"You do not belong here!"
His voice was deep and hard, like a shouting tal horse. His hand on his sword tightened, and it looked as if he might draw the weapon. "You are a strange creature."
Riven was surprised. The four soldiers parted for him, and he stepped forward. That wasn’t what he expected to hear. "What makes you say that?" he asked curiously.
"You make the dead stand up and do things against their will. My comrades will never lift their weapons against their fellows, but I sll the blood of the rebels from you. What are you?"
Riven was again surprised. As far as he knew, there was nothing like magic in this world. If there was, then it was only in the form of rumors and stories—nothing concrete like the practitioner world he ca from.
"I can see their slack muscles and eyes that have lost their passion. Only the dead on the battlefield have sothing like that. I have not seen your type before, but you will die when cut."
’...Eh... Yes... I guess I can’t fault that reasoning...’ Riven thought.
Spartacus began to co closer. "I am angry that you will chain the dead even in death. They were slaves who broke their chains. Why? Why do you force another chain upon them even after their death?"
"Because even the dead continue to be a weapon," Riven said, pointing his sword. "I have been sent to kill you."
"By General Marcus Licinius Crassus?" Spartacus frowned. "He is a true Roman son. He would not use an assassin to face but rather face directly like a warrior."
Riven shrugged. "I’m part of his army." There were no lies in his words.
Spartacus snorted. "You are no Roman soldier! Co! I will see if your blood is red or if it has been tainted with all the dead you carry with you!"
All around them, the fighting seed to ignore the two of them.
Riven tensed and imdiately dropped the Burst technique. The four undead fell to the ground and lay unmoving like discarded toys.
This ti, he needed to focus his attention on the man nad Spartacus, the breaker of chains. Spartacus took a step forward, and his figure blurred.
Riven’s eyes widened. "So fast!"
He managed to raise his sword in ti as Spartacus chopped down with his scabbard-covered blade. The two swords clashed with the sound of tal against tal, and if Riven had been amazed by the strength the berserker used earlier, then he had been underestimating what they could do.
Bam!
He was thrown backward, painful vibrations running down his hand, quickly turning it numb. Riven grimaced.
’...What the—! And the man is not even using his sword... It’s still in the scabbard!...’
Without taking his eyes off Spartacus, Riven used his Enhance technique, Bonebound Flesh. Aura flowed from his Sigil to the rest of his body, his skin gaining a green taint and hardening.
"Let’s do this again," Riven said. He held his sword with both hands and jumped forward, using all his strength to cut down at Spartacus’s head.
The warrior was taller than him, but Riven had jumped for the slash.
Spartacus didn’t move. He simply brought his sword forward above his head to use as a shield. Riven’s sword slamd into the scabbard with force. The attack sent a shockwave of dust flying around them, and the ground under Spartacus cracked around his legs.
But the man himself was fine. He smiled at Riven.
’...What’s he—!!!...’
The punch ca out of nowhere and smashed into Riven’s ribs, jetting him sideways. His body bent around it as he was sent skidding across the ground.
Pain laced his body as he hurried to stand, his left hand on his side. The tough skin had reduced the force of the punch, but it was still strong enough to crack one of his ribs.
’...He’s stronger than a Rank Two practitioner?...’
Since Riven had gained his rank and beco a practitioner, he had marveled at the strength contained in his body. But here was a man—a normal human—who had sohow surpassed the limitations placed on him and punched him like a doll.
’...No... I should stop thinking of him as a normal human... He’s more than that!...’
Spartacus’s eyes flashed. "A weakling? General Marcus Licinius Crassus sent a weakling to ? How did soone like you manage to kill my comrades? Your strange sorcery?"
He clenched the fist that wasn’t holding his sword. "No matter. No tricks will work in front of . I will make you suffer the unrest and disrespect you gave my comrades—my warriors!"
His last words ca out in a shout that shook the ground, and Riven felt it in his bones.
Spartacus was walking faster toward him, the red in his eyes more potent, like a small fla burning with coldness.
Riven thought about what he was going to do. He was outmatched in strength, not to ntion swordsmanship. Spartacus likely hadn’t used his sword because he thought Riven wasn’t worth it.
He smiled bitterly. "Weakling? I’ve heard that my whole life. And you know what? You’re right. But only those who are stronger than another are allowed to call them weakling."
’...I might be outmatched in raw strength... but I still have my sorcery...’
Riven opened his mouth. "Heed !"
It had been a mistake to let the Burst technique go earlier.
The four undead rose up behind Spartacus. Their bodies slumped, but their limbs strained taut as they readied to jump him. Riven didn’t give them any complicated orders.
’...Just kill the man in front of you...’
Spartacus stopped moving, his face twisting as if in agony. His hand on the sword trembled. He roared, "You! You still dare to disrespect them!"
At the sa ti, the four undead berserkers jumped, weapons glinting in the sun. Spartacus finally drew his sword.
Ti seed to slow down. Riven expected to see tal—steel—but what ca out of the scabbard was anger. Spartacus’s sword seed to have twisted into sothing that held his rage.
And once he drew it, his surroundings were covered in bloodlust, and the sword in his hand cut like a whip in the air.
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