Captain: Wally Iron.
"How is he even alive?" Lin thought, her mind reeling as she stared at the man.
"Captain Iron, this strange man suddenly attacked us out of nowhere!" Aldot shouted, clutching the bloody stump of his severed arm, his voice strained with pain and rage.
The man—Captain Iron—stood there, his gaze cold and calculating. He paused as if to consider Aldot's words. "I see," he said at last, his tone measured and calm.
Slowly, Captain Iron raised an arm, ready to issue an order. Knife tensed, his body coiled like a spring, prepared to strike.
"You're free to go," Captain Iron declared, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Huh?" The collective disbelief was palpable.
"What do you mean, Captain? He attacked us! Look at what he did to my arm!" Aldot roared, his face twisted in pain and outrage.
"Oh, really?" Iron replied, his voice cool and steady. "According to my sources, it was you who were the instigators."
Aldot faltered, rendered speechless by the captain's accusation.
Captain Iron's piercing gaze swept across the scene. "Everything that happens at this border, I know about. That's why it's impossible to breach. When I'm here, nothing gets past the Iron Wall—that is me." His declaration was bold and unyielding, his presence radiating an unshakable confidence.
Knife's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a wild, unrestrained energy. "This guy," he muttered, almost to himself. "He's different. I can tell just by looking at him… I want to fight him." His blood surged with excitement.
Without warning, Knife launched himself forward, a blur of motion. His fist shot toward the captain in a punch too fast for most to follow.
But before his blow could land, a barrier of shields materialized, blocking his path.
"Tch," Knife spat, stepping back, his grin never faltering. "These guys are on another level, too."
Captain Iron's expression didn't change. He regarded Knife with a steady gaze. "Knife the Sharp, am I right? I'm surprised that you attacked, even when so heavily outnumbered."
Knife chuckled darkly, his wicked smile widening. "I've been alone all my life. This isn't any different."
"I understand," Iron said, closing his eyes briefly, as if acknowledging Knife's words. Then his eyes snapped open, colder than ever. "But seeing you attack without provocation—this time, you are the instigator."
With a decisive motion, Captain Iron raised his arm again. His voice rang out like a clarion call.
"Soldiers—ATTACK!"
The two rows of spearmen lunged at Knife simultaneously, their synchronized assault a testament to their rigorous training. Their spears thrust forward with deadly precision, aiming to pin Knife down before he could retaliate.
Knife danced backward, his movements fluid yet erratic, narrowly dodging the first wave of strikes. He ducked low, the whistle of spears slicing the air above his head. Twisting his body, he rolled away, evading the second line of spearmen, their coordinated attack narrowly missing its mark.
Captain Iron stood at the edge of the fray, his arms crossed, his gaze calculating. "Don't give him space. Tighten the formation. Box him in!" he commanded, his voice firm yet calm. The spearmen adjusted their positions swiftly, circling Knife in a tighter ring. Each step was deliberate, every thrust of their spears measured to push Knife into a corner.
Knife's grin faltered as the circle of spearmen closed in around him, their movements seamless. The air grew thick with the tension of trained precision, each soldier moving like a cog in a well-oiled machine. Knife twisted, his sharp eyes darting for an opening, but every gap was filled before he could exploit it.
With a growl, Knife lunged toward the weakest link in the formation, a younger spearman whose stance faltered just slightly under the pressure. Knife's fist shot forward, aiming for the soldier's midsection—a calculated strike to break the line.
CLANG!
A towering shield slammed into place, the force reverberating through the battlefield like a gong. Knife's punch collided with the reinforced surface, the sheer power of his blow leaving a faint dent, but the shield did not yield. The shield-bearer stood firm, bracing against the impact with the discipline of a veteran.
"Predictable," Captain Iron murmured, his tone almost pitying. "Do you truly think brute force will break this formation?"
Knife snarled, withdrawing his hand quickly as spears darted toward him from both sides. He twisted his body, narrowly avoiding a thrust aimed for his ribs, and kicked off the ground to flip over another. His agility was almost supernatural, but the shield unit anticipated his trajectory.
Before Knife could land, another shield rose to meet him mid-air. He slammed into the unyielding metal with a grunt, the impact forcing him to somersault backward to regain his footing.
"Tch!" Knife spat, his grin tightening into a grimace. He wiped a streak of blood from his lip, his fiery eyes locking onto Captain Iron. "You really don't miss a step, do you?"
Captain Iron's face remained impassive, his arms still crossed. "Combat is more than chaos. It's control, strategy, and discipline.
"Control, huh?" Knife hissed, stepping back as the soldiers tightened their circle once more. He spun in place, gauging the ring of shields and spears encasing him. The shield-bearers formed a moving barricade, always present when he tried to advance, while the spearmen struck in unison, forcing him to retreat. It was a flawless dance of offense and defense, leaving no room for error.
"Fine," Knife growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stopped moving, his hands falling to his sides. The soldiers hesitated for a fraction of a second, confused by his sudden stillness. Knife smirked, his voice sharp with challenge.
"Let's see how long that control of yours lasts."
Knife shot forward, faster than ever, his movements more erratic and unpredictable. He feinted left, then darted right, his fist aiming at the shield unit once more. As expected, the barrier rose to intercept him—but this time, Knife was ready.
At the last possible moment, he shifted his trajectory downward, slamming his fist into the ground with enough force to create a shockwave of dust and debris. The soldiers staggered, their formation faltering for a brief moment as their vision was obscured.
Knife used the opening to slip through the smallest of gaps, reappearing behind the circle with a triumphant laugh. "Gotcha!" he roared, his fist arcing toward the back of the formation.
"Not quite," Captain Iron said, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Knife's eyes widened in disbelief as Captain Iron appeared before him, as if materializing from thin air. The captain's calm demeanor was unnerving, his piercing gaze locked onto Knife's mid-strike. It was as if he had seen through every step of Knife's plan before it even began.
"Why the hell are you here?".
The force of Captain Iron's palm strike sent Knife hurtling through the air like a ragdoll. He crashed into the cobblestone street with a thunderous impact, skidding to a halt mere inches from Lin, who was now hiding behind a barrel, shielding her head with trembling arms. Dust and debris settled as silence briefly fell over the chaotic scene.
Knife groaned, propping himself up on one elbow, his sly grin now replaced with a grimace of pain. He coughed, spitting out a glob of blood before looking up at Captain Iron, who stood unshaken, his cold gaze piercing through the distance between them.
Lin's heart pounded in her chest as she glanced between the two men. The sheer power of the strike that had sent Knife flying was unlike anything she had ever witnessed.
"So, you're not just a by-the-book commander, huh?" Knife said, shaking out his arm. "You've got moves. I'll give you that." Knife said, his chest heaving as he wiped blood—both his own and his opponents'—from his face. "This is fun," he said, his grin feral.
"It's time to end this," the captain muttered, not equally amused.