Chapter 378: Direction Manipulation
In a blur of motion, Asher, William, Finch, Daniel, Samuel, Clara, and Aiden returned to Norman’s side, each of them instinctively forming a protective ring around the carriage. Although the situation had taken a drastic and unforeseen turn, their mission still remained unchanged: guard the carriage and ensure its safe transport.
’What Life Rank are they?’ Asher wondered silently as he stared ahead with sharp, observant eyes. He did not need to guess to know the obvious truth, these people were assassins. Their movents, their silence, their presence... it was all too familiar. His thoughts drifted to the assassins who had been after Norman’s head within the Whale Barony, back before this mission had begun in earnest. The resemblance was uncanny, and it made his expression tighten.
’Could it be related to them?’ he thought again, his eyes narrowing to thin, deadly slits as he simply stood his ground. His mind was focused, sharp, calculative. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of Virelass, the blade hanging at his waist. The weapon humd faintly, as though resonating with the tension in the air, ready to erupt with terrifying speed and precision at any given mont.
’Did I really jinx it?’ Finch wondered, dread swirling lightly within his chest as his mind flickered back to his earlier conversation with William at dawn. He rembered the joking tone, the brief exchange about trouble possibly finding them. Now it seed foolish, almost prophetic. His black eyes darted around rapidly as he counted the number of figures surrounding them. ’Just how many are they?’ he thought, realizing that the shadows hiding among the trees seed almost endless.
This was the first ti Finch had ever entered a battle of this level, and he was painfully aware that he was the weakest mber of the team. He understood that the others would not have the luxury to watch over him, they would be fighting for their lives, and he would have to do the sa. Still, despite the fear coiling in his stomach, he did not panic. Instead, he clenched his soul bound chain tightly in his hand, bracing himself, steadying his mind, preparing his body for anything fate decided to throw at him.
Thoughts of death did not cross Finch’s mind. He had a family to return to, a sister, a father, a mother. He would not allow this place to beco his grave. And even if things spiraled out of his control, he still had the Star Academy’s teleportation scroll secured on his person. If the worst ca, he could tear it and escape once he could no longer hold on. It was his last layer of insurance, and he clung to that reassurance with silent resolve.
"Who are you?" Norman asked calmly as he stared at the assassins forming a loose circle around him. His gaze shifted slightly toward the two figures standing together, positioned as though they were the leaders of the approaching group, silent, composed, and assessing.
No one answered him. The assassins rely stared down at him from the branches upon which they stood, faces expressionless, eyes devoid of anything resembling humanity. Norman didn’t expect a response; he could tell they were professionals, the sort who never wasted words in a battle. Not unless they were beaten half to death first.
So Norman decided to act.
He did not wait for a standoff to drag out unnecessarily. He understood that regardless of what they said or did, a battle was inevitable. Without warning, a katana materialized in his right hand, the blade catching the faint glimr of light filtering through the trees.
The mont the weapon appeared, five assassins lunged toward him with abrupt yet frightening speed. Their figures blurred, their killing intent sharpened. But before they could even get within arm’s reach, Norman’s katana flashed, an arc of pure silver light. In a single effortless swing, all five were decapitated, their bodies collapsing almost soundlessly.
The two assassin leaders frowned imdiately. They had not given permission for those five to attack, yet they had moved as though compelled. A realization dawned on them within re seconds: those assassins had not moved of their own accord. Their movents had been altered. Forced. Manipulated indirectly by Norman himself.
Blood sprayed into the air, its tallic scent saturating the atmosphere as it rained upon the earth below. The wind seed to turn heavy with the scent, clinging hauntingly to the space around them.
"Ready to answer now?" Norman asked with the sa calm expression, his katana dripping with fresh blood.
Still, the two leaders did not respond to him directly. Instead, they spoke a single word, one not ant for Norman.
"Attack."
The command was cold and rciless.
Without hesitation, the assassins surged forward in a violent cascade of motion. Their steps silent, their intent murderous. They split apart, each targeting different mbers of Asher and Norman’s group.
Asher and the others braced themselves. Their faces hardened, muscles tensed, killing intent flaring outward like a storm. Weapons left their sheaths in a blur of steel and aura. And then, in a titanic lody of chaos and destruction, the two sides collided with explosive ferocity.
But no matter how similar they appeared, differences existed between them, differences that mattered.
The assassins who rushed toward Norman found their attacks veering off at the last mont. Blades that should have pierced him suddenly tilted away without their consent. Their trajectories distorted, redirected.
Before they could regain control of their weapons or their balance, Norman’s katana blurred again.
This ti, however, the assassins tried to defend. They had learned from the earlier deaths of their five sacrificial comrades. Astra pulsed from their bodies, forming translucent shields ant to block Norman’s attack. Although they could not move freely, they could still manipulate their Astra energy defensively.
But it was useless.
Norman’s blade sliced through their Astra shields as though cutting through fragile paper. In an instant, ten assassins fell, reduced to lifeless bodies by a single devastating motion. Norman’s killing efficiency was unmatched, fast, precise, lethal, and brutally ti-saving.
He was a man who had spent most of his life on various frontiers and outposts. He had traveled from one battlefield to the next, each mission simple and straightforward: kill. He had lived most of his life drenched in blood, bathed in death, surrounded by corpses. To him, the battlefield was no different from a quiet bedroom. Death was as familiar as air.
The assassins may have been trained killers, professionals in the truest sense of the word, but when it ca to taking lives... none of them could match the sheer experience, instinct, and ferocity Norman had accumulated throughout his life.
His eyes shifted again as several long-range attacks were hurled toward him. But the mont they drew close, their trajectories snapped sideways, veering off uncontrollably and colliding into other assassins instead.
This was Norman’s ability; Direction Manipulation.
Simple, yet terrifying.
It allowed him to change the direction of anything already in motion. Any attack, projectile, weapon, or energy aid at him would imdiately alter its course with just a thought from him. This was how he survived the earlier explosion when the others had leaped away from their Enduron horses. Norman had simply stood his ground, altering the direction of the explosion so that it flowed around him and the carriage, leaving him unhard.
But even a powerful ability had weaknesses.
The flaw in his ability was clear: he could not alter the direction of anything stationary. It had to already be in motion.
But Norman had found so ways to bypass this limitation. A pri example being the five assassins he had killed earlier. They had been stationary at first, aning he could not manipulate their direction directly. So Norman had altered the direction of the wind around them, forcing the air to push their bodies forward, just enough to initiate motion. Once they were moving, he could manipulate their direction at will, pulling them toward him before ending their lives.
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