The story continues.....
Legendary Encounter — The Mudborn Vanguard
The abandoned orc village did not echo.
It absorbed sound.
Broken huts leaned inward like rotting teeth. Bone totems loomed overhead, their hollow sockets filled with fog. The merchants huddled near the center, clutching lanterns that trembled violently in their hands.
Then the ground breathed.
A low, wet pulse rippled through the mud streets.
Alfred's instincts screamed.
"Defensive circle," he ordered calmly—too calmly for the terror pressing against his spine. "Protect the merchants. Whatever comes out… we do not let it reach them."
Simon drew his blade. His grip was tight, knuckles pale, but his stance was solid. No hesitation.
Armin said nothing.
His shadow stretched unnaturally long beneath the lantern light.
The mud rose.
Fifteen figures pulled themselves from the ground as if the swamp itself were birthing soldiers. Their bodies were sculpted from dense, compacted mud layered with hardened black soil—each movement shedding wet clumps that hissed when they touched the ground.
But it was their weapons that froze blood.
Mithryl.
Dragon-slaying metal.
Blades, spears, hooked chains—crudely forged yet terrifyingly functional—etched with dark runes that pulsed like diseased veins.
"These aren't monsters," Simon whispered.
Alfred's eyes narrowed. "No. They're constructs."
The first one lifted its head.
Where a face should be, there was only a smooth mask of mud—until it split open, revealing a vertical mouth glowing with sickly violet light.
A bell rang.
Clink.
All fifteen moved at once.
The village exploded into chaos.
Mudborn charged with unnatural speed, their heavy bodies moving like disciplined soldiers. One leapt high, bringing a mithryl halberd down toward the merchants.
Alfred intercepted it mid-air.
His golden aura ignited.
Steel met mithryl.
The impact detonated outward, shattering bone totems and blasting mud in all directions. Alfred skidded backward, boots carving trenches into the ground.
"Too heavy," he growled. "And reinforced with dark magic."
Simon didn't wait.
He darted forward, low and fast, slicing through the leg joints of another construct. His blade cut deep—but instead of blood, black sludge poured out, immediately crawling back into place.
"Tch—regeneration!"
The Mudborn retaliated.
A chain wrapped around Simon's arm and yanked him off his feet. He slammed into a hut wall, wood splintering around his back.
"Simon!" Armin shouted.
The bell rang again.
Louder.
Armin stepped forward.
The Shadow–Thunder Dragon Sword thrummed violently, reacting to the mithryl weapons like a predator sensing rivals. Black lightning crawled up his arm, biting into muscle and nerve.
Pain flared.
He welcomed it.
"Stay behind me," he told the merchants quietly.
Then he vanished.
A thunderclap split the village.
Armin reappeared inside the formation of the Mudborn, blade already descending. Shadow and lightning fused into a single arc that cleaved one construct clean in half.
For the first time—
The Mudborn screamed.
Not with mouths.
With runes.
Dark symbols across their bodies flared violently, destabilizing their forms. Two more turned toward Armin immediately, weapons locking onto him with mechanical precision.
Alfred saw the opening.
"Simon! With me!"
Despite the blood running down his face, Simon grinned. "Was waiting for that."
They charged together.
Alfred's sword blazed gold as he severed the head of one Mudborn, driving his blade straight through the glowing core within its chest. Simon followed, spinning low, embedding his sword into another's knee before ripping upward through its torso.
Mud and magic erupted.
But the remaining constructs adapted.
They changed formation.
Five broke off—straight toward the merchants.
"No!" Simon shouted.
The ground beneath the merchants erupted.
Mudborn claws burst upward, grabbing legs, dragging people screaming into the earth.
Armin turned.
The bell screamed.
Something snapped inside him.
His shadow stood up.
It tore itself free from the ground, towering behind him—an enormous silhouette of night threaded with stars, echoing Leon's constellation marks.
The swamp recoiled.
Armin raised his sword with both hands.
"Get away from them."
The shadow obeyed.
It surged forward like a tidal wave of darkness, slamming into the Mudborn assault squad. Mithryl weapons shattered. Constructs were crushed, torn apart, consumed by shadow that devoured magic itself.
Silence fell for half a heartbeat.
Then the final five advanced.
Slower.
Heavier.
Different.
Their mithryl weapons glowed crimson now—overloaded, unstable.
Alfred realized too late.
"They're going to self-destruct!"
"Then we end it now!" Simon roared.
The final clash was brutal.
Alfred impaled one Mudborn through the chest, anchoring it in place as it detonated—golden aura shielding him from the blast.
Simon leapt through smoke and debris, plunging his blade into another's core, twisting until the runes collapsed inward.
Armin faced the last three alone.
Mud fists struck him—one shattered his ribs, another slammed him into the ground.
He rose anyway.
Bleeding.
Smiling.
The bell rang one final time.
He swung.
The Shadow–Thunder Dragon Sword howled.
Lightning fell from the sky.
Shadow swallowed the earth.
When it ended, the mud was still.
Fifteen constructs lay broken.
The village stood—barely.
The merchants lived.
Simon dropped to one knee, breathing hard. Alfred leaned on his sword, staring at Armin like he was seeing him for the first time.
Armin looked down at his trembling hands.
"…They're testing me," he whispered.
From deep beneath the swamp, something ancient shifted.
And somewhere far away—
Someone smiled.
We see that dark shadow entity from before standing ln a tall tree branch watching the fight silently with a maniacal smile on its face
To be continued.....