One HP extra

—Arman—

HP: 1/20

[AUTO-BATTLE ACTIVATED]

[MENTAL FORTITUDE SURGE: ENGAGED]

[VOW ECHO: REFUSAL TO DIE – ACTIVE]

[SWORD STYLE UNLOCKED: DREAD FANG (Lv. 1)]

[DEATH ECHO SWORD ART – INITIATED]

His body stood on the edge of collapse.

But he didn't fall.

The air around him shifted. Thickened. Not with magic—no, this was something older. He radiated no light, no holy aura. Just dread. Like something primal had awoken inside his skin.

Arman's eyes were black, like two voids where there in its place. no emotion within them. His breathing slowed. Muscles relaxed.

And then—

He moved.

Ren flinched.

"W-What the…?"

Arman dashed forward in a blur, almost weightless, and the sound he made wasn't a roar or a battle cry.

It was a whisper.

"Diagonal slash."

His voice held no tone. No warmth. Just the words.

The blade cut across Ren's chest faster than sight, slicing through leather and muscle alike.

The slaver leader stumbled back, gritting his teeth. "What the hell is this?! You weren't—You're not even—!"

"Spin parry."

Arman's body twisted automatically, redirecting Ren's axe with flawless mechanical grace. Sparks burst from metal-on-metal. His counterstrike came instantly.

"Lunging thrust."

The blade pierced Ren's thigh before he could retreat.

He screamed.

"What happened to you!?"

No response.

Arman was gone again—moving like a shadow of violence, sword rising and falling in tight, efficient patterns. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

And each time, the name came.

"Cross counter."

"Backstep feint."

"vertical slash."

It was like listening to a machine exhale instructions as it killed.

[DREAD FANG: STYLE SYNC – 37%]

[SWORD PROFICIENCY TEMPORARILY BOOSTED]

[PAIN RESPONSE SUPPRESSED]

Ren tried to retreat, panic in his eyes. "You're not human…what's that aura comming of you, what are you!?"

Arman's feet slid in a half-circle, blade scraping dirt.

"Dread Fang – Flickering Cut."

The move came before the words ended.

Ren raised his axe to block—too late.

The slash carved into his bicep, spraying blood.

"You're fighting like a damn phantom!" Ren shouted, stumbling backward, sweat pouring down his face.

He swung wildly.

Arman ducked. Stepped in.

"Crushing elbow."

His forearm collided with Ren's ribs with a sickening crack.

Then—

"Draw cut."

A line of red bloomed across the man's side.

Ren's aura flared in panic, not dominance. He lashed out with his axe again, stronger, faster—but his form was wild now. Fearful.

Arman did not flinch.

"Riposte."

Steel shrieked. Sparks flared.

Then silence again.

Even the wind paused.

[NEURAL LOAD: 89%]

[MOTOR LIMITS EXCEEDED – TEMPORARY OVERRIDE GRANTED]

[INSTINCTUAL OVERRIDE: 94%]

He was burning everything—muscle fiber, adrenaline, the last threads of willpower. His brain felt like it was boiling in his skull. But none of that showed on his face.

He just moved.

"Dread Fang – Execution Line."

The final strike hadn't even left the sword yet when Ren's body reacted—shifting backward, too slow, too sloppy.

The cut tore into his chest. Deep. Not fatal, but close.

The man collapsed to a knee.

"You…" he gasped, coughing blood. "You demon…"

Arman tilted his head, eerily calm.

No answer.

He simply raised the blade again.

Ren stood up again, staggering to his feet.

"I'll have to go all out, no point saving anything now"

His aura surged, more powerful than before, then he swung.

His body moved on its own, even as his lungs shrieked and his skin tore at the seams. His vision was narrowed to a tunnel of blades and motion. Ren's monstrous axe cleaved through empty space, chasing a ghost already gone.

Arman didn't hear the roar.

Didn't feel the blood sliding down his arms.

Didn't notice the way his feet dragged trenches through the forest floor.

What he noticed was—

[Sword Style: Dread Fang – Execution Line]

His mouth said it. Flat. Emotionless. Dead.

The words fell from his lips like ash.

He leapt—no, lunged—through the air, blade flashing with a silent scream, the obsidian curve of the Ego Sword trembling with violent hunger. The strike landed against Ren's shoulder with a sickening crack, carving through armor, drawing blood.

Ren reeled back, stumbling, eyes wild.

Each movement was costing him more than just stamina—it was scraping his soul raw. Feral Flow and the Echo bled together. The Refusal to Die wasn't just a vow—it was a drug, and his body had overdosed.

Muscle fibers strained and tore under pressure. Veins throbbed. His hands could no longer feel the hilt of his sword.

He was dying on his feet.

HP: 1/20

Warning: Critical System Stress. Neural Load Exceeded.

Another slash—then another.

His lips parted again.

"Diagonal… slash."

A soulless whisper. Followed by steel.

Ren barely blocked it with the blunt edge of his axe. He was limping now, bleeding, his grin long gone. Panic crept into his voice. "You're… you're not human."

He was right.

Arman was something else now. Not a warrior. Not a man. Not a hero.

Just a dying glitch with a sword and a hate too heavy to die quietly.

Then—

His leg buckled.

His knee hit the dirt.

The blade dropped from his hand.

Auto-Battle shut down.

Just like that.

The fire vanished. The dread aura flickered. His body—pushed far past the brink—refused to move.

He collapsed forward, cheek to soil, breath ragged.

His body convulsed, blood trickling from every produce on his body. Nails, gripping soil trying to cope with the pain.

Arman screamed

Auto-Battle Terminated. System Overload Detected.

Skill: Sword Style – Dread Fang (Deactivated)

"No…"

—Ren—

"Ha… HAHAHA!" Ren's laugh split the clearing like thunder. He stumbled upright, chest heaving. Blood ran down his thigh, his shoulder, his lip—but he was alive.

"You thought you could win? You freak? You monster?"

He staggered forward, dragging his axe behind him, leaning against it like a crutch.

"You scared me for a second," he spat, "but you're done. You're broken. You're just another corpse I'll dump in a ditch."

Arman didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Ren raised his axe high.

"Say goodbye, you—"

The blade never fell.

A dagger slipped in smoothly, right between the third and fourth vertebrae.

Ren stiffened.

His axe clanged to the ground.

Kyra stood behind him, small hands clenched white around a rusty blade she'd pulled from a fallen slaver's corpse. Her chest rose and fell. Her face was unreadable.

Ren tried to turn. Couldn't.

Blood gurgled from his mouth. He choked. Twitched. And fell forward with a crash, the clearing silent once more.

Kyra stood still.

A moment passed. Then another.

She dropped the dagger.

"You dirty bitch, I should have killed you with th rest of your familly…"

He collapsed on the spot, dead.

She stepped forward, slowly, until she reached Arman's collapsed form.

He was barely conscious. Eyes half-lidded. Lips cracked.

She didn't say anything.

Just knelt beside him. Curled herself around his bloodied frame. Rested her cheek to his chest.

And whispered, so soft only he could hear—

"Maybe… I will put my faith in you."