. Their piercing emerald pupils locked onto Icarus, an eerie intelligence gleaming within their depths.

And then, all three of them grinned.

Icarus exhaled.

"I see."