Chapter 713

Chapter 713

As the invisible pressure began to tighten around his frame, Lynox responded by lightly clashing the twin blades in his grip. He struck the sword in his right hand against the flat of the left, using the second weapon as a steadying brace.

Cling!

The sharp, metallic ring pierced through the howling gale like a surgical blade. While the faint chime was nearly swallowed by the roar of the storm, its volume was irrelevant. He didn’t need to hear it; he needed to feel it.

His expertise lay in wave resonance. The two weapons, saturated with his Will, emitted a delicate vibration that only Lynox could perceive. This ripple was his signature art—the secret behind his reputation as the premier scout of Zaun.

“I see how you’re playing this,” he muttered.

Through the telepathic pulse, he pinpointed three Scalers. They were extending their limbs toward him, channeled by their mental powers, while a massive, heavily armored Scaler stood before them like a shield. They moved with a tactical synchronization that suggested long-term drilling.

“Was this your handiwork, Heskal?”

Lynox pondered if such beasts could truly be coached or if they possessed a language of their own, but he knew no reply was coming. His intuition told him he wouldn’t survive long enough to ask again.

He slammed his right-hand sword into the muddy earth—thunk!—embedding the steel firmly. Using the ground to hold the blade at a specific angle, he reached for a third weapon strapped to his back and launched it forward with explosive force.

Swish—

The short blade, no longer than a man’s forearm, tore a straight path through the air. The heavy mass, propelled by the raw power of a knight, ignored the resistance of the wind.

Clack!

The hulking Scaler snatched the flying steel out of the sky. The creature’s durability was expected, but the sheer reaction speed required to catch such a projectile was harrowing.

“Tch, ridiculous.”

Lynox reached out, then snapped his hand back in a sharp tugging motion.

Crack.

The blade wrenched itself free from the monster’s claw and zoomed back to its master. It was a weapon designed for retrieval.

Whirl—tap.

The rotating steel settled perfectly back into Lynox’s palm. Meanwhile, the trio of telekinetics continued their mental assault. The pressure was relentless and deeply irritating; while it didn’t pin him to the spot like a physical chain, it acted as a constant, heavy anchor on his movements.

Lynox threw the short sword once more—but this time, his strategy shifted.

With the first sword still acting as a literal stake in the ground, he drew a fresh blade from his shoulder sheath. At first glance, it looked like a standard longsword, but it lacked a sharpened edge. It was a blunt instrument, resembling a heavy training tool.

He let the tip plow into the dirt.

Grgrgrgrk!

As he sprinted, the dull blade carved a deep trench in the mud. Though the rain would soon fill it, the groove marked his trajectory. The giant Scaler chose not to catch this one, instead using the back of its wrist to deflect the strike. The weapon hit but failed to bite into the scales. The beast was using its limbs like bucklers.

Highly intelligent. Or perhaps it was simply a master of primal combat.

The creature blocked with its left and prepared to seize the weapon with its right, clearly anticipating the return-pull and intending to hold fast this time.

Lynox, however, didn’t pull back. He closed the distance at a full run.

Smack!

It was a classic Lynox maneuver: use the thrown weapon as a distraction for a physical breakthrough. But he had a deeper layer to the gambit.

The short sword was named Prey. The blunt longsword was named Hunter.

Prey is eternally driven to escape Hunter.

The edgeless blade swung in a compact arc.

Clang! Boom!

Hunter wasn’t designed to cut flesh. Its purpose was to strike Prey and trigger a reaction. As Hunter slammed into the pommel of Prey, overlapping surges of Will detonated, catapulting Prey forward with doubled velocity.

Boom!

A silver streak tore through the tempest. The accelerated blade, propelled by the shockwave, punched through the giant Scaler’s skull before it could react, spraying blood and bone into the rain.

Prey’s true target, however, was the telekinetic hidden behind the giant. After passing through the front-liner, the blade continued its flight and erased the head of the psychic monster. The beast’s outstretched hands fell limp.

Prey will never return to the hand so long as Hunter is unsheathed. This was a technique governed by a knight’s oath, etched into the very soul of the steel. It was one of Lynox’s hidden trump cards. In the world of knights, everyone kept a few lethal tricks that would be considered “foul play” in a formal arena.

Lynox followed up with a different blade, slicing through the neck of the staggered, half-headed giant.

Crack, slash.

The cut was effortless, which was terrifying considering the density of Scaler hides. His weapons possessed a cutting edge far beyond standard smithing. The cost was high, though; despite being magically inscribed, they shattered frequently. He had adapted his entire style to compensate, focusing on glancing blows and defensive parries to preserve his gear. It was a tactical approach unseen elsewhere in Zaun.

“One down,” he whispered, sheathing Hunter.

He reached out, and with a pulse of Will, Prey shivered and zipped back to his hand. The weapon had only three roles: to be thrown, to return, and to be boosted by Hunter. Consequently, its tip was a masterpiece of true silver and industrial diamond—fragile and expensive, but lethal.

To Lynox, it didn’t matter. It was a tool for the kill, a weighted club disguised as a blade.

His methods were entirely his own, stripped of traditional form. He repeated the process to dispatch the remaining telekinetics, then retrieved his “stake” sword from the mud. As he moved, he caught a winged beast in his peripheral vision and grounded it with a precision strike from Prey before it could reach the Lord’s blind spot.

Nearby, Tempest Zaun was a whirlwind of destruction, clearing three enemies with sheer physical dominance. He used the flat of his massive blade to crush an owlbear into the mire, its body disintegrating under the impact.

Lynox watched and struck his swords together again.

Clang!

By narrowing the focus of his resonance, he pushed his senses toward Enkrid. After reading the vibrations of the distant struggle, Lynox sighed.

“I picked the wrong side of the field.”

Seeing the trap Heskal had prepared, he realized the villain had specifically tailored the ambush to counter his own reconnaissance. Border Guard Enkrid was talented, but could a young man survive the machinations of a fox like Heskal? He couldn’t be certain.

Sssshhhhh…

The wind died down slightly, though the rain remained a heavy curtain.

“The path ahead isn’t getting any easier,” Tempest remarked.

Lynox turned to face him but was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea, retching acidic, blood-stained bile onto the earth. The rain couldn’t wash away the dark color fast enough.

“I’m running out of time,” Lynox muttered, grinding the mess into the dirt with his heel.

The stimulants Anne had provided were keeping him upright, but they were a loan he couldn’t repay. That was why he had taken the vanguard, pushing further than even Alexandra or Tempest. By acting as the primary target for the “special” enemies, he lightened the load on his allies. Even if he made it look effortless, every kill was draining his life force. He had to stay hyper-focused, watching for the killers lurking in the shadows.

“You aren’t dying here, Lynox,” Tempest said, adjusting his grip as four new shapes emerged.

Craaaack!

Lightning briefly turned the night into day. To the eyes of a knight, the flash was enough to map the enemy perfectly.

Four Scalers.

Their hides were a mottled mix of black and crimson. Usually, the more red a Scaler showed, the more powerful its mental abilities. These four would be the most dangerous adversaries yet.

“Tempe. Remember the promise we made as kids?”

Lynox wasn’t a seer, but he could feel his thread fraying. Anne had been honest: with six months of rest, he might recover. But here, under fire, there was no such luxury. His body was failing—heart racing, lungs burning, and his stomach feeling as if it were filled with glass. He had joked about dying, but the reality was settling in.

He had many regrets, but only one vow mattered now: that if one of them had to fall, it would be him, ensuring Tempest survived. They had fought over the same woman once, but they were brothers in all but blood.

“Go assist Alex,” Tempest said, his voice thick with unstated emotion.

“I don’t need it!” Alexandra’s voice carried through the rain from several yards away.

In front of her, a plume of necrotic smoke rose from a pile of corpses. Out of the darkness stepped a figure in blackened steel gauntlets. A Death Knight. It was the pinnacle of necromancy—a high-ranking warrior’s body repurposed for eternal slaughter. A normal undead was a threat; a Death Knight was a catastrophe.

“I’ll take the lead. You’re the Lord,” Lynox insisted.

Tempest glanced toward his wife.

She met his gaze. “Trust me, Tempe. I am the Lightning Blade of Blitzkring.”

There was a time when even Tempest wouldn’t have dared to cross her steel.

“Stay with Lynox,” she commanded. “This isn’t where your story ends.”

They needed that conviction. The Lord believed that victory belonged to those who could weather the turning tide.

The four Scalers stood their ground. Two carried short, heavy clubs; the others gripped katars—punching daggers with horizontal bars. Their gear suggested a high level of martial training. They were lean, muscled, and their scales shed the rain like glass. They would be as fast as any knight, and likely carried venom on their steel.

“Hoo.”

Tempest regulated his breathing. He had to return the faith his wife placed in him.

“Just watch my back, Lynox.”

In the distance, the gaze of Medusa loomed. A portion of Tempest’s strength was still suppressed by her presence. He kept his chin tucked, avoiding direct eye contact while focusing on the enemies’ footwork. He had never been a master of flashy techniques, but he had always been the strongest man with a greatsword. That hadn’t changed.

The massive sword of Tempest Zaun rose into a ready stance. Lynox stepped in behind him.

Then, a familiar voice drifted from between the four monsters. It was Heskal, using sorcery to project his words.

“Tempe, these four are my masterpieces. Chimeras designed specifically to kill knights. An alchemist spent seven decades perfecting this breed.”

The voice was cold and mocking.

“They will keep you occupied while I hunt down your son. Wherever you’ve hidden Odinkar, I will find him.”

Heskal was digging into the Lord’s fears, trying to shatter his resolve. Lynox felt a surge of worry for his friend, but Tempest’s expression remained stone. His inability to show emotion served as an unbreakable shield.

The voice faded, and the four Scalers lunged.

Thud!

Lynox narrowed his eyes, keeping his back to the Medusa. His job was simple now: protect his brother’s blind spot. Even as his internal organs screamed and the urge to vomit returned, he locked it down. One slip, and he would be a corpse.

“You were always looking for the next peak.”

Andante had once been Alexandra’s closest companion. Now, that same friend had been resurrected with black ichor in her veins and a mind lost to bloodlust. She was a hollow shell of instinct.

In life, Andante had turned away from love and family, obsessed only with the next level of power, the next evolution of her craft.

“What’s next? I can go further.”

It was a dream that had curdled into madness. But such an obsession was common among the knights of Zaun. Looking at her now, it was clear that path had led to ruin.

“I’ll catch up to you one day, Alex,” she used to say.

Alexandra had always been the one to keep her tethered to reality. The world had no place for a natural-born killer who needed to shed blood to feel alive. Andante had been a predator who required a constant cycle of violence.

“Now you can kill forever, Andante,” Alexandra whispered.

The Death Knight said nothing. Black vapor hissed from its visor, coiling around the helmet and defying the heavy rain. It was a sight of pure, unfiltered dread.

A knight dies in a moment of pride; a sorcerer traps that soul. The result is a Death Knight, a creature possessing far more power than the living original ever held. This was the weapon Heskal had forged specifically to break Alexandra.