Ashes still fell like snow.
The last of the lesser orcs lay dead, their bodies scattered across the ruined village square. Smoke coiled from broken beams, mingling with the scent of blood and burnt wood.
Lyra fell to one knee, her breath ragged. Beside her, Estaria leaned on his sword, sweat and grime streaking his face.
They had won—but barely. Their strength was spent. Their limbs ached. Magic and stamina alike were drained to nothing. It should have been over.
But it wasn't.
From the edge of the scorched treeline, a shadow moved.
Heavy steps. Measured. Silent.
An orc chieftain.
Larger than the others. Armored in thick, spiked plate. Its eyes were devoid of rage or roar—it didn't scream like the rest. It only walked forward with purpose, like a blade drawn in silence.
Estaria tried to stand fully, but his knees buckled. "No… not now…"
Lyra's fingers clenched tighter around her sword. Without a word, she launched forward—her body driven by instinct more than strength. She moved fast. Too fast to think. Too tired to plan. Her blade came down, aiming for the chieftain's leg—a crippling blow.
Clang!
Steel met steel.
Her sword bounced off with a sharp recoil—no damage. The orc's greaves were thick, reinforced. Her blade hadn't even scratched it. Lyra stumbled back, eyes wide. She had nothing left to give.
The orc raised its axe slowly, still wordless. And stepped forward.
---
Estaria's vision swam. His chest heaved with every breath, muscles screaming for rest. Yet his eyes never left her.
Lyra.
She had struck true, fast and fearless—but the blow had done nothing. Her sword clanged harmlessly against the chieftain's blackened armor. She staggered back, nearly losing her footing.
No…
Estaria tried to move, but his legs refused. He could only watch as the orc chieftain raised its axe, looming over her like a living mountain of iron and fury.
Then Lyra lifted her head.
Her eyes shimmered—not with fear, but with resolve.
She whispered something.
A breath, barely audible:
"Shadow of the Moon – Flawless Blade."
In that moment, the world slowed. Her body blurred—and then split. One became five.
Five shadows of Lyra danced across the battlefield like ghostlight—moving with grace, silence, and impossible speed.
They converged on the orc from all sides.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Steel sang in the air, too fast to follow. The chieftain roared, stumbling backward as the shadows sliced through the gaps in its armor, carving deep into flesh beneath steel.
Blood sprayed across the cracked stones. One of the shadows was cleaved in half by the orc's wild counter—but it dissolved into mist.
Estaria's heart pounded as he watched the real Lyra reappear behind the orc, her sword already dripping crimson.
The chieftain turned, staggered, and dropped to its knees.
Five clean wounds burned across its body—neck, ribs, spine, thigh, and chest.
The last shadow faded into the wind.
Estaria's lips parted, a whisper escaping him without thought:
"…She's incredible."
---
The orc didn't fall.
Estaria's eyes widened as the chieftain rose once more—bloodied, wounded, but very much alive. Its breath came out in heavy grunts, steam hissing from its cracked helm. It planted its axe into the ground and pushed itself upright, glaring at Lyra with glowing red eyes.
No… That attack should have finished him…
Lyra didn't falter.
She charged again, a blur of motion—slashes raining down with the last of her strength. Sparks flew as her blade clashed with the orc's armor, cutting deeper this time, carving new wounds into the beast's torso and arm. But still—it refused to fall.
A sudden screech tore through the air.
Estaria turned—too late.
A goblin, hunched and feral, leapt from the shadows of a collapsed house, dagger in hand. It tackled him to the ground, the blade missing his throat by inches.
"AGH—!"
Estaria rolled, grabbing the goblin's wrist, barely holding it back as the dagger trembled above his face. The creature snarled, breath reeking of rot and blood. He had no strength left to throw it off.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lyra scream as the orc caught her mid-swing, smashing her aside with a backhand strike that sent her crashing through a wooden beam.
"LYRA!"
The goblin hissed, pressing harder.
Estaria's hand searched blindly, grasping for a shard of wood and start fighting with it
They came like rats in the dark.
First one… then two… then five. Goblins poured out of the ruins like a tide of snarling filth. Their yellow eyes gleamed with hatred and hunger. Tiny daggers stabbed down—into his chest, into his arm, one slicing across his ribs. Estaria screamed, the sound ragged, raw.
Blood sprayed.
He tried to move, to fight, but they were everywhere. One clawed at his face. Another dug its blade into his thigh and twisted. He couldn't even scream anymore—only gurgle. The pain was too much. His fingers curled against the dirt.
Is this it…?
He could feel his body giving in. Vision blurring. The ground soaking warm beneath him.
Somewhere in the distance, Lyra screamed—her sword clashing again with the orc chieftain.
But he couldn't help her.
He couldn't even help himself.
"Ah.. is this the end?"
His fingers twitched.
Not giving up. Not yet.
He grips the piece of wood tightly, blood oozing from his hand
"This is not the end. It will not end like this."
He swung upward, striking the closest goblin square in the face. It yelped, falling back—giving him enough space to rise, to swing again. More goblins came, but he was ready.
Every strike brought more pain. More blood. More wounds.
But he didn't stop.
Suddenly, one goblin dropped, then a second.
Yet his body refused to obey — drained of strength, he was unable to move or fight any longer. He falls to the ground once more, barely able to stay conscious.
It was only then that he saw them.
A pack of wolves.
Three, maybe four. Black fur streaked with silver, eyes glowing like gold. They leapt from the shadows and fell upon the goblins, fangs flashing.
Snarls and shrieks filled the air as the wolves tore into the horde with vicious intensity.
"If only I had the strength," he muttered.
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky and struck him. He gained a power — he was never useless, only a late awakener.
An immense surge of power slammed into his body — he could feel it in his bones, in his very spine. Something about his skill had changed… but he didn't yet know what.
He fainted.
A heartbeat later, he heard something else.
Panting. Footsteps.
He opened his eyes—and found himself staring at a pair of boots.
"Hah… hah… you're still alive, huh?" A female voice whispering.
Estaria lifted his head—and saw Lyra's face, dirt-streaked and bloodied.
"Lyra, your face—you should see yourself first."
Lyra described how she had wiped out the rest of the enemy forces
He laughed at that, then winced as pain shot through his ribs. "What about you? Are you okay…?"
Then, without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. Her skin was warm against his. He could hear her heartbeat, fast and heavy. She was so close, he could smell the faint scent of lilac.
"I'm more than okay, Thank you, idiot " she whispered.
Estaria's breath caught in his throat.
Out of nowhere, the system appeared, causing him to startle.
"What the heck is this ???"