The God of Nothing.-Chapter 25: When Nothing Strikes

The caravan's screams were like nails on a chalkboard to Herald's ears.

He raised his head to look at the savage figure in front of him.

In front of his eyes stood a giant of a man wielding a great sword.

His body was covered in tattoos, with his upper half bare. His face was a collage of scars, while his eyes held an intense madness.

Herald then moved his attention beneath him, where his son was hiding, protected by his torso.

Alen's small fingers gently tugged on his sleeve as the savage bandit raised his greatsword.

Herald prepared himself to charge the bandit the second his sword reached its peak.

There was not much he could do, considering the difference between himself and the bandit.

Herald himself was not weak. In his youth he had been an aspiring warrior, but after meeting his wife and settling down he realized the battle field was no place for a father. Instead, he had found his talent in mercantilism, battling with words and leverage instead of his sword.

As a one-star warrior, Herald was painfully aware of the chasm between him and his opponent. The man in front of him was two stars, an elite knight who would have had high middle-class status in the capital.

The difference between stars was not as simple as a performance boost. Instead, an increase in star level suggested a qualitative difference in power. The volume of mana contained within the second star was threefold the first, and furthermore, its nature was more potent, more fierce.

The culmination of himself being rusty and the strength of the man in front of him left Herald with only one course of action. A suicidal charge to allow his son a moment to escape.

As the bandit leader's sword rose, the world grew still for Herald.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, his heart pounded in anticipation.

The chaos of the battlefield disappeared from Herald's mind as he focused on the single most important task of his life.

Alen needed to survive.

As the sword rose, the insane smile on the bandit leader's face grew even more unhinged, as if the ecstasy he anticipated was already rushing through his mind.

Herald gritted his teeth, steeled his will, and tensed his leg.

It was do or die.

And then, a world-shattering tremor wrung out across the battlefield.

A blur of pale and steel tore through the air as a young man landed behind two bandits, both seasoned warriors from their stance and attire.

Herald's fatherly instincts awoke upon seeing the young man.

"Ru-"

The warning paused in his throat as the young man shot his sword out to the side, spraying blood onto the floor.

Behind him, two heads shot into the air before falling soundlessly onto the dirt.

Two seasoned one-star warriors died in the blink of an eye.

'Impossible! For a man that young to possess so much power...'

The thoughts ran wild in Herald's head.

'I don't even sense mana from the man... no, that's not right. That man doesn't even have a presence. Even though I see him with my own two eyes, it's like nothing is there.'

The young man looked directly at them. His long, disheveled black hair fluttered before his dark, void-like eyes. There was no remorse or innocence left in those abyssal orbs.

The chaos of battle faltered briefly, confusion rippling across the bandits' faces as they registered the unknown youth streaking toward them, sword drawn, eyes gleaming fiercely.

Caelith moved with deadly purpose, a small burst of Rejection surging beneath his feet, propelling him forward in a fluid blur of motion. -[=

His movements were precise, yet imperfect—occasional hesitations marked his inexperience, but his agility still stunned the observers into brief silence. To the caravan guards, he was a bewildering savior; to the bandits, an unexpected nightmare.

One of the bandits lunged forward, his rusted blade slicing toward Caelith's head in a wild, desperate arc. Caelith didn't flinch.

His body moved with fluid precision, executing a perfect sidestep honed from countless hours under Kaden's brutal tutelage.

The Igarian sword style—a method of measured footwork and flowing counterattacks—guided his movements like second nature. A subtle burst of Rejection surged beneath his boots, amplifying his pivot as he slipped effortlessly past the strike, his form controlled and lethal.

His sword flashed once, a concise strike slicing cleanly across the bandit's side, sending the man sprawling to the dirt with a strangled cry.

Another attacker charged from behind, sword raised high for a reckless slash.

Caelith ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding the strike as he felt the blade whistle overhead. Pivoting swiftly, he released a tiny pulse of Rejection, instantly closing the distance before his opponent could react.

A swift, precise thrust pierced the man's shoulder, forcing him to collapse backward in pain and shock.

Herald's eyes could barely keep track of the young man's movements. He was shooting around the battlefield with inhumane speed.

'He has to be stronger than two-star! I've only once seen this level of swordsmanship and physicality in the Colosseum!'

Guards stood dumbfounded, briefly forgetting their own fights as they watched this unknown warrior weaving among enemies.

Caelith's movements were not entirely graceful; there were moments when he stumbled slightly upon landing or hesitated briefly between bursts of Rejection, but each imperfection was quickly compensated by raw instinct and determination.

"Who—who the hell is that?" a guard gasped, gripping his own sword tightly in disbelief as Caelith dashed past.

"Does it matter?" another shouted back, inspired anew. "He's on our side!"

Bandits exchanged anxious glances, their initial confidence now rapidly crumbling into confusion and fear. What had seemed a simple ambush was swiftly turning against them.

Caelith moved through their ranks methodically, his expression a mask of intense concentration, as if he were carefully calculating each step, each burst of Rejection.

Every strike he delivered was deliberate and controlled, lacking wasted motion. Short bursts of power beneath his feet allowed him to slip between enemies in a heartbeat, evading counterattacks that came too slow or too late.

His swordsmanship, combined with the occasional burst of Rejection energy, allowed him to neutralize enemies efficiently, not always lethally, but always effectively.

Yet the strain was unmistakable. Fighting multiple opponents wasn't merely a test of swordsmanship—it was a brutal assault on the mind.

Caelith's focus narrowed, every movement demanding sharp precision, every Rejection burst requiring split-second judgment. The threat of an attack from any direction applied pressure, unlike anything Caelith had ever experienced.

He was struggling.

He was growing.

The mental toll of tracking enemies from all sides, predicting attacks, and calculating his steps with deadly accuracy gnawed at him relentlessly.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, his breath ragged, and his concentration stretched thin as he fought to maintain control amidst the chaos. One misstep, one lapse, and it would all collapse.

Still, he pressed on relentlessly. A bandit raised a crossbow, aiming at Caelith's exposed back. Sensing danger with his heightened awareness, Caelith pivoted sharply, another perfectly timed burst beneath his feet closing the distance instantly. His blade flashed forward in a controlled arc, knocking the crossbow from the startled bandit's grip. The bandit staggered backward, eyes wide with panic.

"Fall back!" another bandit yelled frantically, voice edged with desperation as Caelith tore through their disorganized ranks. But there was nowhere to run; confusion had overtaken the bandits entirely, robbing them of cohesion and strategy.

Within moments, the tide of battle had dramatically shifted. The guards rallied around Caelith's sudden arrival, fighting with renewed vigor, their confidence bolstered by this unknown ally who moved like a specter among the chaos.

Yet, as Caelith paused briefly to catch his breath, he noticed a grim figure emerging slowly from the fray—larger and visibly stronger than the rest.

The man stepped forward with cold confidence, eyes locked onto Caelith, a heavy broadsword gripped comfortably in one hand. The bandit captain had entered the fray.

Caelith steadied himself, tightening the grip on his sword. Exhaustion lingered at the edges of his awareness, but he pushed it away, preparing for a fight that would test every skill he'd painstakingly honed in the darkness of the forest.

Caelith steadied his breathing, eyes narrowing as a new presence emerged from the shifting gloom—one that exuded danger far beyond the others.

The bandit captain stepped into view, his gait slow and deliberate, radiating the heavy, oppressive aura of a seasoned warrior.

Two stars.

The difference was immediately palpable.

He was tall and broad, his muscular frame wrapped in hardened leather reinforced with iron plates, each scar across his body a testament to battles survived.

His face was rough-hewn, marked by deep lines and a jagged scar that ran from brow to jaw. In his grip, he held a massive broadsword with ease, its chipped edge gleaming menacingly under the flickering torchlight.

This was no common thug—he was a killer, shaped by bloodshed and survival.

And Caelith could feel it.

The battlefield fell silent. The remaining guards and bandits paused mid-struggle, all eyes turning toward the inevitable clash.

Caelith felt his pulse quicken, adrenaline surging through his veins. Fatigue weighed heavily upon him, muscles aching from the constant exertion of controlled Rejection, yet he forced his focus into a pinpoint of clarity.

"You pathetic lot," the captain growled, his deep voice cutting through the tense silence.

He surveyed his faltering men, disgust twisting his lips.

"Losing your nerve to some scrawny kid? Pathetic!"

The man's eyes settled fully on Caelith, contempt mixed with curiosity. "And you," he sneered, taking another threatening step forward.

"Where did this fucking rodent crawl out from?"

Before Caelith could respond, the captain lunged forward with shocking speed, swinging his massive blade in a devastating arc.

The sheer power behind the strike sent a violent gust of air slicing toward Caelith's face.

Heart leaping into his throat, Caelith reacted instinctively. He summoned a desperate burst of Rejection beneath his feet, catapulting himself backward just in time to avoid being cleaved in two.

The broadsword crashed into the dirt mere inches from where he'd stood, sending a spray of soil and debris flying into the air.

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Caelith landed awkwardly, stumbling as the momentum threatened to topple him. He gasped sharply, feeling the limits of his exhaustion beginning to pull dangerously at his limbs. The captain's face twisted into a mocking grin, recognizing his enemy's struggle.

"What's wrong, boy?"

the man taunted, hefting his sword effortlessly. "Out of tricks already?"

Caelith clenched his jaw, refusing to let his fear show, even as his breath came raggedly. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, determination flaring once more through his tired body.

The bandit captain wasn't a one-star, he had experience. He had deduced that Caelith's strength wasn't quite what he had made it seem.

The bandit captain lunged.

His broadsword cleaved downward with brutal force, the weight behind it enough to shatter bone. Caelith's blade rose to meet it, arms trembling from fatigue, legs set firm. His stance was tightly controlled — far too composed for someone this worn down.

For a moment, steel met steel — then locked.

The captain grinned, pressing his strength forward.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," he sneered. "But guts won't save you, in fact, nothing will."

A rush of mana descended into the bandit captain's sword. A mana whose quality was of the second star.

Caelith didn't answer.

His eyes narrowed.

Behind his sword, the air warped.

Not with heat.

Not with light.

But with absence.

A faint shimmer ran along the tip of Caelith's blade — a place void of everything, barely perceptible, like the world itself refused to touch it.

The captain faltered — confusion flickering in his gaze.

An unhinged smile sprawled across Caelith's face.

Caelith spoke softly, barely a whisper.

"You are correct. Nothing will save me."