Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

They had reached.

After a march of a few long hours through the biting cold, Aric and his army were now standing before a small outpost town.

It was quite frankly a desolate place, east of the settlement Aric and his men had burned to the ground only days prior.

The outpost was little more than a cluster of wooden structures, covered in frost, their roofs sagging under the weight of the snow atop them. The town, or what was left of it, looked abandoned.

No smoke rose from the chimneys, no signs of life could be seen in the icy streets. Only silence greeted them—a silence as chilling as the air.

Aric's eyes scanned the surroundings, his breath fogging the air in front of him.

He dismounted from the Kriger with a sharp thud, his armored boots crunching through the ice-covered ground. Raising a hand, he signaled for his soldiers to halt. None were to follow him beyond this point.

His orders were clear, and they watched silently as the prince ventured deeper into the heart of the outpost alone.

His grip began to tighten on the hilt of the sword slung across his back, the weight of the steel carried his sharp readiness for any engagement.

He had told the settlers to inform the towns as they traveled, so he expected the guarding soldier would have prepared for them.

His steps were slow, deliberate, and cautious. He knew this silence was not natural, not just from desertion.

No, this silence reeked of intent—it felt as though danger was waiting just beyond his senses. If he had given the settlers fair warning of his arrival, it was only natural that they had waited, that they had anticipated him.

And now, they would attack.

As if on cue, three figures appeared from the shadows, surrounding him in an instant.

Their movements were swift, deadly, as if ghosts emerging from the gloom. Mana flared on their weapons, lighting up the icy air with elemental energy—blades of fire, arcs of lightning, and swirling winds.

With no hesitation, they attacked, their blades slicing through the air with terrifying speed, descending on Aric from all sides.

But the prince only grinned.

Their blades struck—at least, they thought so. As their weapons sliced through him, his form dissipated into wisps of black, and left behind nothing but cold air where he had once stood.

It was a shadow. An afterimage.

Aric reappeared several meters away, his back to them, standing as if he were completely unfazed by the ambush. The Shadow step art made him move faster than their eyes could track, and they could only slash at nothing but illusions.

Three new attackers, unfettered by their comrades' initial failure, regrouped quickly. Their hands glowed with ki as they begun their next assault—blades of flame came to life, swirling toward him, cutting through the frozen air swiftly.

But Aric didn't move. He didn't attempt to evade.

The ki attacks collided against an invisible barrier that materialized in front of him, shimmering like glass. The flames, the energy, all of it evaporated upon contact, unable to pierce the wall of defense that Aric had effortlessly conjured.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his attackers with cold indifference. "Is that all?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with mockery. "I came with an army, after all. Don't disappoint me."

The three men hesitated, unsure of their next move. Their eyes darted around, searching for some unseen signal, some way to gain the upper hand. But Aric stood before them like an undefeatable enemy, unimpressed and unbothered.

As he stood calmly, watching the three defeated ambushers retreat into the shadows, a sudden shift in the air caught his attention.

His sharp gaze turned toward the alleys and rooftops of the outpost as more figures emerged—twenty men, all armed but strangely lacking the telltale signs of ki or mana that the first attackers had.

These were simple soldiers, footmen without any higher power.

He sighed, drawing his blade slowly from the scabbard on his back, the steel gleaming cold in the dim light.

"What useless deaths you all will die here," Aric muttered under his breath, his voice carrying across the silent battlefield. His eyes hardened as he observed them. "I am not interested in such an easy massacre… surrender now," he offered, his tone eerily calm.

But none of them budged. Gritting their teeth, the soldiers gripped their weapons tighter—swords, spears, axes—each taking deliberate steps toward him. Determination clear in their eyes, yet fear remained within them.

Aric shook his head slightly, disappointed.

"I asked the settlers to warn you," he said, his voice lower now as if addressing only them. "In hopes you might flee and avoid this. But I knew better. I knew you would act otherwise, would cling to some misguided sense of duty or pride or.... hope?"

The soldiers continued their slow advance.

"I even now give you a second chance," Aric added, raising his sword in front of him. His martial aura flared slightly, pressing against them. "Yet you still choose death."

The silence that followed was suffocating, as though the air itself had turned to stone.

Aric's grip on his sword tightened. "So, what more can I do than offer you to her gentle hands?"

That was the final straw.

With a loud battle cry, the twenty soldiers charged at him, their footsteps thunderous on the frozen ground, their weapons raised high as they closed the distance.

Aric's expression didn't change. In one smooth motion, he moved, his sword flashing in a wide arc. The first soldier, a man with an axe raised above his head, never got the chance to swing.

Aric's blade cleaved through him, the steel singing through flesh and bone, cutting cleanly from his collarbone down to his waist.

Blood sprayed into the air, warm droplets freezing instantly as they splattered onto the ice.

The other soldiers did well to not falter, rushing him from all sides. Aric's movements were fluid, precise—he spun, the sword flashing like lightning, cleaving through armor and flesh with terrifying efficiency.

Another man fell, his legs cut from beneath him, crumpling to the ground in a bloody heap. Aric stepped over the body without a second thought, parrying the strike of a spear, before countering with a swift thrust through the man's throat.

There was no hesitation, no wasted movement—there never was with him, and this was vital.

Everything he did was calculated, every swing of his sword designed to kill. The soldiers attacked in groups, hoping to overwhelm him with numbers, but they only met their deaths faster.

A sword came down toward his head—he sidestepped, catching the blade with his own and twisting. The attacker's weapon flew from his hands, clattering uselessly to the ground, and Aric's blade followed, slicing through his stomach in a clean, brutal motion.

The man dropped to his knees, clutching his intestines as they spilled onto the ice, his screams lost in the cold air.

Another group charged from behind, but Aric was faster. Spinning on his heel, he swept his sword low, cutting through ankles and tendons, dropping two men instantly. As they fell, writhing in agony, he brought his sword down in a lethal arc, severing their heads from their bodies in a single, vicious strike.

Blood soaked the frozen ground now, staining the snow a bright crimson. Aric moved through the chaos like death itself, leaving carnage alone.

His armor gleamed with fresh blood, his breath fogging in the cold as his enemies fell one by one.

The remaining soldiers faltered, fear now very clear in their eyes. But it was too late. Aric advanced, his sword dripping with the blood of their comrades.

In the corner of his eye, the six original ki and mana-using ambushers reappeared, watching in horror as their footmen lay in pools of crimson. Their faces twisted with rage as they charged at him, weapons crackling with energy, blades alight with mana.

Aric sighed, but it was a sigh devoid of warmth—more an exhale of indifference. He breathed softly, almost pitifully, as if this whole scene were beneath him. His fingers twitched as he raised his hand, not even bothering to lift his sword.

The air around reacted first. A golden light began to swirl above his head, gathering into a blinding sphere. From that light, golden spears began to form—one after the other until the sky above was filled with them, their sharp points gleaming in the pale blue of the winter sun.

Multiple golden spears hung suspended in the air, poised like a promise of death. The six ambushers hesitated for the briefest moment, eyes widening in terror as they realized what was about to happen.

They tried to muster their defenses, raising barriers of mana and ki, their weapons glowing even brighter as they braced for impact.

But it was pointless.

With a wave of Aric's hand, the spears descended, raining down on them.

Each spear found its mark with unerring precision, tearing through the magical shields as if they were paper, plunging into flesh, piercing bone.

The warriors screamed as they were impaled, their bodies writhing in agony as the golden spears buried themselves deep into them. Blood sprayed into the frozen air, mixing with the already-stained snow as their lives were snuffed out one by one.

It was over in seconds.

The battlefield was silent once more, the bodies of the six warriors lying lifeless in the snow, their forms grotesquely skewered by the golden spears that slowly began to dissolve, fading back into the ether from which they came.

Aric sighed, lowering his hand as if the whole affair had been nothing more than an inconvenience or an annoying task that had to be completed. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of slight sadness in his eyes.

He turned back to Yrsa and the rest of his army, who had been watching the display in silence. His gaze was cold, uncaring.

"That was disappointing," Aric said flatly, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He glanced at the blood-soaked battlefield one last time before turning his back on it. "Let's move to the next."

Without waiting for a response, he mounted his Kriger once more, his army following in grim silence as they prepared to march toward their next conquest.