CHAPTER 64: ANYBODY HOME?

They reached.

After a march of several long hours through the biting cold, Aric and his army now stood before a small outpost town.

It was, quite frankly, a desolate place, lying east of the settlement Aric and his men had burned to the ground only days earlier.

The outpost was little more than a cluster of wooden structures, covered in frost, their roofs sagging under the weight of the snow atop them. The town—or what was left of it—appeared abandoned.

No smoke rose from the chimneys, no signs of life stirred in the icy streets. Only silence greeted them—a silence as chilling as the air.

Aric’s eyes scanned the surroundings, his breath fogging the air in front of him.

He dismounted from the Kriger with a sharp thud, his armored boots crunching through the ice-crusted ground. Raising a hand, he signaled for his soldiers to halt. None were to follow him beyond this point.

His orders were clear, and they watched silently as the prince ventured deeper into the heart of the outpost alone.

His grip tightened on the hilt of the sword strapped across his back, the weight of steel carrying his sharp readiness for any engagement.

He had told the settlers to warn the towns as they traveled, so he expected the garrisoned soldiers would be prepared.

His steps were slow, deliberate, and cautious. This silence was unnatural, not merely desertion.

No, this silence reeked of intent—it felt as though danger lurked just beyond his senses. If he had given the settlers fair warning of his arrival, then naturally they had waited, anticipating him.

And now, they would strike.

As if on cue, three figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding him in an instant.

Their movements were swift, deadly, like ghosts materializing from the gloom. Mana flared on their weapons, illuminating the icy air with elemental energy—blades of fire, arcs of lightning, and swirling winds.

Without hesitation, they attacked, blades slicing through the air with terrifying speed, descending on Aric from every side.

But the prince only grinned.

Their blades struck—or so they thought. As their weapons sliced through him, his form dissipated into curling wisps of black, leaving behind nothing but cold air.

It was a shadow. An afterimage.

Aric reappeared several meters away, his back turned, standing unfazed by the ambush. The Shadow Step art made him faster than their eyes could follow, leaving them slashing only illusions.

Three more attackers, unfettered by their comrades’ failure, regrouped quickly. Their hands glowed with ki as they prepared their next assault—blades of flame whirled toward him, cutting the frozen air with speed.

But Aric didn’t move. He didn’t even attempt to evade.

The attacks crashed against an invisible barrier that shimmered like glass. Flames, lightning, and wind—all dissolved upon contact, unable to pierce the effortless wall of defense he had conjured.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with cold indifference. "Is that all?" he asked, his voice calm yet laced with mockery. "I came with an army, after all. Don’t disappoint me."

The three hesitated, uncertain of their next move. Their eyes darted about, searching for some advantage, but Aric stood like an undefeatable wall—unimpressed, unbothered.

As he watched the defeated ambushers retreat into the shadows, a sudden shift in the air caught his attention.

His gaze sharpened toward the alleys and rooftops as more figures emerged—twenty men, all armed, yet lacking the telltale glow of mana or ki.

These were simple soldiers, footmen without higher power.

He sighed, drawing his blade from the scabbard across his back, the steel gleaming cold in the dim light.

"What useless deaths you’ll die here," Aric muttered under his breath, his voice carrying across the empty street. His eyes hardened. "I am not interested in an easy massacre... surrender now," he offered, tone eerily calm.

But none moved. Gritting their teeth, the soldiers tightened their grip on swords, spears, and axes. They stepped forward deliberately, determination in their eyes, though fear lingered beneath it.

Aric shook his head faintly, disappointed.

"I asked the settlers to warn you," he said, voice lower now, almost intimate. "In hopes you might flee and avoid this. But I knew better. I knew you would cling to some misguided sense of duty, or pride, or... hope?"

The soldiers pressed on, their silence heavier than words.

"I even now give you a second chance," Aric continued, raising his sword. His martial aura flared, pressing against them. "Yet you still choose death."

The silence that followed was suffocating, as though the air itself had turned to stone.

Aric’s grip tightened. "So, what more can I do than offer you to her gentle hands?"

That was the breaking point.

With a resounding battle cry, twenty soldiers charged, their footsteps thunderous on the frozen earth, weapons raised high.

Aric’s expression remained unchanged. In one smooth motion, he moved—his sword flashed in a wide arc. The first soldier, axe raised, never got the chance to swing.

Aric’s blade cleaved through him, steel singing through flesh and bone, cutting clean from collarbone to waist.

Blood sprayed into the air, warm droplets freezing instantly as they struck the ice.

The others did not falter, rushing him from every side. Aric’s movements were fluid, precise—his sword flashed like lightning, cleaving through armor and flesh with terrifying efficiency.

Another man fell, his legs severed beneath him, crumpling in a bloody heap. Aric stepped over the body without pause, parried a spear, and thrust cleanly through the attacker’s throat.

There was no hesitation, no wasted movement—never with him, and that was everything.

Every action was calculated, every strike designed to kill. They attacked in groups, but numbers only doomed them faster.

A blade came down for his head—he sidestepped, caught it with his own, twisted. The weapon flew, clattering to the ground, and Aric’s sword followed, slicing the man’s stomach open in a brutal motion.

The man dropped, clutching spilling entrails, his screams swallowed by the cold.

Another group closed from behind, but Aric was quicker. Spinning, he swept low, cutting ankles and tendons, dropping two instantly. As they writhed, he struck down in a vicious arc, severing their heads in one clean sweep.

Blood soaked the frozen ground, staining the snow crimson. Aric cut through them like death itself, his armor gleaming red, his breath fogging the air.

The remaining soldiers faltered, fear plain in their eyes. But it was too late. Aric advanced, sword dripping.

From the corner of his vision, the six original ambushers reappeared, watching in horror as their men lay scattered in gore. Rage twisted their faces as they charged, weapons crackling, blades lit with mana.

Aric sighed—not with exertion but with indifference. His breath was soft, almost pitying, as though the scene were beneath him. He twitched his fingers, raising one hand, not even bothering with his blade.

The air itself stirred first. A golden light swirled above his head, coalescing into a radiant sphere. From it, spears of golden brilliance formed—one after another, until the sky bristled with them, sharp points gleaming in the pale sun.

The six hesitated, terror flashing across their faces as they realized the truth.

They scrambled to muster defenses, shields of mana and ki glowing bright.

But it was futile.

With a wave of Aric’s hand, the spears rained down.p

Each found its mark with perfect precision, tearing through barriers like paper, plunging deep into flesh and bone.

The warriors screamed, impaled, their blood spraying into the air before freezing as it fell. Their bodies writhed, then stilled as the golden lances buried them where they stood.

It ended in seconds.

The battlefield lay silent once again. Six corpses sprawled across the snow, grotesquely skewered by spears that dissolved slowly, fading into the ether.

Aric lowered his hand with another sigh, as if completing a dull, necessary task. His expression unreadable, though a flicker of sadness lingered in his eyes.

He turned back to Yrsa and the army, who had watched in silence. His gaze was cold, detached.

"That was disappointing," Aric said flatly, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek. He cast one last glance at the crimson-stained snow before turning away. "Let’s move to the next."

Without waiting for a reply, he mounted his Kriger, his army falling in line behind him as they marched toward their next conquest.