Before taking part in the war, Blood's heart had first been assailed by the fear of slaying his fellow humans.
Killing beasts had always felt wholly different; when it came to humans, the gulf was on the other side. The act became tangled, and a host of thoughts enveloped him.
Blood began to wrestle with his conscience, struggling against the pressure as he raised his blade against the warriors rather than beasts.
What finally steeled him and scattered his wavering resolve like dust in the wind—were the successive slayings of Sand‑Scale's forces. The enemy warriors were large and imposing. Even though most were low‑level warriors, their relentless advance left him no choice but to harden his heart.
A sudden flame ignited within him, and he found himself wondering, almost without meaning to, of how he had been so blind.
Joining the war earlier might've spared his brethren instead of wasting time on idle doubts. From beginning to end he had not once considered his life that hung in the balance. The battlefield was savage and cruel; it was a grim passage to fortune and fate.
The instant that thought flickered through his mind, his eyes glowered mercilessly and a surge of wrath and malice began to cloud his thoughts. He could think of nothing but the urge to fight; a deep hatred started to burn in his eyes which was plain for anyone to read.
The battlefield itself soon became his crucible, as each clash and strike removed away any hesitation, turning him into something else. Blood's fear didn't vanish, instead, it hardened his resolve.
Unwittingly, his movement art unfurled and he plunged into the fray. He saw at once that the battlefield's air was different from the world beyond. His technique was then utilized to its limit, and a razor trail of blood cleaved a straight path.
His movements were swift, and his enemies didn't even know who had struck them as bodies fell rapidly to the ground.
All of a sudden, Blood saw with startling clarity as dark, net‑like chains erupted from his body, lashing outward across the battlefield.
They moved toward the fallen warriors and pierced without hesitation. Soon after, the chains seized a pale, luminous substance from each corpse and tore it free, before being dragged together, converging upon him.
Blood's heart pounded as he moved to drive his trident through them, but then, he perceived no malice in their motion and let them pass.
However, he was completely stunned the next instant when they engulfed him, sneaking into his spiritual space. They settled there with calm, encircling the foremost area of the octagonal prism.
Strangely, the moment they settled, his abrasive mind cleared at once and he quickly regained his composure.
Blood didn't dwell on the occurrence, as something like it had happened before, though only a vague memory he could recollect.
Evasive Step...
Blood moved with the movement art, skirting the battlefield and striking only those he could fell in a single blow. He left the stronger enemies for others; there were simply too many foes to waste time on them.
The continuous ring of exp sounded in his head, making him energized and sharpening his focus. His plan was unfolding cleanly with each kill feeding the next. That was until a thunderous bellow split the air and halted the tide.
The shout rolled across the field like a breaking wall, forcing him to pause mid‑arc. The horses surrounding him reared, and his momentum wavered. He then tightened his grip and readied himself for whatever that was.
"Out of the way..." an echo shook the surroundings as its owner moved, and with every thrust of their weapon the enemies were grievously wounded or slain outright.
Ballock moved like a shadow through the enemies, holding the sword he had found in the spatial pouch Blood had gifted him.
The sword had once belonged to the man Blood had met in the Sand‑Scale Forest's Dark Zone, and now it responded in his hand.
The foes around him were mostly in the Iron Realm, while some warriors are below the fifth stage of the Bronze Realm. Soon after, a figure in silver armor stepped forward and barred his way, a sword could be seen hanging at his waist.
Ballock's eyes locked on the man; from the faint radiation of energy, he at once knew the enemy's cultivation base was two stages above his. He tightened his grip and took a stance.
Without overthinking, Ballock lunged and swung his blade at the opponent, who wore a ridiculing smirk. The man didn't budge and met the strike with an even parry and twisted to the side.
The parry carried Ballock forward, and in the follow‑through, the enemy drove a counterstroke that opened a deep cut across Ballock's back, tearing through his thin garments as if they were paper.
Ballock staggered, while the silver‑armored man held his ground with a cold expression.
Ouuh..
Ballock groaned, his eyes riming red. He had watched his friend fell foes one after another and had thought the war looked... simple. He told himself he would do more than just standing in a comfort zone, and so he acted.
At first, he cut down weaker opponents, but then he met one at the third stage of the Bronze Realm and realized he had miscalculated; the strike that opened his back proved how costly that error was.
Nevertheless, that wouldn't stop him. The stroke that should've left him grievously weakened began to heal at an uncanny speed. It didn't take ten seconds before the wound sealed and he stood straight, fixing his gaze on the culprit.
The enemy, who had expected a broken guy, found himself bewildered.
"What the hell! How come you can heal so fast." He roared in anger, obviously befuddled by what he had seen as his face became dark.
Ballock's eyes were suddenly covered in red mist, the usual red hues appeared from his body. He soon drifted into an absentminded haze, completely unaware of himself, not until blood‑like veins crawled from both palms and his grip on the sword tightened until the hilt cracked.
From those life-like veins a pair of segmented stalks unraveled, writhing and slithering through the air like twin serpents, before they shot straight at the stage‑three Bronze warrior.
The stalks moved with sharp speed! They were impossibly swift, appearing above and below the guy in the blink of an eye.
The opponent's ridiculing smile curdled into panic as he slashed wildly at the blood‑like stalks and tried to sidestep... but he was too slow.
The writhing stalks wrapped and tightened, biting through flesh until his limbs were bound; when their grip became firm, they yanked him off balance toward Ballock.
Ballock, with unfamiliar promptness, moved and brought his blade down in a single, merciless arc, cleaving the guy in two.
It all happened in an instant, and the fallen warrior was utterly defenseless against the stalks of blood vein; his end came swift and grotesque.
Ballock's eyes instantly cleared, but the red hues didn't fade, and the blood‑like veins remained visible. He soon regained full control of his body.
It felt as if the earlier scene had been a lesson of how to wield his power; with a flicker of recognition the veins crawled over him, while only the two stalks remained free.
Those twin stalks immediately lashed out like flexible wires. They struck from one enemy to the next; constricting, piercing, and at times flinging opponents high into the air like broken pieces of rock.
Although, a few who engaged, managed to sever a stalk cleanly, but each cut was met by a new stalk that sprouted harder and colder than the last.
The battle looked to have aroused the others, as groups of Bronze Realm warriors below the fifth stage dashed forward in ragged formations.
A tide of blades followed, aiming to overwhelm him.
Ballock soon felt the pressure tightening around him and for a moment thought whether he could hold the line alone; if he couldn't, he would call for help and fall back to regroup.
Unbeknownst to him, another presence had already turned their gaze his way. They had decided to lend a hand when the moment came.