The droplets transformed into blood daggers, shooting toward the Knight King with deadly precision. The king raised his shield, the daggers clashing against it with a deafening clang. Instead of deflecting, the daggers splattered against the shield, only to reform and strike again.
Van Dijk moved like a conductor in an opera, his arms swaying with an almost hypnotic rhythm. The daggers multiplied, their numbers swelling into the hundreds, then thousands. The sound of their impacts became a cacophony, a symphony of destruction that forced the Knight King to retreat step by step.
The blood weapons evolved, shifting from daggers to swords, arrows, spears, and hammers. Each weapon struck with a unique sound, creating a chaotic yet strangely harmonious melody. The king’s shield buckled under the relentless assault, his once-imposing figure now struggling to hold his ground.
With a roar, the Knight King surged forward, his determination unyielding. Van Dijk responded by intensifying his performance, the blood weapons striking with even greater ferocity. The ground beneath them was now a pool of blood, deep enough to drown a man.
As the king closed the distance, Van Dijk’s eyes snapped open. He raised his arms and brought them down in a sweeping motion. From the blood-soaked ground, two massive arms of crimson surged upward, slamming into the Knight King with crushing force. The king’s armor crumpled, his body driven into the ground with such power that it cratered the stone beneath him.
Ludwig stared in awe. The creature that had seemed so indomitable, so terrifying, had been defeated in an instant. His master’s power was beyond comprehension—an Eight-Tier mage, the Tower Master of the Black Tower, one of the pillars of Lufondal. And he was Ludwig’s teacher.
But then, the Knight King’s shattered body twitched. His broken form shuddered, the pieces of his armor and flesh reforming with an unnatural speed. It was entering his next phase.
“Kill it, master!” Ludwig shouted, his voice urgent. Scenes like this usually happened in battle, but Ludwig was not someone to waste such a good opportunity, why allow the enemy to power up after all?
Van Dijk, however, remained calm. “It’s disrespectful to attack someone who’s transforming,” he said, his tone almost casual.
Ludwig facepalmed, his frustration evident. The Knight King was entering his second phase, activating his [Final Duty] ability. This not only restored him to full strength but also granted him a berserker state, amplifying his power to terrifying levels.
What Ludwig didn’t know was that this phase came with an additional ability.
The Knight King’s eyes glowed a deep, menacing red. “You’re strong,” he admitted, his voice a low growl. “But it is unfortunate…” He opened his mouth wide, and the blood that had pooled on the ground surged upward, streaming into his gaping maw. The air grew colder, the arena seemed darker, as the Knight King prepared to unleash his full power.
The battle was far from over.
“Curses!” Van Dijk shouted, his voice a mix of frustration and urgency. He aimed his arm at the ground, his fingers splayed as he exerted his will, forcing the blood away from the Knight King and back toward his own body. The crimson liquid writhed and churned, caught in a tug-of-war between the two powerful figures. The Knight King’s absorption rate was nearly equal to Van Dijk’s, and the blood split almost evenly between them, neither gaining the upper hand. The air crackled with tension as the two forces clashed, the ground beneath them slick with the remnants of their struggle. The room seemed to hold its breath, the very walls trembling under the weight of their opposing wills.
Ludwig, seeing an opportunity, rushed forward. His movements were swift and decisive, his undead body unhindered by fatigue or hesitation. The shard in his hand gleamed with a faint, eerie light, its cursed edge hungry for the Knight King. “Ludwig! What are you doing!” Van Dijk’s voice was sharp, his attention momentarily diverted. The lapse was enough for the Knight King to seize the initiative, pulling more blood into his maw. But Ludwig was already in motion, his shard gleaming in the dim light as he closed the distance.
“That’s not yours to eat!” Ludwig howled, his voice a guttural snarl. With a powerful thrust, he drove the shard into the Knight King’s neck. The blade pierced through the thick armor and flesh with surprising ease, its cursed edge disrupting the flow of blood into the king’s body. The effect was instantaneous—the torrent of blood slowed to a trickle, the Knight King’s absorption halted by the sudden intrusion. The king’s eyes widened in shock, his regal composure cracking for the first time.
But the Knight King was far from defeated. In a rage, he swung his shield with brutal force, slamming it into Ludwig’s side. The impact was devastating, lifting Ludwig off his feet and sending him flying through the air. He tumbled and spiraled, his body crashing through the gate and skidding across the ground until he came to a stop against a nearby wall. Pain shot through him, his vision blurring as he struggled to regain his bearings. The world spun around him, his undead body struggling to recover from the sheer force of the blow.
[You’re in critical condition!]
[You have broken 110 bones in your body!]
The notification flashed before his eyes, a stark reminder of how close he was to death. His health was in the decimals, his body barely holding together. Gritting his teeth, Ludwig reached for one of his health potions, the liquid cool and soothing as it flowed down his throat.
His health began to stabilize, his bones snapping back to their proper position and melding together. But the situation was far from resolved. He could hear the clash of steel and the roar of magic in the distance, a reminder that Van Dijk was still fighting alone.
As he caught his breath, his eyes landed on the corpses of two guards lying nearby—remnants of Van Dijk’s earlier skirmish. The sight sparked an idea, and Ludwig’s mind raced. He placed his hand on the ground, his fingers trembling slightly as he focused his energy. “Rise Undead!” he commanded, his voice firm despite his weakened state.