The first strike came from the left.

  Kael twisted just in time, steel flashing as he parried the assassin’s curved blade. Sparks scattered in a bright arc, briefly lighting the dark trees around them.

  Another came from behind — fast, silent — but Kael ducked low, spinning as the sword sliced through air where his neck had been. His counter came sharp and fluid: one step, one strike, a precise cut across the attacker’s thigh. The man staggered back, cursing under his mask.

  Eric watched from beyond the haze of dust and magic, his sword held low, eyes glinting from behind the mask. He hadn’t moved yet — he was studying Kael. Measuring him.

  Kael felt it too — the scrutiny, cold and exact.

  The others spread around him like wolves, their formation closing tight. He could hear Rhea and the others still fighting somewhere deeper in the forest, their shouts faint against the clash of steel and the hum of magic. But this circle… this was his alone.

  Kael exhaled once. Focus.

  The Eye flickered open within him. The world slowed to a heartbeat rhythm.

  The nearest assassin lunged — Kael saw it before it happened. He sidestepped, slashing across the man’s arm, then pivoted, using the momentum to deflect another incoming strike.

  Two more moved in unison, their blades crossing in a twin arc meant to trap him. Kael dropped to one knee and thrust upward, piercing one through the shoulder. The second swung down — Kael rolled aside, letting the blow bite into the dirt instead of his ribs.

  He rose in a fluid motion, sweeping his sword in a broad circle that forced them all back a step.

  Eric tilted his head slightly, almost amused. “You’ve improved.”

  Kael said nothing.

  The assassins regrouped, murmuring something low in a strange tongue. The ground pulsed beneath them. Magic began to stir again — heavy, suffocating, old.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kael braced.

  From the earth, tendrils of bone broke through the soil, twisting upward like skeletal vines. They lashed toward him, snapping through the air. Kael cut through the first, ducked under the second, then used the third as leverage — stepping on it, vaulting over another assassin’s head, landing hard behind him.

  He drove his blade clean through the man’s back before the assassin could turn.

  The others snarled and closed in again, but Kael was already moving. His eyes burned with the strain of the Eye, but his body felt lighter, faster. Each strike became instinct, flowing from one motion to the next.

  A parry — a cut — a kick to break rhythm — a slice across a chestplate —

  Steel rang again and again. The field of battle glowed faintly from the runes the necromancers had carved into the dirt, each sigil pulsing with green fire.

  Kael’s breathing grew ragged, but he didn’t falter.

  Eric stepped forward finally, blade glinting faintly under the moonlight. “Still think you can face me alone?”

  Kael smirked despite the blood dripping from his lip. “I’m already doing it.”

  Eric’s blade came fast, faster than before — a blur of black and silver. Kael blocked the first strike, barely caught the second. The third grazed his forearm, the fourth clanged against his hilt.

  They moved like shadows colliding — two storms meeting at the center of chaos.

  Eric’s precision was terrifying; his strikes calculated to kill. But Kael’s rhythm shifted now — less defensive, more raw, more alive.

  He saw openings — not many, but enough. He slipped inside Eric’s guard once, cutting a shallow line across his ribs. Eric hissed and drove his boot into Kael’s side, sending him stumbling back.

  Kael wiped blood from his mouth and laughed softly, breath heavy. “That all you’ve got?”

  The five remaining assassins surged forward at once.

  Kael turned with them, parrying a flurry of slashes that came from every direction. The Eye pulsed harder, almost painfully bright in his mind. Every movement traced itself before it happened — each blade’s path, each step, each flicker of magic.

  He moved through them like fire through dry grass.

  His blade cut through one assassin’s wrist, sent another spinning from a well-timed kick. He ducked under a spear of bone, countered with a slash that split a mask in half.

  Blood sprayed across the dirt.

  The necromancer’ magic screamed in protest, the sigils flaring as one fell. Kael spun, his coat torn and streaked with ash, his eyes sharp as the edge of his sword.

  Eric lunged again, this time faster, angrier. Their blades locked with a crash that shook the air.

  “You should’ve stayed dead,” Eric hissed, pushing down with brute strength.

  Kael’s jaw clenched as he forced the blade back up. "u always keep saying that but shouldn't u also stay dead too.”

  He twisted, breaking free — and with one fierce motion, he slashed upward, catching Eric’s mask. The metal split across the cheek, revealing part of his face beneath — the edge of his mouth curved into a cruel smirk.

  Eric’s eyes glowed faintly — blue laced with dark corruption.

  He whispered something Kael couldn’t hear.

  Then lightning struck the ground between them.

  The explosion of light and force sent Kael skidding back through the dirt, his boots dragging trenches in the soil. Sparks danced across his armor. His sword trembled in his hand.

  Smoke curled between them as one of the assassins stepped forward — his hands crackling with electricity. Lightning coiled around his arms, veins glowing white-blue under his skin.

  He raised both palms, grinning under his mask. “Let’s see how long you last.”

  The next flash came without warning — a spear of lightning arcing straight toward Kael.

  The air split with thunder.

  And through the storm of light and dust, Kael stood his ground.

  When the glow cleared, he was still there — steam rising off his shoulder guards, the front of his coat singed but his stance unbroken.

  He looked up slowly, eyes burning gold through the haze. He dropped his sword he was holding look at the lightning spear

  Then he smiled.

  A low, dangerous, knowing smile.