Of the four, one had a horrible scar that slashed grotesquely across his face.
The second wore a red band tied around his forehead — a silent symbol of something important.
The third displayed several tribal tattoos on his arm, markings that seemed to tell ancient and mysterious stories.
The last one, in turn, had mechanical legs, with metal joints that creaked with every movement.
Darius was breathing heavily, blood dripping from a fresh cut on the side of his face.
The shield weighed on his left arm, sword steady in his right, his eyes never still — analyzing, measuring time, reading the attack patterns of the four enemies in front of him.
Each of them wielded a sword — sharp silver blades, balanced for speed — but the real danger came from the swords suspended in the air.
Four mental blades, real weapons manipulated by the invisible force of Zerith, spinning like airborne predators.
They were like invisible beasts, attacking from impossible angles.
The first one lunged, his blade spinning over his shoulder like a scythe, and struck low with his hand-sword, aiming for Darius's knee.
At the same time, his mental sword shot diagonally toward Darius's throat — a synchronized, double strike.
Darius swiftly stepped back, using his shield to deflect the physical blade.
At that very moment, he felt the mental blade whisper past his throat — a deadly hiss that missed by mere millimeters.
With a quick motion, he pivoted on his heel and redirected the shield, shoving the opponent backward.
But there was no time to breathe — the second enemy was already beside him, unleashing a flurry of rapid thrusts.
His floating sword whirled like a tornado around his body, serving as both distraction and simultaneous threat.
Darius blocked two strikes with his own blade, then raised the shield to stop a downward blow that made his arm go numb.
In that same second, the third mental sword — from a third soldier — came from behind, aiming for the base of his spine.
Darius dove to the ground, rolling over his shoulder and letting the metal shred his cloak instead of his flesh. He sprang to his feet, breathing harder now, chest rising and falling.
The fourth enemy flanked him, joining the other three. Now they surrounded him completely, circling, positioning their physical and mental weapons in a deadly dance.
Darius could barely hold his guard — shallow cuts already marked his thighs, arms, and ribs.
His shield was deeply scratched, and his sword felt heavier by the second.
A swift strike hit his shoulder — nearly tearing off his armor. Another mental sword almost pierced his stomach, which he blocked by reflex with the side of his shield. The metallic clang echoed loudly.
"Well, well... is that all?" mocked one of the soldiers, spinning his blade with absurd arrogance.
"They sent us to eliminate a rookie brat?"
"Pathetic. All defense — you fight like a damn turtle."
"Let's end this already. I'm wasting my time here."
They repositioned.
One of them grinned, and three swords hovered in the air, converging.
Darius knew what that meant — a joint attack, all blades aiming for a single vital point.
He fixed his gaze. The air seemed to slow down.
The three swords shot forward like arrows — one toward his chest, another at his neck, the third at his face.
But then… the blade aimed for his heart stopped.
Only five centimeters away, it trembled.
It vibrated as if struggling against an opposing, invisible force.
Time seemed to hold its breath.
And then, with a brutal snap…
With a sharp twist, the blade spun midair as if something had yanked it.
It shot back — straight at its former owner.
CLACK.
The tip pierced the throat of the one with the red band like a stake, cutting through flesh, trachea, and vertebrae. His body collapsed, eyes wide open.
Silence.
The remaining two mental swords hovered, as if held by an unseen hand.
The survivors' eyes widened, a heavy silence filling the air.
In that moment, Darius's true power was revealed — and they knew, without a doubt: he wielded Zerith too.
'Finally, I was starting to think you'd die looking like a kitchen apprentice,' commented Zerus.
Zerith is a primordial force, not born of body or soul, but of the mind.
Unlike other powers, Zerith is the pure manifestation of will and intellect, channeled through mental techniques and cultivated with extreme discipline.
It is the ultimate weapon of the Solarii Empire — only nobles and imperial soldiers have the right to learn it.
It is the science of absolute focus, invisible manipulation, and dominion over reality itself.
Zerith users — known as Zerions — can bend matter with telekinesis, and create tangible illusions through the force of imagination. But Zerith does not awaken by chance — it is cultivated.
Through intense meditative practices, Zerions enhance their control and power, ascending through stages known as Primary Force, until reaching the apex: Decenary Force.
This progress, however, is limited by Cultivation Scrolls — ancient artifacts divided by class. Most can only reach the level allowed by the scroll they possess.
Only true geniuses, as rare as eclipses, can break this limit and rewrite the laws of their own power.
Darius took a deep breath and smiled.
With a single thought, the spear of a fallen comrade, lying a few meters away, trembled on the ground and flew to hover by his side.
Now he was complete — sword, spear, and shield. Now he would give his all, body and mind.
The attack shifted.
With controlled fury, Darius charged.
The spear slashed through the air like an extension of his own body, stabbing into the clavicle of the first enemy, forcing him backward.
Without losing momentum, Darius's sword came down in a diagonal strike, cracking the enemy's armor like a blade slicing through wind.
The man with the tribal tattoos fell to his knees. Without mercy, Darius spun and plunged the sword into his chest, driving it deep enough to pierce him through.
The one with mechanical legs, still stunned by his companion's sudden death, hesitated before charging.
His face hardened — he clenched his teeth, trying to regain control, then raised his mental sword, the blade hovering over his shoulder like a serpent ready to strike.
With a subtle hand gesture, he launched the sword with surgical precision, aiming for Darius's chest.
That's when Darius took a deep breath and, in silence, raised his index and middle fingers, held together at eye level.
He whispered something imperceptible — something ancient.
In that instant, to the enemy's eyes, Darius's figure multiplied.
Two translucent echoes appeared at his sides — three Darius.
The soldier's eyes widened, sweat dripping from his temple. His already strained mind couldn't handle the pressure.
In desperation, he focused on the center Darius — the most threatening, the most real.
The mental sword descended like a divine arrow — a vertical strike aimed straight at the heart of the middle Darius.
CRASH.
The blade went right through, sinking into the ground meters away, throwing up dust and stones.
The real Darius was on the left.
With a fluid movement, seizing the moment of confusion, Darius controlled the Zerith-lance and hurled it with force.
The cutting sound of air split the silence like a sinister whistle.
The soldier reacted at the last second, twisting his body with a sudden motion. The spear grazed him.
He gasped, turning to search for Darius — and that's when he saw it.
Another spear.
Coming straight.
It was only centimeters from his face.
Time seemed to slow down.
He understood — the first spear was also an illusion…
He tried to raise his sword, but his muscles were too slow, a millisecond behind.
Not enough.
The spear's tip pierced through his face from side to side.
The body dropped to its knees and collapsed, expression frozen in a final flash of terror and disbelief.
The scarred one took two steps back, eyes wide at his ally's brutal end.