Chapter 17— When Steel Meets Will
The battlefield did not slow.
It suffocated.
Smoke swallowed the horizon. Ash rained over corpses. The scent of burning wood mixed with blood until the air itself tasted metallic.
Draven stood in the center of it all.
Barely.
Arrows protruded from his back like broken wings. Blood streamed from dozens of cuts. A spear shaft still pierced through his chest, dark red soaking his torn clothing.
Yet he grinned.
Not a wide smile.
Not manic laughter.
A tight, feral curve of the lips.
The kind that said: I am not done.
His breathing came ragged.
Inhale.
Shudder.
Exhale blood.
His vision blurred at the edges, shadows crawling inward.
But his feet remained planted.
Across from him—
Samuel.
Knight General of the Eastern Empire.
His warhorse snorted steam into the ash-filled air, armored hooves crushing bone fragments beneath it.
Samuel studied him.
Really studied him.
This wasn't a tactical evaluation anymore.
This was recognition.
Draven slowly lifted his hand.
Wrapped his fingers around the spear lodged in his chest.
The motion alone made blood spill heavier.
A few nearby knights instinctively stepped back.
Draven tilted his head.
Then—
He snapped the shaft in half.
Wood cracked.
Metal scraped bone.
And without hesitation—
He ripped the embedded spearhead out of his chest.
Blood sprayed outward.
His body trembled violently.
But he did not fall.
He threw the broken shaft aside.
Spat a thick mouthful of blood onto the scorched earth.
Rolled his neck once.
Raised his swords again.
Breathing unstable.
Vision flickering.
Still in stance.
Samuel's blue eyes narrowed.
Then—
He dismounted.
Boots hit the ground with a heavy metallic thud.
He removed his horned helmet slowly.
Placed it down atop a shattered shield.
Ash settled in his dark hair.
He stepped forward.
Voice booming across the battlefield.
"I acknowledge your willpower."
Knights froze.
Even beasts hesitated.
Samuel continued.
"You are a true beast in human form."
Draven laughed hoarsely.
"Flattery from the executioner?"
Samuel lifted one hand.
Without looking away from Draven—
He gestured.
The knights surrounding Draven instantly ceased attacking him.
Instead, they redirected their assault toward the remaining Green Zone beasts.
Draven's eyes flickered sideways.
Wolves still fighting.
Ravens diving.
Shadow spiders crawling under armor.
Samuel had given him space.
Not mercy.
A duel.
Samuel reached behind him.
Gripped the massive sword still wrapped in white cloth.
He stepped forward.
Then vanished in a burst of speed.
The first blow came like thunder.
Draven barely parried.
Steel screamed against steel.
The impact forced him back several meters, boots carving trenches through mud and blood.
Samuel pressed immediately.
Second strike—horizontal sweep.
Draven ducked, countering upward.
Samuel twisted his wrist mid-motion, deflecting effortlessly.
Third strike—overhead cleave.
Draven crossed both swords to block.
Shock traveled through his arms like lightning.
His knees buckled slightly.
Samuel didn't speak.
He attacked.
Relentless.
Disciplined.
Every swing efficient.
Every step measured.
Draven retaliated when he could—
Quick thrusts aimed at joints.
Low sweeps at knees.
But fatigue dulled his timing.
Blood loss slowed his reflexes.
Samuel's blade grazed his ribs.
Another slash opened his thigh deeper.
A heavy pommel strike cracked against his jaw.
Draven staggered.
But didn't fall.
Samuel stepped back half a pace.
Observing.
"You are slowing."
Draven wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Am I?"
He inhaled slowly.
The battlefield noise faded in his ears.
He remembered something.
A memory.
Training with A1.
Endless duels inside the bunker.
Getting knocked down.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until movement became instinct.
Until breathing under pressure became natural.
Until pain stopped meaning panic.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Samuel raised a brow.
Then—
Draven's breathing changed.
Slower.
Controlled.
His stance adjusted subtly.
Lower.
More balanced.
A faint ripple passed through the air around him.
Colorless.
Almost invisible.
Samuel's eyes sharpened.
Behind Draven—
A silhouette manifested.
Not physical.
Not fully formed.
But there.
A figure holding a sword.
A1.
Not summoned.
Not system-generated.
A reflection.
A memory carved so deeply into his body that it manifested as presence.
Both stood in identical stances.
Samuel exhaled softly.
"Interesting."
Draven opened his eyes.
They were calmer now.
Still burning.
But focused.
He stepped forward.
Samuel met him.
Their blades collided again.
This time—
Draven didn't retreat.
He flowed.
Parry.
Shift.
Counter.
Samuel's next strike met precise deflection.
Draven slid inside the arc of the heavy sword, slashing toward Samuel's flank.
Samuel pivoted, cloth wrapping around the blade fluttering violently.
Their movements accelerated.
Steel rang continuously.
Clang.
Clash.
Crack.
Draven's body screamed in protest, but he forced it forward.
The A1 silhouette mirrored his motion a split second ahead—like predictive instinct.
Samuel's smile thinned.
"So that's your answer."
He leapt back several meters.
Looked at the horizon.
The sun was lowering.
Orange light bleeding through smoke.
Dusk approaching.
He chuckled.
A single drop of sweat rolled down his cheek.
"Let's end this quickly."
He planted his feet firmly.
Closed his eyes.
Blue aura began to emanate from his body.
Not explosive.
Not wild.
Controlled.
Refined.
It gathered into his sword arm.
The white cloth wrapped around his blade began to smolder.
Then burn.
Slowly peeling away in strips of blackened fabric.
Revealing—
A massive heavy sword beneath.
Dark steel.
Edge honed to terrifying sharpness.
The surface was covered in countless small nicks and scars.
Sword marks.
Each one a record of battle survived.
A veteran's blade.
Samuel's eyes glowed brighter blue.
Sword aura condensed around the weapon like liquid flame.
Draven felt it instantly.
Pressure.
Weight.
Authority.
Samuel spoke quietly.
"This blade has slain demons."
Draven tightened his grip.
"Good."
Samuel vanished.
The next clash detonated the air.
Blue aura met raw will.
Shockwave blasted outward, throwing nearby corpses aside.
Draven's swords screamed under pressure.
Samuel's blade crashed down with terrifying force.
Draven redirected—barely.
Countered low.
Samuel spun, elbow striking Draven's temple.
Draven stumbled, vision exploding white.
Samuel followed with a diagonal slash.
Draven crossed blades to block—
One sword cracked.
Metal splintered.
He discarded it instantly and continued with one.
Samuel advanced like a tide.
Every strike heavier.
Every impact numbing Draven's arms.
Draven retaliated wildly at first—
Then corrected.
Focused.
A1's silhouette adjusted behind him.
Their synchronization deepened.
Samuel noticed.
"Good."
He increased output.
Blue aura intensified, carving trenches through the ground with residual force.
Draven lunged forward unexpectedly, sliding beneath a heavy swing and stabbing toward Samuel's abdomen.
Samuel twisted at the last second—the blade pierced armor shallowly.
First blood.
Samuel's eyes widened fractionally.
Draven grinned.
Samuel's fist smashed into Draven's ribs in response.
Something cracked.
Draven coughed blood violently.
But stabbed again.
Samuel kicked him backward.
Draven rolled.
Stood.
Wavered.
The world dimmed further.
But he stepped forward again.
Samuel's expression hardened.
"You should fall."
Draven chuckled through blood.
"I don't take orders well."
They clashed again.
And again.
Each impact shook the battlefield.
Knights and beasts paused to witness.
Even warhorses backed away.
Two centers of violence colliding.
Samuel began reading Draven's rhythm.
Adapting.
Draven adjusted in return.
Fatigue slowed him—but instinct compensated.
Samuel swung overhead with full aura.
Draven met it.
Their blades locked.
Faces inches apart.
Samuel spoke low.
"You fight like someone with nothing to lose."
Draven's grin widened.
"Wrong."
He pushed harder.
"I fight like someone who refuses to lose."
Samuel disengaged violently.
Stepped back.
Raised his blade high.
Blue aura flared upward like a pillar.
The sun dipped lower.
Half swallowed by the horizon.
Samuel's silhouette against burning sky.
Majestic.
Terrifying.
Draven tightened his grip.
One sword.
Broken body.
No system.
No magic.
Only will.
Behind him—
A1's silhouette solidified clearer.
Both stepped forward together.
Samuel roared.
Draven roared back.
They charged.
Blue aura collided with colorless will.
The shockwave this time tore trees from roots.
Ash spiraled upward into a vortex.
Steel met steel in a final violent eruption as the sun vanished below the horizon—
And darkness swallowed the battlefield.
TO BE CONTINUED....