One HP extra

—Arman—

"At least she got away…"

Arman leaned against a tree, one hand pressed to his ribs. The taste of iron filled his mouth—blood, thick and hot. His breath hitched. Muscles trembled from overuse. His legs barely held.

STATS

Level: 1

HP: 11/20

Mana: 10/10

• Strength: Bronze (Low)

• Dexterity: Bronze (Mid)

• Intelligence: Iron (High)

• Constitution: Bronze (Low)

• ???: Hidden

• ???: Hidden

SKILLS

• Feral Flow Lv. 1

• Auto-Battle (Dormant – Conditional Activation)

• Trapcraft Lv. 2 ↑

• Crude Poison Handling Lv. 1

• Weapon Improvisation Lv. 1

• Sword Proficiency Lv. 5 ↑

• Parry Lv. 4 ↑

VOW ECHO

Refusal to Die – Enables Auto-Battle Threshold, Mental Fortitude Surge, Echo-Linked Sword Art Synergy

"…Still level one," he muttered, shaking his head.

"After all that."

The only thing climbing faster than his skills was his pain threshold. His arms were lined with bruises and cuts. He'd taken out ten men—barely.

Feral Flow still pulsed in his limbs, keeping his movements just sharp enough to survive. The only reason he was upright.

He reached behind him, drawing the Ego Sword.

Obsidian-forged, smooth and cold in his grip. Its edge glinted darkly in the moonlight. Hungry, but silent. He hadn't unlocked any of its secrets yet—but it felt like it was watching.

"Let's see what you're worth," he whispered.

A tremor ran through the earth.

Ren emerged.

Towering, thick with muscle and scars, plate armor scavenged from half a dozen sources. A monstrous axe rested on one shoulder.

He scanned the bodies. Blood. Ash. Steel.

Then he laughed.

"Well, shit. Didn't think a twig like you could cause this much mess."

Arman didn't lower his sword. "There's more coming."

"Got guts. I'll give you that." Ren grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "You know, I like you. Good reflexes. Good eyes. Ever think of switching sides?"

Arman's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I mean it. Join me. I'll give you better pay than that old crow Daeron. Maybe let you keep one of the girls. That foxkin? Bit used, maybe, but still cute. I'll even let you keep her after the nobles are done with her."

Something cracked behind Arman's eyes.

He gripped the sword tighter.

"I should gut you for saying that."

Ren spat to the side. "Suit yourself."

And then the earth split as he charged.

Arman dodged, just barely. The axe cleaved the space where he stood.

They clashed.

Ego Sword met blood-wet steel.

Arman countered, then pivoted, rolling beneath the next swing. He kicked Ren's knee, used the rebound to climb the man's flank, and slashed downward.

Sparks flew. Not blood. Plate armor dulled the cut.

"Come on, hit harder!" Ren roared.

Arman dropped low, sliding across the grass and flanking. He climbed a tree mid-sprint and launched from the branches, attacking from above.

Steel kissed steel.

Ren laughed, even as a cut opened across his ribs. "You fight like a beast."

He wasn't wrong.

Feral Flow surged. Arman stopped thinking—just moved. Slash. Dodge. Feint. Parry. Dirt in the eyes. He grabbed a rock mid-motion, threw it to distract, stabbed low.

Every movement flowed into the next.

He was no knight.

He was a storm of instinct.

But Ren… endured.

"ENOUGH!"

Ren's aura burst outward. Red-hot. Cracking the ground beneath his boots.

Arman faltered.

"Shit, a backwater slaver with aura? Why am I even surprised?"

The axe swept wide.

Arman parried—but the force knocked him off his feet.

HP: 6/20

He rolled, gasping, sword barely in hand.

"You're still standing?" Ren growled. "You're too stupid to know when you've lost."

Arman didn't answer. His chest heaved. He blinked sweat from his eyes.

Another slash. He blocked, but it forced him back against a tree.

HP: 3/20

He grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it.

Ren flinched, swinging wide.

Arman darted past, grabbed a broken spear from the ground, and jabbed it like a spike into Ren's side. Not deep—but enough to open a gap.

He struck again. And again.

"You little shit!" Ren bellowed, eyes wide with fury.

HP: 2/20

Everything hurt.

Every breath was fire.

He was bleeding from too many places. Bruised. Cracked ribs. Hands numb from impact.

He staggered.

And in that moment—he saw her.

Through the trees.

Kyra.

Watching from the shadows, trembling, eyes locked on him.

Not running.

Just watching.

He smiled, faint and cracked.

"…sorry," he whispered.

The axe came down.

HP: 1/20

[AUTO-BATTLE ACTIVATED.]