A charged silence hung in the air, dense and suffocating, like a storm ready to break. There was no turning back now. Theodric swallowed hard, sweat tracing hot lines down his cheeks. With a single, unwavering resolve, he made the first move.

With a sharp intake of breath, he stepped forward, his seven knives shimmering with immortal energy, the glow pulsating like a heartbeat in his hands. A flick of his wrist sent them hurtling through the air in seamless succession, each blade a whisper of death, gliding like a phantom's touch, silent, precise, and deadly. They tore through the tension like arrows through mist, their presence warping the space around them with sheer velocity.

Nyxander's eyes narrowed, his stance rooted deep into the ground like an immovable mountain. With a swift motion, he swung his butcher knife across his body, the blade cleaving through the air with the effortless grace of a master. Each strike met a flying dagger, sending metallic echoes ringing through the battlefield as the knives were struck down one after the other. But even before the last blade fell, two shadows had already closed in, Karl and Kola, their figures a blur against the sunlit field.

Karl's axe, its blade glistening under the daylight, shimmered with infused energy, while Kola's fists burned with immortal power, crackling like an impending storm. They surged forward, mere inches away from Nyxander.

Karl was the first to strike. With a roar, he brought his axe down with all his might, the force behind it enough to split stone.

But Nyxander's reaction was seamless, fluid, instinctual. His left hand lifted swiftly, his butcher knife intercepting the descending axe in a brutal clash of steel. The force reverberated through the air, kicking up dust and rattling the ground beneath them.

Kola seized the moment, lunging forward, his right fist hurtling toward Nyxander's abdomen with the weight of a meteor.

Yet, in an effortless motion, Nyxander shifted, his right hand shooting across his belly, fingers locking around Kola's fist before it could land. The grip was firm, unyielding, like iron shackles.

Kola's mind raced. He hadn't expected his initial strike to land, but with Nyxander's hands now occupied, there was no way to block what came next. Without hesitation, he threw his left fist forward, aiming straight for Nyxander's exposed ribs. But before it could connect, something unexpected happened.

Nyxander's right arm adjusted with an almost lazy grace, Kola's trapped fist still in his grasp. He angled his body just enough, bringing his elbow down like an unyielding wall, deflecting the incoming strike with the sharp ridge of his olecranon. The impact sent a tremor up Kola's arm, forcing Nyxander to take two measured steps back.

A smirk tugged at Nyxander's lips, his voice smooth yet taunting. "Is this all the strength you've managed to gather?"

Kola's eyes widened, his breath hitching, not from exertion, but from realization. It wasn't over yet.

Meanwhile, unseen by Nyxander, Theodric moved like a shadow at the battlefield's edge, his swift feet barely making a sound as he circled the fight, retrieving his scattered knives one by one.

Karl and Kola, their breath heavy from the brief struggle, exchanged a knowing glance, their lips curling into identical, unspoken smiles. Since the fight is still fresh.

Nyxander's eyes widened, his pupils dilating as if trying to pierce into their minds, to unravel the sudden shift in their tactics.

Then, like a phantom emerging from the void, Lunara lunged from Karl and Kola's rear, her form a mere whisper in their shadows, silent, deadly, precise. She moved like a seasoned assassin, her presence barely registering until she was already upon him.

A glint of silver. A blade cutting through air.

Her left dagger, infused with immortal energy, arced toward Nyxander's throat, its edge thirsting for a decisive strike. It was mere inches from his neck when "Humm." Nyxander smirked, his expression unreadable, his head tilting ever so slightly as if entertained by the unfolding scene.

Lunara's breath caught. Her eyes widened in shock.

In that split second, as Nyxander bent his neck with unnerving grace, four blades streaked past the space where his head had been a moment ago, slicing through the air with a high-pitched hum. Their glow left faint afterimages in their wake, a fleeting testament to their lethal intent.

Lunara wasted no time. She pushed off the ground, flipping backward, retreating to a safer distance. Karl and Kola, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected interference, were forced to fall back as well.

Nyxander, still adjusting his footing, sensed another attack before it even came. His instincts flared.

Three more blades, wrapped in a veil of immortal energy, cut through the air like meteors, hurtling toward his lower jaw with terrifying speed.

With a sharp inhale, Nyxander bent his knees and propelled himself upward, his body twisting midair. The knives passed dangerously close, whispering past his skin, missing by a hair's breadth. His coat fluttered violently in their wake.

As he reached the apex of his spin, his grip tightened around his butcher knife. Then, with a downward swing, he unleashed the full force of his motion.

A howling gust erupted from his blade, a turbulent force crashing toward the ground. The wind, thick with raw energy, tore across the training field, like a roaring beast set free. It struck the earth just before Theodric, sending a wild storm of dust and debris into the air, consuming him in a whirlwind of sand.

A strangled cough broke through the chaos. "Kuff… kuff… kuff!"

Theodric staggered backward, spitting out the grains that had invaded his mouth, his hands slapping at his ears to rid them of the intrusive dust. His expression twisted in annoyance as the dust storm began to settle, revealing his sand-covered form.

"That's too much! Who even uses sand in training?" he protested, shaking his head, still coughing out the remnants of Nyxander's unexpected counter.

Nyxander merely smirked, his stance unwavering, the butcher knife resting idly in his grip as the battlefield once again fell into a charged silence.

"I told you, this is training to prepare and refine both your combat experience and spirit," Nyxander said, his tone firm, unwavering.

But Theodric was not satisfied. He spat out the last grains of sand from his mouth, irritation flickering in his eyes. "But still, using sand... "

Before he could finish, Karl cut in, his voice edged with pragmatism. "Save those words for when you face an opponent who doesn't care about fairness."

Nyxander's brows lifted slightly, a faint smirk dancing at the corner of his otherwise stern face. Karl had not forgotten his words from before. There was sharpness in his reasoning, a growing awareness.

"And on top of that," Karl continued, crossing his arms, "instead of helping, you nearly injured us."

Theodric's face turned away from Karl, swiveling past Lunara and Kola's frowning expression. A shiver ran through him as their locked gaze made him feel as if he had been slain hundreds of times in that fleeting moment. Steeling himself, he turned back to Karl.

"That wasn't intentional! If Boss hadn't dodged it..." Karl yelled, his face twisting into a frown. However, the conversation was abruptly cut short.

Nyxander cleared his throat, his smirk fading into something unreadable. "Just as he said," he replied, his voice taking on a razor-like clarity. "Your enemies won't stop to hear your excuses in battle." His gaze shifted to Theodric, piercing and cold. "And I thought you all were working together as a team… until him" he jabbed a finger at Theodric. "throwing his blades without considering his comrades' safety." His voice carried the weight of disappointment, each word settling over them like a heavy cloak.

A sigh escaped his lips, a sound laden with unspoken expectation. "I was hopeful for nothing," he muttered. "So you were all just striking whenever an opening presented itself, rather than truly coordinating as one."

His grip on the butcher knife tightened, knuckles flexing over the handle. "There's still a long way to go," he said, voice low but cutting through the space like steel.

Then, as if brushing aside his own disappointment, he exhaled sharply. "Forget it. Let's continue."

Without hesitation, Karl, Lunara, Theodric, and Kola fell back into their stances, their bodies coiled like springs ready to strike. One after another, they lunged at Nyxander, their movements more refined, more determined as Their weapons gleamed under the daylight, clashing in a furious symphony of steel, each blade eager to pierce Nyxander's flesh.

The day pressed on, the daylight inching toward the horizon. No spectators lingered, no cheers or gasps broke the air, only the ground bore witness to the fierce exchange of blows, the whispers of weapons meeting flesh and air, and the silent resolve of warriors sharpening themselves against an unrelenting force.

It was as if the battle had never existed in the eyes of those passing by. But to those within it, every clash, every step, and every breath was carved into their very being.

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