The courtyard hummed with restrained violence.

  Blades vibrated in a metallic chorus, wind curling around Cilian’s form, lightning still whispering faintly beneath it. Across from them, the assassins steadied themselves, zeal hardening their features despite the unease flickering in their eyes.

  Cilian cast Xulian a brief glance.

  She did not return it.

  “Stay close,” he said anyway, then he moved.

  No flourish. No warning.

  Wind detonated beneath his feet as he surged forward, blade carving a direct path into the enemy formation. Xulian followed without a word. The rhythm returned instantly, like in the dungeon when they faced the Surillian force.

  Cilian was overwhelming. Domineering. Every strike forced space open through sheer pressure. Wind-enhanced cuts drove the assassins backward, breaking their coordination, dictating the tempo.

  Xulian flowed through the spaces he created. Light and precise. Where he broke their formation, she slipped between fractures. Where he forced a block high, she cut low. Where lightning once stunned, her blade ended.

  No words were needed. An assassin lunged at Cilian’s blind side. Xulian was already there. Steel met steel, her parry redirecting the strike just enough for Cilian’s return arc to sever tendon and muscle in one clean sweep.

  Another came for her. Cilian’s wind curved unnaturally, altering the path of the incoming blade by a fraction. It was enough. Xulian pivoted and drove her sword through the attacker’s chest.

  They were not speaking. But they were listening to each other perfectly.

  The courtyard filled with the shriek of metal and bursts of compressed air. Assassins faltered, their potion-enhanced levels no longer enough to compensate for the seamless pressure from two fronts.

  Then— Xulian felt it. A subtle shift in her movements. Like something unclenching inside her chest. The pressure she had felt when attempting to cultivate, that quiet obstruction she could never quite grasp— It loosened.

  Her next step felt… lighter. Her next strike is cleaner. Her breathing deepened naturally. The world sharpened.

  She felt her body. Truly felt it. The strength of her muscles. The stability in her stance. The density beneath her skin. But more importantly, she felt the flow of energy flowing from her dantian, traveling to pools all over her body, filling them. Those were her meridians being filled, and marked her as a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

  For the first time since arriving in this world, her power did not feel like something borrowed from a system window. It felt like hers.

  Her skill activated— But this time, it did not pull her body into predetermined lines. It followed. Her will moved first, then the technique shaped itself around it with Qi.

  Her blade swept outward in a horizontal arc, refined and unforced, slicing across two attackers before they fully registered her movement.

  It was faster and cleaner. More precise. What followed was a light that hummed with energy so sharp it cleaved through a sword like it was made of butter.

  Cilian noticed immediately. Wind thickened around him, and he accelerated.

  If she stepped forward, he surged past. If he split the formation, she erased the opening. Their tempo climbed, not chaotically, but in perfect escalation.

  The assassins faltered more.

  One misjudged distance and lost his arm.

  Another stumbled back under Cilian’s pressure only to find Xulian already there, her blade slipping past his guard like water finding a crack in stone.

  Within moments, only one remained.

  He staggered backward, potion-enhanced aura flickering violently as blood pooled beneath his boots.

  Silence returned to the courtyard. Wind dissipated. The hum of blades faded as Xulian lowered her sword slowly, her breathing steady.

  The blockage inside her had not vanished entirely, but it had cracked. And through that fracture, something clearer waited. She comprehended something profound inside herself.

  Beside her, Cilian regarded the final assassin without expression.

  “Who sent you?” he asked again. He knew the only way they could have come this far was with inside help

  The assassin lay on his back, blood spreading dark across the courtyard stones.

  He laughed. It was wet and ragged but unrepentant.

  “You think this ends here?” he rasped.

  Cilian stepped closer, blade angled downward.

  “You failed.”

  The man’s smile widened beneath the blood at his lips.

  “This… is only the beginning.”

  His arm twitched, and Xulian’s eyes narrowed.

  It was too late.

  A small cylinder rolled from his sleeve. With a final burst of strength, he slammed it against the ground and triggered it.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  A streak of red shot into the sky.

  The flare burst above Mondholz in a violent bloom of crimson light. For one suspended breath, the town seemed frozen beneath its glow.

  Then— Smoke rose in the distance. One column. Then another. Then five. Fires ignited across Mondholz almost simultaneously, as if the signal had been a conductor’s baton. Shouts erupted. Bells began to ring. The hum of night shattered into chaos. Cilian’s expression hardened.

  “What are you planning?!” he shouted. But it was too late, the man lay dead.

  Xulian’s gaze tracked the spreading flames. “We need to go back. The others might still be in trouble.”

  Cries echoed from beyond the manor walls. Without further discussion, they moved back inside. The doors to the courtyard burst open as they reentered the manor.

  The interior was no longer calm. Vel stood near the main hall, issuing rapid orders to guards and servants. Luim and the paladins Agitha and Sunette were already armed. Lilian stood disheveled but resolute near the staircase, ready for any emergency.

  Lilian looks like a nurse doing an extra nightshift.

  A crash sounded from deeper within. Steel met steel. Cilian’s eyes sharpened.

  “The other three,” he muttered. The ones who had slipped past earlier. They advanced toward the source of the noise.

  They arrived just in time to see the last of the infiltrators' attempt to retreat down the corridor— and fail.

  Baroness Feltlin stood before him. Her petite and composed figure radiated her earlier dignity. Except now she wielded a battle axe nearly as tall as she was.

  [Adrielle Feltlin / Race: Half-Elf / Level 94 / Main Class: Axewoman / Sub Class: Beserker / Title: WarMaiden]

  The weapon came down in a brutal, efficient arc. The assassin barely raised his blade before the axe cleaved through the guard, shoulder, and into the floor beneath.

  The impact split stone and silence followed. The Baroness exhaled once, adjusting her grip as though she had merely finished chopping wood. Blood stained the hem of her dress. Her gaze lifted calmly to Cilian and Xulian.

  “I do not think I can arrange tea for our guests, your highness,” she said evenly.

  Behind her, Baron Feltlin’s booming voice echoed from another corridor as he rallied household guards.

  “Maybe my husband can arrange a hunt for them? My manor is a little small for that, mind you.” Her words fell like she was in the middle of a nobles' gathering while outside, Mondholz was burning.

  The manor, however, did not descend into panic. Instead, it sharpened.

  Vel regrouped the inner circle swiftly. Luim arrived at Cilian’s side, his expression unusually grave.

  “Commander Brill has taken a detachment,” Luim reported. “He’s rallying the outer patrols and assisting the town guard. He’ll try to stabilize the main streets.”

  Cilian nodded once.

  Good. Brill would not waste time.

  Baron Feltlin strode into the hall, armor hastily fastened over his tunic, a heavy sword strapped across his back. The earlier boisterous host was gone. In his place stood a veteran soaked in blood.

  Beside him, the Baroness wiped her axe clean with a steady hand, like she was caressing a mischievous child.

  “This isn’t a simple strike,” the Baron said, voice low but carrying. “It is too coordinated. Fires in multiple districts. Assassins inside my own walls.”

  His gaze shifted toward the distant glow flickering beyond the windows.

  “They want us scattered,” the Baroness added calmly. “Divided internally.”

  Cilian’s eyes sharpened.

  “And vulnerable externally,” she finished.

  The implication settled heavily.

  The Baron met Cilian’s gaze directly. “Your Highness, with respect. You and your force should join the Elf guard at the walls. If this is what I think it is, the real blow hasn’t landed yet.”

  Vel frowned slightly. “You believe this is a prelude.”

  “I believe,” the Baron said grimly, “that no one sets a town on fire just to kill a handful of guests.”

  Silence.

  Cilian weighed it for only a breath. He had fought in border skirmishes before. He had seen distraction tactics layered over larger assaults. The Baron’s instincts were not born of guesswork.

  “Very well,” Cilian said. “We move to the walls.”

  Orders were given, and a small formation adjusted. They exited the manor into a town unraveling. Chaos roared through Mondholz.

  Flames climbed timbered walls. Smoke coiled through narrow streets. Guards clashed with dark-clad figures at intersections, but the town watch was stretched thin. For every assassin cut down, two more seemed to surface from alleys and rooftops.

  Cilian cut down one who lunged from behind a wagon without breaking stride.

  Xulian moved beside him. But her attention was split. Not outward but inward. As they ran, she examined the flow of qi within her body. It felt… different.

  Before, her energy had circulated obediently, following her method, and then condensed and accumulated in her dantian. Now it was flowing out of her dantian and started to pool in her meridians. The earlier blockage had not vanished, but was slowing the filling process of her meridians. Despite that, her limbs responded faster. Her breathing required less effort.

  So this is what it means to actually inhabit your cultivation, she thought quietly.

  Another assassin darted toward them from a burning doorway. Xulian stepped forward almost absently, blade flashing in a clean, efficient cut. The same light flashed from her sword as it cut into him.

  The body fell. Her qi barely fluctuated, but it felt off. The strike could have been a lot better.

  Interesting.

  They reached the inner stairway leading to the walls. The Elf Guard had already begun ascending, their movements disciplined despite the turmoil below.

  As they climbed, the town’s sounds shifted. Less clashing steel and more distant screaming.

  Then— A horn. Low and deep. It rolled across the night like a beast clearing its throat. Everyone on the stairs froze for half a heartbeat.

  Another horn answered. Then another. And another. From the treeline beyond Mondholz. Not one but many.

  Cilian’s expression hardened further.

  “That,” the Baron muttered, “is no raiding party.”

  They reached the top of the wall.

  And saw beyond the outer fields, at the edge of the far treelines of the forest, the darkness writhed.

  Green, an ocean of it. Goblins in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, swarming in loose formations. Armed to the teeth with crude but numerous weapons. Shields fashioned from scavenged metal and wood. Torches flickering like malevolent stars.

  Among them marched larger figures. Orcs. Broad, tusked, armored in mismatched plates and hide, weapons resting easily in massive hands.

  Xulian stared at them. They're as ugly as what the novels say

  She noticed figures towering above both.

  She pointed a finger at them and turned to Cilian. “What are those?”

  “Ogres.” He stated with a grim face.

  Their skin was a deep red under the torchlight. Each wielded an uprooted tree as a club, bark stripped away to reveal pale wood beneath. Their bodies were encased in thick, uneven plating that looked disturbingly organic. It was chitin from some large beast layered across shoulders and chests like grotesque armor grown rather than forged.

  The warhorns sounded again. The ground seemed to tremble beneath the sheer weight of the approaching horde.

  Beside Cilian, Vel inhaled sharply.

  “This isn’t a raid, at all…” she whispered.

  “No,” Cilian agreed.

  Below them, Mondholz still burned. Ahead of them, an army gathered. And in the space between fire and horde, the walls suddenly felt very thin.