"Defensive formation! Beware of the plague—guard against the poison damage!"
Priest Richard raised his shield to block the surging tide of insects, his voice steady yet urgent as he commanded his men. "Priests! Purify the air! Paladins, activate your flame aura!"
But not everyone had Richard's experience in battling the forces of Chaos. A few slower priests and paladins were instantly overwhelmed by the swarm—within seconds, their flesh was stripped away, leaving only gleaming bones clattering to the ground.
Beyond the lord's manor, reinforcements from other temples had arrived. Under the leadership of several veteran clerics, they quickly raised a powerful barrier outside the castle, sealing off the entire area. No matter what kind of chaos contamination occurred, it would be contained within the manor grounds. Thanks to them, the plague swarm didn't spread to the city proper.
Even so, nearly half of the defenders had already fallen, writhing in agony from the insects' venom. The paladins and priests with purification abilities were desperately overworked, running from one fallen ally to the next.
Meanwhile, the witcher Gonz was already galloping away from the chaos, having seized a squad of paladins and commandeered enough horses to ride toward the heart of the threat. He could only hope his newly accepted apprentice could once again perform a miracle—just long enough to hold the line until he arrived.
At that very moment, that same apprentice, Aldric, had just pressed the "Level Up" option—making a desperate attempt to reverse the tide, or perhaps, to make one last struggle before death.
"Your profession [Witcher] has advanced to Level 3."
"You have gained a new class skill: [Witcher's Craft: Universal Sword Oil]."
[Universal Sword Oil]
Since the corruption of Chaos began, new kinds of non-human life have appeared every day. The witchers' traditional alchemy of sword oils has evolved through countless battles, reaching a new height: the Universal Sword Oil.
Hailed as the greatest invention since Valyrian steel, this pre-mixed oil base can be customized by adding a small sample of the target creature's tissue—preferably its blood—along with a drop of the witcher's own.
After stirring gently, it becomes a specialized oil within 30 seconds to 3 minutes, dealing extra damage to that specific foe. Although slightly weaker than traditionally brewed oils, its universality and flexibility have made it popular among all schools—except the School of the Viper, who still insist on tradition despite the cost.
Before Aldric could even study the new talent's details, a golden system notification—unlike the usual black text—flashed across his vision, its sudden brightness nearly blinding him. He barely dodged a sweeping tentacle by reflex!
Thinking fast, Aldric abandoned one of his daggers, braced his left hand on the ground, and cast Aard to blast himself backward, evading the strike at the last possible second.
"Because you possess the talent[Enemy of Chaos], your class skill[Witcher's Craft: Universal Sword Oil]has undergone mutation."
"Your hatred for Chaos runs so deep that it has changed your very flesh. While other witchers spend fifty gold coins on a single dose of Universal Oil, you discover that your own blood is the ultimate sword oil! Its effect is stronger than even the finest traditionally brewed oils made by a Viper School master."
"Your class skill[Witcher's Craft: Universal Sword Oil]has been replaced and turned into a new talent:[Iron and Blood: The Slayer's Path].You can no longer use traditional oils—your blood has been permanently altered."
[Iron and Blood: The Slayer's Path]:Civilization stands upon the clash of iron and blood—not upon justice, nor profit. No matter the side, only those who pay enough in blood can endure. Better to break the body than bend the will. Coat your weapon in your own blood to deal double damage to Chaos creatures. Your wounds will not heal until your enemies are utterly annihilated.
There was no time to check his new stats. Aldric used Aard again, launching himself into the air to dodge another lashing tentacle. The tip of the appendage split into eight fleshy petals, lined with writhing teeth like a living grinder—it nearly grazed his cheek as it passed.
The mutated black-robed cultist, now resembling a beholder with multiple eyes and tendrils, focused part of its attention on Aldric. Its distraction slowed the expansion of the pulsating, fleshy platform beneath them.
If not for his Lightning Reflexes, which briefly slowed time, Aldric would have been torn apart long ago by the relentless storm of tentacles—some whipping, some stabbing—forcing him to stay hyper-alert, his nerves burning with adrenaline.
He caught sight of Vittoria fighting in the distance, her twin blades flashing as she used the terrain to throw a lighter cultist off the platform. But as the living floor expanded, that tactic was becoming useless. Two of the armored plague warriors had already broken off to flank Aldric.
Knowing his time was short, Aldric rolled away from another strike, retreating from the tentacled cultist's reach. That was when he noticed—no matter how wild its attacks were—four particularly thick tentacles remained buried deep within the bloody floor, motionless. The giant eye atop its body was chanting in a guttural, ancient tongue.
It was casting a spell! It couldn't move while doing so!
Kneeling on one knee, Aldric gulped in air. Though it was thick with toxins and the sickly-sweet scent of decay, he still sucked it down greedily, desperate to recover even a little stamina. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, and sweat streamed down his face, matting his black hair against his skin.
But even through the pain, his blood boiled with exhilaration.
This… this was the kind of battle he lived for!
"System," Aldric muttered between breaths, a grin spreading across his face. "You got one thing right—truth can only be proven through iron and blood!"
How long had it been since he'd faced such a foe? Since he'd felt that sharp thrill of life and death? A real man could only grow stronger on the edge of survival!
He clenched his left hand, the one wrapped with a pendant, against the blade of his right-hand knife. His vertical pupils gleamed with fighting spirit.
"Let my blood of nourish the soil of the faithful!"
Aldric charged toward the giant eye shielded by layers of tentacles, like an arrow loosed from a bow.
One! Two! Three!
With his reflexes and agility, he leapt and weaved past the first three strikes!
Three meters! Two meters!
The target was within reach!
His knife flashed from its sheath—hot blood splattered from his palm, painting the blade a vivid red!
And then—he struck.
(End of Chapter)