The city's eastern gate was already broken.
Smoke rose in heavy plumes from the outskirts. The clash of metal, the howls of beasts, and the scream of the dying echoed across the stone streets.
Noah stood at the frontline, blood already staining his academy uniform. A standard white-forged blade rested in his right hand, chipped and dirtied, but still sharp enough to kill. His breath came steadily, despite the chaos around him.
In front of him surged a wave of death—skeletal soldiers with rusted weapons, mutated beasts stitched together with black magic, and corpses reanimated into snarling monsters.
And yet, he didn't flinch.
He shifted his weight and activated his core.
Mana flooded his legs—fast and clean.
In a blink, he shot forward like a cannon, his body a blur.
