The dock burned.
Not in the distance. Not as background noise.
Right there—
Heat coiling through the air.
Smoke rising in thick, choking waves.
Stone still cracking from the violence that had just been unleashed.
And in the middle of it—
They stood.
Three figures.
Calm. Ready. Unmoved by the destruction around them.
Aldric smiled.
Not wide. Not wild.
Sharp.
Interested.
"…Good," he said softly.
His crimson eyes flicked across them once, measuring.
Then he spoke again.
"…I'll take these ones."
A brief pause.
His gaze never left them.
"…Kill everyone else."
Casual.
Like assigning chores.
Behind him, the cultist blinked.
"…Wow. Straight to the point."
Lyriana didn't react.
Vaelith didn't either.
Neither questioned it.
Because they already understood—
This wasn't arrogance.
This was efficiency.
Aldric stepped forward.
One step.
And the air changed.
The black-haired swordsman moved instantly.
His blade flashed—
But Aldric was faster.
FWUM.
A blood construct formed mid-motion—
not a shield—
a blade.
Their weapons collided.
CLANG—
The shockwave tore across the dock, splintering wood and blasting debris outward.
The swordsman slid back half a step, boots grinding into stone. His eyes narrowed.
"…Fast."
Aldric didn't respond.
Because he was already moving again.
To the side, the robed woman's staff ignited.
Runes flared—
A barrage of compressed mana bolts launched—fast, precise, relentless.
Aldric didn't dodge.
Didn't block.
He walked through them.
Each impact struck—
and distorted.
Warped.
Pulled off course—
as if the space around him refused to behave normally.
The cultist let out a low whistle.
"…That's just unfair."
Behind them, Lyriana had already moved.
No wasted motion.
No warning.
The second swordsman barely reacted in time, drawing one blade—
CLANG.
Too slow.
Her strike slipped past his guard, carving cleanly across his side.
Controlled.
Measured.
Not deep.
A warning.
His eyes widened.
Because he hadn't even seen her move.
Vaelith stepped forward next.
Slow.
Measured.
Still holding both sleeping children.
And yet—
the air around her tightened.
The guards nearest to her froze.
Not from fear.
From pressure.
Invisible.
Crushing.
One dropped his weapon.
Another fell to his knees.
The cultist rolled her neck once, grinning.
"…Alright then."
She raised her hand, mana flaring.
"…Guess I'll handle cleanup."
At the center—
Aldric and the black-haired swordsman clashed again.
Faster now.
Sharper.
Steel met blood constructs in rapid succession—
each impact heavier than the last.
The man adapted quickly.
Not reckless.
Not sloppy.
Skilled.
Very skilled.
His blade shifted angles—probing, testing, searching for weakness.
Aldric noticed.
And smiled.
"…There it is."
A flick of his fingers—
and blood answered.
Not from him.
From the ground.
From the fallen.
From the wounded scattered across the ruined port.
It rose—
like a tide answering a silent call.
The swordsman's eyes widened—
just slightly.
Too late.
The surge came from below.
SHHHKKK—
He leapt back, barely avoiding the rising spikes—
but Aldric was already there.
Close.
Too close.
Their eyes met.
Crimson against steel.
Cold against control.
"…You're not bad," Aldric said quietly.
Then—
his hand moved.
Fast.
A blade of blood formed at point-blank range—
and drove forward.
The dock trembled again under the impact.
Behind them, everything continued to collapse.
Because while Aldric held the strongest in place—
The rest—
were already being erased.
The dock burned.
Not in the distance. Not as background noise.
Right there—
Heat coiling through the air.
Smoke rising in thick, choking waves.
Stone still cracking from the violence that had just been unleashed.
And in the middle of it—
They stood.
Three figures.
Calm. Ready. Unmoved by the destruction around them.
Aldric smiled.
Not wide. Not wild.
Sharp.
Interested.
"…Good," he said softly.
His crimson eyes flicked across them once, measuring.
Then he spoke again.
"…I'll take these ones."
A brief pause.
His gaze never left them.
"…Kill everyone else."
Casual.
Like assigning chores.
Behind him, the cultist blinked.
"…Wow. Straight to the point."
Lyriana didn't react.
Vaelith didn't either.
Neither questioned it.
Because they already understood—
This wasn't arrogance.
This was efficiency.
Aldric stepped forward.
One step.
And the air changed.
The black-haired swordsman moved instantly.
His blade flashed—
But Aldric was faster.
FWUM.
A blood construct formed mid-motion—
not a shield—
a blade.
Their weapons collided.
CLANG—
The shockwave tore across the dock, splintering wood and blasting debris outward.
The swordsman slid back half a step, boots grinding into stone. His eyes narrowed.
"…Fast."
Aldric didn't respond.
Because he was already moving again.
To the side, the robed woman's staff ignited.
Runes flared—
A barrage of compressed mana bolts launched—fast, precise, relentless.
Aldric didn't dodge.
Didn't block.
He walked through them.
Each impact struck—
and distorted.
Warped.
Pulled off course—
as if the space around him refused to behave normally.
The cultist let out a low whistle.
"…That's just unfair."
Behind them, Lyriana had already moved.
No wasted motion.
No warning.
The second swordsman barely reacted in time, drawing one blade—
CLANG.
Too slow.
Her strike slipped past his guard, carving cleanly across his side.
Controlled.
Measured.
Not deep.
A warning.
His eyes widened.
Because he hadn't even seen her move.
Vaelith stepped forward next.
Slow.
Measured.
Still holding both sleeping children.
And yet—
the air around her tightened.
The guards nearest to her froze.
Not from fear.
From pressure.
Invisible.
Crushing.
One dropped his weapon.
Another fell to his knees.
The cultist rolled her neck once, grinning.
"…Alright then."
She raised her hand, mana flaring.
"…Guess I'll handle cleanup."
At the center—
Aldric and the black-haired swordsman clashed again.
Faster now.
Sharper.
Steel met blood constructs in rapid succession—
each impact heavier than the last.
The man adapted quickly.
Not reckless.
Not sloppy.
Skilled.
Very skilled.
His blade shifted angles—probing, testing, searching for weakness.
Aldric noticed.
And smiled.
"…There it is."
A flick of his fingers—
and blood answered.
Not from him.
From the ground.
From the fallen.
From the wounded scattered across the ruined port.
It rose—
like a tide answering a silent call.
The swordsman's eyes widened—
just slightly.
Too late.
The surge came from below.
SHHHKKK—
He leapt back, barely avoiding the rising spikes—
but Aldric was already there.
Close.
Too close.
Their eyes met.
Crimson against steel.
Cold against control.
"…You're not bad," Aldric said quietly.
Then—
his hand moved.
Fast.
A blade of blood formed at point-blank range—
and drove forward.
The dock trembled again under the impact.
Behind them, everything continued to collapse.
Because while Aldric held the strongest in place—
The rest—
were already being erased.