Chapter 49
Kiro didn't flinch—not when the first warrior stepped forward, not even when the second dragged a sword made of marrow across the stone with a screech that sounded like a dying god. His eyes scanned them—six in total, each larger than him, their bodies slick with coagulated power and warped history.
"Let me guess," he muttered, raising his fists, "if I bleed, I lose?"
Adim folded his arms behind his back, eyes narrowing. "Quite the opposite. If you don't bleed, you're still asleep."
Kiro exhaled slowly, reaching for the tension in his spine like an old friend. His muscles ached, his veins itched. There was no system interface here—no quests, no notifications, no stats.
Just instinct. Memory. Rage.
The first warrior lunged, faster than any beast Kiro had faced in Velmora. A blood-forged axe came down, whistling through the thick air. Kiro sidestepped, grabbed the warrior's wrist, and drove his elbow into its throat with a sickening crunch.
It didn't fall.
It grinned.
And then, it bled—not just red, but black and gold, as if its blood remembered empires.