POV: Gorfolt Joylore
Gorfolt, the chief of knights of House Joylore, remained motionless on the stone wall of the estate, his eyes fixed on the horizon stretching beyond the plains. The cutting night wind shook the house's golden banners, while torches scattered across the courtyard illuminated the warriors on patrol. The grand noble residence of the Joylore family, located outside the limits of Milishion, maintained considerable autonomy—a reflection of the power and influence its lineage had cultivated over the decades.
The alliance with the Cardinal Faction, the faction advocating for the expulsion of demonic races, guaranteed House Joylore privileges and political security. However, in recent years, this stability had been eroded by the growing restlessness of its leader. Linstar Joylore was consud by fear and obsession. The knight commander saw it clearly. The man who once ruled with unquestionable authority was now sinking into paranoia and insomnia, plagued by recurring nightmares.
The origin of his tornt traced back to four years ago, when he had hired a North Saint, a renowned assassin nad Kalinóski. The mission was simple: eliminate the last surviving assassin responsible for his parents' deaths.
Everything was planned. Linstar had conducted thorough investigations and was certain that the target would return to help her tribe in a ti of need, and a North Saint should have been able to kill her with relative ease. But the plan failed catastrophically. Not only did Kalinóski fail to complete his task, but he also t a humiliating death. Rumors claid that the one responsible for this turn of events was rely a six-year-old beast child, aided by Verdia Solarion, the true target of the attack.
The knight commander vividly recalled the impact of this news on Linstar. He had refused to believe it, roaring in rage and disbelief in the main hall. The idea that a brat barely out of infancy had overco a North Saint seed absurd—an affront to logic. But the survivors' reports were consistent. With each ssenger bringing new information about the child, Linstar's expression grew darker, his eyes carrying a silent fury that threatened to explode at any mont.
Not satisfied, Linstar sought out another assassin, soone even more formidable. That was when he contacted Larax, a King of the North, a feared rcenary across the Begaritt continent. If Kalinóski had failed, then a warrior of even greater caliber should be sufficient. However, Larax refused the contract upon discovering the target's identity. "If it were just the elf, fine, but I don't kill children," was his response. The unexpected rejection sent Linstar into despair. His face turned pale, his expression a mix of incredulity and uncontrollable fury.
From that mont on, the na of that boy beca a specter—a shadow looming over House Joylore. Over the years, the young beast's skills continued to grow at an alarming rate. Stories about him spread like wildfire. Linstar began losing sleep, the deep bags under his eyes reflecting the crushing weight of his paranoia. His nightmares were filled with visions of the boy becoming an unstoppable monster, coming to destroy everything he had built since his parents' deaths. Imagine that—the boy's master had killed his parents, and now the disciple would co to finish off the son.
The guard sighed, shaking his head. To him, all of this was unnecessary. What was the point of so much effort against a re child? A six-year-old brat killing a Saint? That was a joke! If it were true, then now, at ten years old, he should be out there massacring emperors? The thought made him scoff, but his expression soon turned serious. The knight commander found it all madness, but he was loyal to House Joylore. If Linstar believed in this, then it was his duty to ensure that House Joylore was prepared.
He turned his gaze to the great fortress behind him, where lights shone through the windows of the main hall. The atmosphere inside was tense. The Joylore family could feel the patriarch's strain. The servants spoke in whispers, the children avoided questioning their father about his constant worry. Even Linstar's wife, Lady Felina, could no longer soothe him as she once had. He had beco an obsessed man, and that obsession was slowly poisoning everything around him.
The house leader had no other contacts of King-level assassins to hire, so he decided to make preparations for when the boy arrived. He reached out to Kalinóski's disciple, a new North Saint nad Urai, and hired him as a temporary guard. Additionally, he forged disadvantageous alliances with other noble houses to secure help in dire tis and even negotiated with Galgard, the commander of the Church's Order of Knights, claiming he was being hunted and forging evidence of threats against his life, securing two personal guards at the Saint level.
Of course, all these negotiations were conducted with extre secrecy and only with high-ranking individuals, so very few were aware of what was happening. As a result, House Joylore, with its barriers and reinforcents, had beco an extrely secure place. However, these maneuvers were gradually staining the house's trust among its allies.
He cast a look at the horizon and recalled the past few months. The house leader had grown even more anxious upon learning of the rise of the so-called Iron Legion. He had tried to convince Milis to eliminate this organization before it grew too powerful and, indeed, had garnered so support. After all, the Legion's activities were directly interfering with the interests of many noble houses. Freeing slaves? Teaching them trades? That was dangerous—a threat to the established order.
But in the end, his request was unanimously denied. And the reason for this boiled down to a single na: the Red Wolf. Rygar's feat of reducing the Black Troll rcenary Group to ashes had spread so fear. No one wanted to provoke him, as, until that mont, he had done nothing directly against Milis.
But Linstar Joylore would not accept this. He knew. He was certain that boy would co after him sooner or later. He couldn't wait for that to happen. So he decided to strike first. However, the boy was not where they expected. After so conflict with the Iron Legion, they decided to capture several Legion mbers as hostages to lure him out and, perhaps, obtain valuable information.
As he pondered, the guard turned his gaze to the plains. For an instant, sothing glead in the distance. Lightning? He blinked, trying to understand what he was seeing. And then, in the blink of an eye, a beast-like figure shot toward him, lightning dancing in its claws.
His eyes widened. His instincts scread in alarm. He opened his mouth, desperately drawing breath to shout a warning, but all he could do was gather his final thoughts.
"ENEMY ATT—!"
The impact ca before he could finish.
POV: Rygar Adoldia
Rygar charged at the barrier surrounding House Joylore's mansion with overwhelming speed. Lightning crackled around his claws, pulsating with destructive energy. In the next instant, the barrier cracked like fractured glass before shattering into fragnts of blue light.
The guard standing before the door barely had ti to react, managing only to let out a startled cry. A fierce strike tore through his throat, silencing him before he could finish his warning.
The young beastman moved like a predator unleashed upon defenseless prey. His senses were razor-sharp, picking up every sound, every scent. Bodies fell around him, his enemies unable to comprehend what had struck them.
It didn't matter who they were—servants, guards—everything that moved was rcilessly slain. The stench of fear saturated the air, mingling with the scent of warm blood. Yet, amidst it all, sothing stood out. Rygar lifted his head and sniffed. He could sense it. Kidar, Taes, and the other warriors were beneath the mansion.
He was no longer conscious of his own thoughts. His instincts had taken over, whispering only one command: Protect your pack. Kill your enemies.
His eyes glead with silent fury as he looked at his hand, charred from the lightning. His skin was burned, but it slowly regenerated. Before he could reflect on it further, a shiver ran down his spine.
Suddenly, sothing cold touched his neck.
A thin blade pressed against his skin, sinking in just enough to draw blood. His instincts roared in alarm, and without thinking, Rygar leapt backward. The tal sliced across his neck, leaving a thin line of red, but it wasn't deep enough to be fatal. He landed on all fours, his stance that of a beast preparing to pounce.
Narrowing his eyes, he launched himself forward without hesitation. His claws aid straight for his attacker's throat, a savage, lethal strike. But once again, danger flashed before him. Sothing made him hesitate for just a fraction of a second, and instinctively, he pulled his arm back. At that precise mont, a sword glead in the air, slicing just milliters from his forearm. Had he continued his attack, his arm would have been severed.
Even so, a shallow wound opened, blood dripping onto the floor.
Rygar retreated, still on all fours. His tail swayed from side to side, his fur bristling, his ears twitching at every sound. A deep, threatening growl rumbled in his throat.
Three figures stepped forward.
Two warriors in golden armor approached, the sacred insignias of the Order of Milis gleaming on their chests. Between them stood a slender swordsman, holding a thin blade that still dripped with blood. His cold eyes studied Rygar with curiosity.
"Urai, what is this?" one of the paladins asked, frowning. "You said he was a skilled swordsman and mage. But the boy isn't even using a sword—he fights like a wild beast."
The swordsman, Urai, chuckled, twirling his blade between his fingers.
"I'm surprised too. The reports we have on him seem... inaccurate. But hey, that's an advantage for us, isn't it?"
The other paladin scoffed, clearly unimpressed.
"Three Saint-ranked warriors ganging up on a child... If word gets out, we'll be a laughingstock. Where's that old man from House Joylore?"
Urai smirked and shrugged.
"Feel free to fight him alone, then. The old man said he has to protect Linstar from any other threats that might show up."
The warrior remained silent for a mont before assuming the classic defensive stance of the Water God Style. His gaze locked onto Rygar, analyzing him carefully.
"To think he'd dare attack a noble house alone... I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't seeing it myself. This is an insult to Saint Milis. Rember, even if we can't kill him, we just have to hold out until Lord Bonart arrives—he'll make quick work of this heretic."
Rygar only growled in response, his eyes smoldering like embers. His muscles were tense, electricity crackling around him. His body instinctively prepared for the next attack.
Then, in a flash of lightning, Rygar lunged.
He was no longer the sa. He wasn't just fighting—he was annihilating everything in his path. His speed was beyond human, nearly impossible to track. His fist tore through the air, striking with such force that the ground trembled beneath him.
He charged at the nearest enemy—a paladin. The impact was colossal. The knight, wielding both a sword and a shield, managed to block the punch, but the sheer force sent him skidding ten ters backward. Rygar didn't stop. He was already in motion again, a blur of destruction, his power manifesting in raw, untad brutality.
Urai reacted swiftly, sidestepping Rygar's assault. With fluid precision, his sword sliced through the air, aiming for Rygar's throat. But Rygar was faster. He evaded at the last second, forced to retreat only because of the second paladin reinforcing the attack with his broadsword.
The three enemies were relentless, their strikes coordinated and deadly. They attacked together, forcing Rygar to dodge and counter at a furious pace. Every blow he landed was like a thunderclap, yet he barely used his greatest advantage—his magic.
Rygar's body was covered in blood, but he felt nothing. No pain, no satisfaction. He was lost in the frenzy, every attack, every strike, every wound on his enemies an extension of his own primal rage. This was no re battle—it was the full expression of his beastly nature, unleashed at last.
The battlefield lay in ruins, and at its center, Rygar stood, breathing heavily. Blood dripped from his body, yet he felt no exhaustion—only an uncontrollable, murderous instinct.
Urai, now confident in their victory, smirked as he stepped forward. He knew they had the advantage. Rygar wasn't even using half of his true strength.
"When I'm done with you," Urai sneered, his voice laced with hatred, "I'll hunt down that bitch, Verdia Solarion, the one who helped kill my master!"
The words cut through the air like sharpened blades.
Verdia Solarion.
The na crashed through Rygar's mind like a surge of electricity. Sothing inside him trembled, as if the chains of his fury had finally snapped. Verdia—his ntor, the woman he deeply respected.
He stopped moving. His mind wavered between reason and instinct. His focus returned, though only faintly, the rage still simring like a slow-burning fire in his chest. His eyes burned with newfound intensity as he gazed ahead.
He knew what he had to do.
For the first ti in a real battle—he drew both of his swords.
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