Zealth did not move at once.
Dust drifted past him in thin, lazy trails as another panel formed before his eyes—sharp, intrusive, impossible to ignore.
NOTICE!!!
STATUS CHANGE
Weight: Normal
Agility: Normal
Strength: Normal
Initiating ROGUE's unique skill:
'Intimidation'
It vanished as quickly as it came.
Warmth followed.
Not the gentle kind that soothed—but something fuller, deeper, wild, pushing outward from his core. It spread through his limbs, loosening the tension he had for quite a long time. His breath deepened. His shoulders dropped. The familiar drag in his body disappeared, replaced by something unrestrained.
And then—
The air changed.
A pressure rolled outward, unseen yet undeniable, like a tide pressing down on the field. The wind stilled. The grass bowed without touch. Even sound seemed to hesitate before moving.
The legion, Kezo, shifted first.
His shield lifted an inch higher, grip tightening without thought. "What the hell is this…?" he muttered, voice low, edged with discomfort. "Why does he feel heavier all of a sudden?"
Pangil didn't flinch.
If anything, his grin sharpened.
"Relax," he said, almost lazily, spinning a dagger between his fingers. "That's just his trick."
His gaze fixed on Zealth, interest flickering into something brighter.
"So the shabby knight was aRogue all along," Pangil added, amused. "Never thought of that."
The druid, Alan's eyes narrowed behind them, staff held closer now. "Rogues can do this?" he asked, tone measured. "Then why don't more warrior-class players switch?"
Pangil clicked his tongue.
"It's not real strength," he said, shrugging lightly. "Just deception. I've fought one before... it was boring. Like a balloon, feels big—looks dangerous—"
He tilted his head, a smile stretching.
"—but there's nothing inside."
He lowered his stance.
"Stay sharp. We end this."
Kezo answered with motion, spear sliding back into alignment as his shield angled forward. His presence pressed into the space again, reclaiming control inch by inch.
"Alan," he said without looking back, "buff."
A pause.
"…Don't call me that," Alan muttered.
Pangil scoffed. "Then don't name yourself 'KxkX,' idiot."
"If I knew we couldn't change in-game names, I would've picked better."
"You should've read the terms and conditions before playing," Pangil replied. "Idiot."
"Enough," Kezo cut in, voice firm.
His shield rose.
"He's coming."
Zealth exhaled.
Slow. Heavy. Measured.
His stance shifted—not dramatically, but decisively. Both hands settled on the sword. His body angled back, right arm drawing the blade behind him while the left supported the grip. The buckler lifted, steady before him.
No flourish.
No wasted motion.
This wasn't a swing.
It was a line.
A single, precise intention.
The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet as he lowered his center of gravity, compressing movement into stillness.
Then—
It broke.
A sharp burst split the air.
The ground cracked under him as he launched forward, disappearing in the same instant the sound reached them.
For a breath—
Nothing.
Then he was there.
In front of Kezo.
The thrust had already begun.
Clean. Direct. Uncompromising.
The blade drove toward Kezo's head without hesitation.
Kezo reacted on instinct.
His attack collapsed into defense. The spear flicked aside, both hands locking onto the shield as he braced.
Clang.
Steel met steel.
Sparks flared between them, brief and violent.
The impact did not stop.
It did not slow.
Kezo's footing gave way as the force overwhelmed him. His boots tore through the dirt before he was driven back, shield first, sliding across the field under the weight of the strike.
The air shuddered in its wake, and dust spread like smoke.
Then—
A different sound.
Sharp.
Final.
The blade fractured.
A jagged crack split through Zealth's sword, the worn metal giving way at its weakest point. The edge broke unevenly, dull and chipped, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
Silence followed.
Short.
Heavy.
Pangil stared.
Then—
He laughed.
Low at first.
Then wider.
"...Now that," he said, lifting his daggers as his grin returned, brighter than before, "is interesting."
The dust thinned.
Kezo stood where he had been thrown, unmoving at first, shield raised out of habit rather than confidence. It trembled in his grip. A long fracture split across its face, branching into smaller cracks like a spiderweb ready to give way.
"…Damn it," he muttered, lowering it just enough to inspect. "That's going to cost."
For a second, frustration flickered—then he exhaled, steadying himself.
"At least it's not broken."
He dismissed the shield in a flicker of light. His stance shifted immediately—lower, tighter, bare hands raised. His eyes cut toward the spear lying a few steps from Zealth.
I'll take it back when Pangil engages.
Across the field, Zealth adjusted his grip on the broken blade.
Jagged. Shortened. Unreliable.
For him, still usable.
He stepped forward, intent clear—break the formation before it rebuilt.
Pangil was already there. In front of him, with a grin on his face.
"Where are you goin?"
Steel met steel…or what remained of it.
Daggers clashed against the broken edge, sharp and quick. Pangil moved lightly, circling, never planting his feet longer than needed.
"Didn't expect this," Pangil said, grinning through the exchange. "An agility–strength Rogue? That's rare and stupid."
Zealth didn't answer.
He pressed forward.
Faster now.
Heavier.
Each strike carried weight Pangil couldn't fully meet head-on. Pangil deflected, redirected, slipped aside—never blocking cleanly unless he had to.
"More," Pangil continued, tone almost cheerful. "Give me more—"
He ducked under a swing, pivoting behind Zealth in one smooth motion.
"This is annoying." Zealth turned with him, but Pangil was already gone, repositioning again.
More fluid.
More efficient.
The difference was subtle—but real.
Behind them, Alan raised his staff.
"Bind—"
Vines erupted again, faster, sharper.
They caught nothing.
Zealth moved before they formed, cutting through the space Alan predicted rather than the one he occupied.
"…too fast," Alan murmured, adjusting.
Glen lifted his revolver.
He tracked Zealth—waited—adjusted again.
No clear shot.
"Hold still for once," he muttered.
He fired anyway.
Crack.
Kezo had just reached his spear.
The shot struck his shoulder.
"—what the—?!"
He staggered, then glared back. "Watch it!"
"Move better," Glen replied flatly, already re-aiming.
But the moment broke their rhythm.
Zealth took it.
He stepped in.
Fast.
A kick drove into Kezo's abdomen, folding him just enough to disrupt his footing. In the same motion, Zealth turned—
The broken blade cut across Pangil.
Pangil caught it with both daggers—barely—
The force still sent him skidding back, boots tearing through the dirt.
Still, he laughed.
"Yeah—there it is!"
But his eyes flicked—quick, assessing.
That hit's heavier than before. I like it.
Zealth didn't slow.
He pivoted toward Alan.
"—Watch out!" Kezo called, recovering—
Too late.
One clean swing.
The blade struck across Alan's side.
Alan stiffened, breath hitching.
"…He got me," he muttered, wincing as his form flickered faintly, black particles leaking before stabilizing again. He dropped to one knee, clutching his side.
"Stay back," Glen said immediately, shifting position to cover him. His revolver steadied, aim sharper now. "Heal first—don't force it."
Zealth moved again.
Toward Glen.
"Not happening!" Kezo stepped in, spear thrusting forward to intercept.
Wood and broken steel clashed in tight exchanges. Kezo pressed harder now, more direct, guarding angles with instinct rather than structure.
"Pangil—left," Kezo called.
"Got it."
Pangil slipped in immediately, daggers flashing from the blind side.
Zealth shifted—
Too close.
His hand shot out, catching the spear's shaft.
A twist.
A pull.
Kezo's stance broke.
"—Wait—!"
The spear drove into him—not deep, but enough to force him back, knocking the wind from him again.
Kezo coughed, staggering, grip loosening. "Tch… I'm still in—don't count me out."
Glen fired.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
"Stop moving, bastard," he said, voice steady but tighter now.
Zealth avoided most—
One struck his arm.
Another hit his side.
He felt the numbness but, barely faltered.
He closed the distance.
A kick slammed into Glen's chest.
The impact sent him flying into a boulder. He hit hard, sliding down with a grunt, revolver slipping from his hand before he caught it again weakly.
"…Still alive," Glen muttered, pushing himself upright with effort.
Silence settled—brief, strained.
Only one remained.
Pangil stepped forward slowly, rolling his shoulders. His daggers spun once before settling into his grip.
His grin hadn't faded.
If anything—
It had sharpened.
"…You're tearing through us," he said, almost admiring. "You guys good?"
Kezo gave a short nod despite his staggered stance. "Still here."
Alan forced himself upright, one hand on his staff. "I can still cast… just slower."
Glen adjusted his grip, exhaling. "I'll cover."
Pangil's grin widened.
"Good."
His eyes locked onto Zealth again, bright with unfiltered excitement.
"Then we keep going."