Date: August 2, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The "Dead Loop" gorge filled with the clang of steel and the heavy breathing of the combatants. As soon as Iskon rushed towards the camp's center, the Seventh Detachment's formation dissolved into localized pockets of battle. Elwin felt the air around him become viscous with the concentration of hostile power. He was confronted by two opponents—a burly mercenary with a massive pickaxe and a lithe fighter in a leather cuirass, clutching a pair of serrated daggers. Both were hardened Warriors, their inner power not much weaker than his own.
Elwin activated his Spirit of "Tenacious Memory." The world in his eyes became veiled with a haze of predictions. He saw that in a second, the heavy pickaxe would descend on his left shoulder, and the daggers would try to pierce his thigh. But knowing wasn't the same as winning. The opponents' bodies moved in coordination, covering each other's vulnerable zones.
The pickaxe whistled through the air. Elwin managed to shift, but the second opponent, as if anticipating the maneuver, darted to intercept. A sharp dagger slashed Elwin across the ribs, cutting his travel tunic and leaving a shallow but painful scratch. Blood immediately stained the gray silk of the Order, turning it crimson.
The young man clenched his teeth. His regeneration had already begun its invisible work, but for now, it was only a hindrance, distracting from the fight. Elwin parried another pickaxe thrust, feeling the vibration from the impact echo in his bones. The fight dragged on. The opponents weren't dummies; they used the rocks and the gorge's narrowness against him.
Several minutes of continuous exchanges passed. Elwin caught every fleeting change in their stances, accumulating "memory" of their style. Finally, the moment came. When the mercenary with the pickaxe swung for a powerful blow, Elwin didn't retreat. He stepped forward, under the very haft of the weapon, and simultaneously thrust his elbow back, meeting the dagger-wielder's leap.
A dry crunch was heard. Elwin received another cut on his forearm, but his short sword had already entered the first enemy's chest. Using the dying body as a shield, he turned and finished the second with a precise thrust to the throat. Elwin breathed heavily, wiping blood from his forehead. It hadn't been an easy walk—every inch of victory had been wrested from death with difficulty.
Liana fought nearby, her situation no less dangerous. Against her stood two swordsmen whose training betrayed them as former regular army soldiers. They operated in a classic "cross" pattern, constantly changing the direction of their attacks.
Her Spirit of "Guiding Branch" vibrated, pointing out gaps in their defense, but these windows closed faster than she could strike. Liana moved fluidly, her inner essence was like a gusty wind, but even her speed was barely enough. One sword grazed her cheek, leaving a thin scarlet line, and a second nearly pierced the joint of her pauldron.
"You'll pay for that," Liana said quietly, and her gaze became cold as the ice of the northern lakes.
She began to accelerate the circulation of her energy, forcing her body to move at the limit of its physical capabilities. It was a dangerous tactic for a Warrior—it could quickly exhaust the Vessel—but the situation demanded decisiveness.
The fight had lasted about five minutes. Liana deliberately retreated towards a rock outcropping, narrowing the maneuver space for her opponents. When one of them made a wide swing, hoping to pin her against the rock, the girl suddenly "folded," letting the blade pass over her head. Her own needle-like sword, charged with power, flashed twice in the twilight.
The first swordsman gasped, dropping his weapon—his wrist was severed to the bone. The second tried to shield himself, but Liana had already sensed the "crack" in his movement. She struck not at the shield, but at his supporting leg, sweeping him, and finished the fight with a lightning thrust to the base of his skull.
Liana straightened up, pressing her palm to her cut cheek. The wound stung, but her Warrior-level regeneration had already begun to pull the edges of the cut together. The girl looked around. Elwin had also finished his duel, standing a little apart, examining his wounds.
A heavy suspension of dust and the smell of blood hung in the air. Somewhere in the center of the gorge's hollow, Kaedan was already taking blows from four bandits, and Iskon continued his path towards Tork, ignoring everything else.
Grak the Axe, watching them, nodded almost imperceptibly. His knights had received their first scars, their pride had collided with reality, and now their energy was no longer just a training background, but a means of survival. The real test was only beginning, for every enemy Warrior killed only brought the moment of confrontation with Tork closer.
Liana shifted her blade to a more comfortable grip and moved towards Kaedan. She knew her friends could handle themselves, but in this war, one couldn't leave comrades without cover. Deep in her Vessel, a reserve of strength still remained, and she intended to use it to the last drop.