Warrior Training System

Chapter 149: First blood

Another barrage of projectiles came hurtling from the shadows, their pattern now sickeningly familiar. Cassian gritted his teeth, his instincts sharp as he moved to counter them. He stepped forward, his blade slashing in wide, precise arcs to deflect the incoming knives. The clash of metal echoed in the dimly lit street as he dodged and parried, narrowly avoiding the ones aimed at his legs and torso.

Despite his skill, his breathing was ragged. The attacks weren't letting up.

As the last projectile hit the ground with a metallic clink, the second phase of the attack came. The shadow darted forward, moving with almost inhuman speed from the darkness. Cassian caught sight of the gleaming blade in its hand, aimed straight for his side. He twisted on his heel, narrowly dodging the strike, his sword intercepting the figure mid-swing.

But no matter how fast or precise his movements, the shadow always managed to slip just close enough to leave its mark. Cassian felt the blade graze his arm this time, leaving a shallow cut across his bicep as the shadow retreated into the darkness once more.

"Damn it!" he growled, clutching his arm briefly before raising his sword again.

The projectiles came again, six more streaking toward him from various angles. Cassian was ready this time, his movements sharper, fueled by both adrenaline and frustration. He deflected and dodged, stepping and weaving through the onslaught, his mind racing.

'They're toying with me… wearing me down…'

As expected, the shadow came next, emerging from the darkness with terrifying speed. Cassian swung his blade, the sound of steel clashing against steel ringing out. He sidestepped just in time to avoid a more serious strike, but the shadow's blade still grazed his thigh, leaving another stinging cut before vanishing.

Cassian let out a frustrated yell, his patience running thin. "Come on, you cowards! Fight me head-on!" His voice echoed through the silent street, but there was no reply—only the eerie rustle of movement in the shadows.

The cycle repeated once more: projectiles, parries, and another glancing blow as the shadow struck. Cassian's body bore several shallow cuts now, each one adding to the strain on his movements.

Yet, despite the odds, a dangerous smirk spread across his face. "If this is all you've got," he taunted, gripping his sword tighter, "you're gonna have to try a hell of a lot harder to take me down."

He adjusted his stance, bracing himself for the next wave. The pain was a reminder he was alive—and that the fight was far from over.

The next attack began like clockwork. Six projectiles shot through the air, aimed with deadly precision at his shoulders, thighs, and stomach. Cassian's blade flashed in the dim light, deflecting each one with calculated movements. The clang of metal against metal echoed once more as the knives clattered to the ground around him.

But this time, he was ready for the second phase.

As the shadow darted out from the darkness, Cassian didn't wait for it to reach him. Ignoring the other lurking figures, he focused solely on the one closing in fast. His grip on his sword tightened, veins bulging in his forearm as he raised the blade high, his teeth clenched in anticipation.

"Gotcha now," he growled, a wild grin spreading across his face.

With a roar, he brought his sword down in a powerful arc, aiming directly at the shadow's center mass. The figure's speed was impressive, but not enough to avoid Cassian's attack entirely. His blade tore through the shadow's defense, slicing into its shoulder as it let out a guttural grunt of pain.

For a brief moment, the figure froze, and Cassian's eyes locked onto its face. In the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp, he saw them clearly—completely black, empty eyes staring back at him. The sight sent a chill down his spine, but it also confirmed his suspicion.

"Cultists," he spat, the word dripping with disdain.

The wounded shadow staggered back into the darkness, clutching its injured shoulder. The others hesitated for a moment, their movements less coordinated as if thrown off by the unexpected counterattack.

Cassian lowered his sword slightly, blood pumping in his ears as adrenaline coursed through his veins. "What's the matter?" he taunted, his grin turning sharper. "Didn't expect your little game to turn into a real fight?"

He adjusted his stance, readying himself for whatever came next. His confidence burned brighter now—he'd drawn first blood, and he wasn't going to let them leave without paying for every cut they'd given him.

Cassian steadied himself, his body tense but his mind sharp. He scanned the oppressive darkness, calculating where the next attack might come from. His muscles coiled, ready for the projectiles he knew would follow. When they came, he deflected them with practiced precision, his sword moving like an extension of his arm. The projectiles clattered harmlessly to the ground, leaving the air heavy with anticipation.

Not wasting a moment, Cassian shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword and swung it in a powerful, deliberate arc. The blade hummed as it cut through the air, its edge aimed toward the shifting shadows that surrounded him.

The sounds that followed came in quick succession.

First, the stinging sensation of steel against his skin as two sharp slashes found their mark, carving deep wounds across his torso. Blood seeped through his shirt, warm and sticky, but he gritted his teeth and kept his focus.

Then came the third, more satisfying sound—the solid, unmistakable

crack

of his blade striking true.

A hooded figure staggered into view, and for a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a grotesque inevitability, the figure's head tilted at an unnatural angle before detaching completely.

The severed head tumbled through the air, its hood slipping back to reveal a lifeless face frozen in an eerie, twisted expression. Its black, soulless eyes stared blankly into the void as the head hit the ground with a sickening

thud

, rolling a short distance before coming to rest, motionless.

The body followed a heartbeat later, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. It landed heavily with another

thump

, the sound dull and final against the cold ground. Blood pooled quickly beneath it, the metallic scent filling the air.

Cassian straightened slowly, his breath ragged but his resolve unshaken. His sword, slick with blood, hung at his side as he looked down at the remains of his enemy. "One down," he muttered, his voice low and cold, the words dripping with quiet triumph.

His eyes shifted back to the shadows, the tension in his stance betraying his readiness. He could feel them watching, waiting. "Who's next?" he said, his tone laced with defiance as he prepared for the next wave.

"Die, you wretched bastard! You killed my friend!" an enraged voice roared from the darkness, raw with fury and pain. The lifeless body of the fallen cultist lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around it. It was clear the dead man had meant a great deal to one of the remaining attackers, whose grief quickly turned into unbridled rage.

From the shadows, a figure darted toward Cassian with terrifying speed, their movements fueled by emotion more than strategy. Cassian, however, stood his ground, his blade raised and ready. He intercepted the attack with a wide grin, his sword clashing against the cultist's weapon in a sharp metallic ring.

"Is that all you've got?" Cassian taunted, his smirk widening. "Your friend was trash. Honestly, I'm embarrassed it took me this long to deal with him." His voice dripped with mockery as he parried another wild strike.

The cultist's black eyes burned with hatred, locking onto Cassian's infuriatingly confident expression.

"I would've taken that loser down in one strike if he'd had the guts to face me directly," Cassian added, his tone biting as he twisted his blade to deflect the next incoming slash.

The attacker growled, their strikes becoming more erratic but no less intense. Cassian, calm and calculating, met the barrage head-on, his smirk never faltering as he continued to provoke his opponent. For him, this was more than a fight—it was a game, and he was in control.

The darkness seemed to pulse with rage as two shadows emerged, their movements coordinated but fueled by raw emotion. Their black eyes glinted with unholy light as they lunged at Cassian simultaneously, their attacks relentless.

"You'll pay for killing him!" one of them snarled, their voice trembling with fury. "He was better than scum like you could ever hope to be!"

The second shadow followed up, their blade slicing toward Cassian with deadly precision. "You don't deserve to breathe after taking his life!"

Cassian's grin widened as he danced between their strikes, his sword a blur of green steel. He deflected one blade, parried another, and sidestepped a thrust aimed for his stomach. Still, the relentless assault wasn't without cost. A shallow cut grazed his left arm, another nicked his thigh, and a third slashed across his side. He winced but refused to let it slow him down.

"Better than me?" Cassian retorted, laughing breathlessly as his blade clashed against theirs. "If that idiot was your best, I'd hate to see your worst."