Date: August 2, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
While Elwin and Liana performed their elegant and deadly dances on the flanks, in the very center of the gorge, Kaedan stood like a breakwater against which the storm broke. He was surrounded by four. These were not random vagabonds—before him stood professional mercenaries, whose inner essence corresponded to the Warrior rank. They moved in coordination, understanding that before them was not just a knight, but a living fortress.
Kaedan activated his Spirit. The air around him thickened for a moment, and from the gray haze materialized massive basalt pauldrons, a cuirass, and vambraces. The young man felt his energy fill every crevice of his stone armor, making it one with his bones.
"Look at his legs!" shouted one of the bandits, armed with a long halberd. "There's no stone there!"
The enemies attacked simultaneously from four sides. The spearman aimed at the unprotected thigh, two swordsmen tried to flank from the rear, and the fighter with the heavy mace wound up for a crushing blow to the head.
Kaedan didn't flail. He abruptly closed the distance with the spearman, taking the halberd's thrust on his basalt pauldron. A screech of metal on stone sounded, sparks flew into Kaedan's face, but the armor held, only covered with a fine network of scratches. In the same second, the young man delivered a short, powerful punch with his vambraced fist straight into the enemy's chest.
The sound of the impact resembled the collision of two heavy boulders. The bandit's ribs crunched, and he flew back, but the remaining three were already upon him. One of the mercenaries' swords slashed Kaedan behind the knee—the young man only managed to twist his torso slightly, turning a fatal cut into a painful but shallow wound. Hot blood immediately ran down his shin, but Kaedan didn't even flinch. His regeneration was already concentrating resources at the site of the cut.
The fight entered a phase of attrition. Kaedan used his mass and the density of his armor to simply push opponents out of advantageous positions. The bandits were cunning: they didn't try to pierce his cuirass, knowing it was useless. They aimed for the joints, the neck, under the helmet.
The fighter with the mace seized a moment and brought his weapon down on Kaedan's back. The blow was so strong that the young man staggered, and the air whistled from his lungs. The internal shock resonated with a dull pain in his kidneys, but the steel of the cuirass and the density of his inner essence cushioned most of the impulse. Kaedan, using the inertia of the blow, made a sharp turn, and his basalt fist smashed into the attacker's temple. The bandit collapsed onto the stones without a sound.
Two remained. Seeing their comrades fall, they switched to defense, trying to wait for Kaedan to tire. But they didn't know that in the North, the Order's training taught fighters to draw strength from the cold itself.
Kaedan felt his Vessel pulse, distributing energy throughout his body. The wound on his thigh still ached, but the bleeding had almost stopped. He took a step forward, and the stones under his boots crunched plaintively—his weight in armor was colossal.
"Your turn," Kaedan uttered hollowly, addressing the swordsman who looked the most experienced.
The enemy tried a feint, rolling away, but Kaedan simply stepped on his sword blade, pinning it to the ground. An ordinary man would have broken his leg, but Kaedan simply stamped the steel into the mud. Before the bandit could release the hilt, the young man delivered a crushing downward blow with his elbow. The stone protection of the pauldron acted like a press.
The last opponent, throwing down his weapon, tried to flee into the fog, but Kaedan didn't let him go. A short burst, a grip on the throat—and a moment later, the fourth enemy fell silent.
The young man stood in the middle of the gorge's hollow, breathing heavily. His armor was covered in dents, dirt, and patches of someone else's blood. A gash gaped on his thigh, and his back ached from the mace blow, but overall, Kaedan remained combat-ready. He looked at his hands—the stone of the vambraces shimmered with a deep gray light. He felt his power had become even denser. One more such fight, and his Armor would demand completion. He needed greaves, so no one could aim at his legs anymore.
Liana and Elwin approached him, wiping their blades as they came. "How are you, Stone Wall?" Liana asked, glancing at his bloody leg.
"I've been worse," Kaedan replied, allowing his Spirit to slowly dissolve. The stone plates vanished, leaving him in his ordinary field gear, which now felt suspiciously light. "Those guys knew where to hit."
He looked around. Almost all the bandits were dead or bound. Grak the Axe still stood motionless on the rock, but now his gaze was fixed on the center of the camp. There, among the dying fires, Iskon had finally stopped in front of Tork "Bloodbrand."
The real battle lay ahead. Kaedan clenched his fists. Despite his fatigue and wounds, he was ready to intervene at any second, for the silence that had fallen over the gorge was only the herald of a storm in which a Warrior would have to face a Pillar.