The sound of three thousand marching men was not a rhythm; it was a heartbeat. A slow, heavy thrumming that vibrated through the cobblestones of Thousand Blade City, shaking the glass in the windows of the surrounding noble estates. The Iron Guard was the City Lord's pride—a disciplined legion of warriors who had spent their lives tempering their bodies in the salt-mines and high-altitude camps of the northern reaches. They were not clan disciples with flighty techniques; they were soldiers of attrition.
Blake Harrison stood at the mouth of the Great Plaza, his back to the Sterling Manor's gates. The wide expanse of marble behind him was littered with the groaning forms of Hawthorne mercenaries and broken bronze armor, but the space directly behind him remained strangely clear. True to his word, he had cleared a path for the Sterlings to retreat, carving a line of safety that he now stood to defend.
Beneath his beast-hide cloak, Blake's 4th-layer muscles hummed. The Gravity Seal had been removed, but his body still carried the memory of that crushing weight. To his senses, the air felt thin, his limbs as light as feathers. Every breath he took felt like a bellows stoking a furnace in his chest.
[System Scan: Iron Guard Legion approaching.]
[Composition: 2,500 Infantry (2nd Layer), 400 Cavalry (3rd Layer), 100 Elite Commanders (4th-5th Layer).]
[Tactical Analysis: Frontal assault imminent. Recommend Void-Internalization for endurance.]
"Shut it," Blake muttered. He didn't need the system's tactical advice. He looked at the approaching sea of iron. The shields were locked, a wall of overlapping steel plates that moved forward with mechanical precision. Above the shields, a forest of long-handled pikes bristled, their tips polished to a lethal sheen.
At the head of the legion rode General Kaine, a man whose skin was as scarred and grey as the armor he wore. He sat atop a massive armored stallion, his eyes fixed on the lone youth holding a black scythe.
"Blake Harrison!" Kaine's voice was like stones grinding together. "By order of the City Lord, you are declared a Calamity-Class threat. Lay down that cursed blade and surrender, or we will march over your corpse!"
Blake didn't answer. He adjusted his grip on Silence. The matte-black handle felt warm, the Divine Reaper's essence pulsing through the wood and into his palms. He didn't summon the spirit to its full height yet. Instead, he kept the emerald energy coiled around the blade, a ghostly green vapor that hissed as it touched the cold winter air.
"Advancing!" Kaine roared, dropping his visor.
The Iron Guard didn't charge. They marched. Thump. Thump. Thump.
As the first rank reached the edge of the plaza, Blake took his first step forward. He wasn't running; he was gliding. His 4th-layer speed allowed him to move with a fluid, haunting grace that bypassed the common laws of momentum.
He met the shield wall like a black bolt of lightning.
CRACK.
Blake didn't use the blade of the scythe. He gripped the center of the handle and slammed the physical weight of the star-iron into the center of the shield wall. The three soldiers at the point of impact were launched backward, their shields buckling inward like wet parchment. The "Steel-Skin" on Blake's forearms didn't even vibrate from the impact.
He was inside the formation now.
The pikes came from all sides, a dozen steel tips aimed at his vitals. Blake spun Silence in a horizontal blur. The sound of shearing metal filled the air as the pike-heads were cleanly severed. He followed the spin with a low sweep, the blunt end of the scythe catching the guards' shins.
Bone snapped. Men fell. But Blake was already moving to the next rank.
He fought with a cold, terrifying efficiency. Just as he had in the Shadow-Wrought Valley against the Drakes, he didn't rely on the "End" attribute of the Reaper for every strike. He used his fists, his elbows, and the heavy handle of his weapon. He was a master of leverage and raw physical power. He caught a soldier's wrist, twisted it until the bone popped, and used the man as a living shield against a volley of crossbow bolts from the rear.
"Formation! Surround him!" a commander shouted.
The Iron Guard was well-trained. Despite the sudden loss of their front line, they didn't panic. They began to circle Blake, the pikes creating a cage of steel. The cavalry began to move to the flanks, their heavy horses snorting as they prepared for a crushing charge.
Blake stood in the center of the circle, his breathing steady. He could feel the eyes of the Sterlings on his back—Silas, Jazmin, the Elders. They were watching from the high balconies, witnesses to the monster they had tried to create and then destroy.
You wanted to see the Harrison blood? Blake thought, his obsidian-ringed eyes glowing. Then look at the harvest.
He finally released the Divine Reaper's power.
"Reaper's Domain!"
A wave of emerald-green energy erupted from Blake's feet, spreading across the marble floor like a spilled ink-well. The temperature in the plaza dropped forty degrees in a single heartbeat. The Iron Guard soldiers felt a sudden, soul-deep chill. It wasn't just the cold; it was the feeling of their own mortality being weighed.
The horses screamed, their primal instincts recognizing the presence of a King-tier Battle Spirit. They reared up, throwing their riders and breaking the cavalry charge before it even began.
Blake moved again, but this time, he was a shadow. Every time he swung Silence, a trail of emerald mist followed the blade. He wasn't just hitting their bodies anymore; he was striking their spirit gates. The soldiers he hit didn't just fall; they went limp, their eyes glazed as their internal energy was momentarily paralyzed.
[Vital Essence Devoured: 150 Units. Realm Progress: 15%...]
The Blood System was working in overdrive. The Voidheart Pearl in his chest was a spinning vortex, drinking in the fragments of energy released by the falling guards. Blake felt his 4th-layer foundation becoming even more solid, the marrow in his bones vibrating with a dark, resonant power.
General Kaine, seeing his legion falter, drew a massive two-handed broadsword. He was a 5th-layer Master of the Organ Tempering realm, his body reinforced to withstand the pressure of a siege. He jumped from his horse, the marble cracking under his weight as he landed ten feet from Blake.
"Enough of this slaughter!" Kaine roared. "I will take your head myself!"
Kaine lunged, his broadsword glowing with a dull, earthy brown light. This was "Mountain-Crushing Force," a technique designed to shatter the internal organs of an opponent through vibration.
Blake didn't dodge. He wanted to test his 4th-layer Steel-Skin and Void-Internalization against a 5th-layer master. He raised his left arm, crossing it over his chest.
The broadsword hit Blake's forearm with the sound of a sledgehammer hitting a mountain. The shockwave rippled through the air, blowing the mist of the Reaper's Domain outward.
Blake didn't move an inch. His feet remained firmly planted in the marble. Kaine's eyes went wide. He felt the "Mountain-Crushing" vibration travel up his own blade and into his arms, but Blake stood there like a statue of obsidian.
"Your mountain is a molehill," Blake said.
He grabbed the edge of Kaine's broadsword with his bare hand. The 5th-layer energy tried to shred his skin, but the Void-Blood circulating in Blake's veins absorbed the impact. With a sharp twist, Blake snapped the heavy steel blade in half.
He then delivered a straight punch to Kaine's chest-plate. The "Steel-Skin" combined with the momentum of his Void-Refined muscles created a force that exceeded a thousand pounds of pressure.
The General's breastplate caved in. Kaine was launched backward, tumbling through the ranks of his own men until he hit the fountain in the center of the plaza. The stone structure shattered, and Kaine lay still among the debris, his breath coming in ragged, bloody gasps.
The Iron Guard wavered. Their general was down, their formation was in shambles, and the "demon" in the center was still standing, his scythe glowing with an unholy light.
"Is this the 'Calamity' you feared?" Blake called out, his voice echoing over the thousands of men. "Three thousand of you, and you can't even make me draw blood from my own veins?"
From the Sterling balcony, Silas Sterling watched with a face of ash. He turned to the Elders. "Summon the City Lord. Tell him the Iron Guard isn't enough. We need the 'Azure Vault' elders. We need the True Masters!"
"The City Lord is already fleeing, My Lord," Elder Marcus whispered, his voice trembling. "He saw Kaine fall. He's heading for the inner sanctum."
Jazmin stood at the railing, her fingers gripping the stone until it crumbled. She looked at Blake—the boy who had once smiled at her while eating honey-cakes—and saw only the Reaper. A part of her, the part that hadn't been "purified" by Silas's cold light, felt a flicker of something like regret. But it was quickly buried under the weight of her own ambition.
"He won't stop," Jazmin said. "He's going to kill them all."
But Blake didn't kill them all.
He stood over the fallen Iron Guard, his scythe held at his side. He had neutralized the first five hundred men, but the rest were still standing, their morale broken.
"Go," Blake commanded, the Divine Reaper's voice overlapping with his own, creating a haunting, dual resonance. "Take your general and leave the plaza. My quarrel is with the Sterlings and the Hawthornes. If you stay, your souls are the harvest. If you leave, you live to see the sunrise."
The soldiers looked at each other. They looked at the mangled armor and the shriveled forms of those Blake had "devoured." Slowly, the shield wall began to disintegrate. One by one, the men of the Iron Guard turned and began to retreat, dragging their wounded comrades with them.
In ten minutes, the Great Plaza was empty of the city's army. Only the broken stone, the red blood, and the lone Reaper remained.
Blake turned back toward the Sterling Manor. He walked toward the stairs where Garrett Hawthorne was still struggling to stand, his golden armor a mockery of his previous glory.
"Now," Blake said, the emerald scythe's blade humming as it drew closer to the ground. "Where were we?"
Garrett looked up, his face a mask of blood and terror. "You... you can't kill me. The Hawthorne Clan... my father... they'll hunt you to the ends of the earth!"
"I've already been to the ends of the earth, Garrett," Blake said, stopping a foot away. "It's a very quiet place. You'll fit right in."
He raised Silence.
"Wait!"
The voice came from the top of the stairs. It was Jazmin. She had stepped out onto the marble landing, her Fire-fairy manifesting in a brilliant, desperate flare.
"Blake, stop! If you kill Garrett, you trigger the Blood-Oath of the Three Houses! The Valerians, the Hawthornes, and the Sterlings will be forced into a total war. Thousands will die because of your revenge!"
Blake looked up at her. "Thousands have already suffered for your 'alliance,' Jazmin. Sila's brother almost died for a vial of grass. My father died for a lie. You speak of war as if it hasn't already begun."
"I am the future of the Sterlings!" Jazmin shouted, her blue flames licking the air. "I won't let you destroy us!"
"I'm not destroying you, Jazmin," Blake said. "I'm correcting the foundation."
He didn't kill Garrett. Instead, he swung the scythe with a surgical precision that only a Reaper could possess. He didn't cut Garrett's throat; he cut the connection to Garrett's Spirit Gate.
Garrett let out a strangled cry as his golden "Iron Son" aura vanished instantly. His cultivation, the 7th-layer power he had cheated to obtain, was severed. He was no longer a master; he was a common man, his foundation shattered beyond repair.
"There," Blake said, looking at the broken heir. "Now you're just like the people you used to look down on. Let's see how well the Hawthornes treat a 'waste'."
Blake turned his gaze to Silas Sterling. The Clan Head was trembling, his hand reaching for the ceremonial bell to call for more reinforcements.
"Don't," Blake said.
With a single leap, Blake was on the high balcony. He moved so fast that the Elders didn't even have time to draw their swords. He stood before Silas, the Divine Reaper's shadow engulfing the old man.
"I'm not going to kill you, Silas," Blake whispered, his voice cold and intimate. "I promised my father I wouldn't spill Sterling blood. But I never said I would leave you with your power."
Blake reached out and gripped Silas's throat. He didn't squeeze. He simply opened the Void-Internalization pathways in his own body.
The "Devouring" began again, but this time it was slow. He was systematically draining the Vital Essence that Silas had spent sixty years accumulating. The old man's skin began to sag, his hair turning from grey to a brittle, translucent white. His 9th-layer master cultivation flowed into Blake like water into a parched earth.
[Vital Essence Devoured: Massive Quantity.]
[Breakthrough! Host has reached the 5th Layer of Flesh Tempering (Organ Fortification).]
[Host has reached the 1st Layer of the Vital Essence Realm!]
Blake released the shriveled Silas, who collapsed into a heap of silk and broken pride. The Elders stood back, their weapons lowered. They saw the transformation in Blake—his aura had moved beyond the physical. He was now a True Master, his internal energy so potent that the air around him hummed with a low, vibrating frequency.
Blake looked at Jazmin. She was standing frozen, her Fire-fairy flickering out as her own spirit was overwhelmed by the sheer scale of his power.
"The debt is settled, Jazmin," Blake said. "The Sterlings keep their manor. They keep their lives. But they no longer rule this city. The 'Light of the Gale' has been snuffed out by the harvest."
He walked to the edge of the balcony and looked out over the city. The sun was beginning to rise over the northern peaks, its light catching the emerald glow of his scythe.
"Go," Blake told the Elders. "Take your 'leaders' and hide. If I ever see a Sterling or a Hawthorne act with the arrogance of the past, I will return. And next time, I won't be so merciful."
He didn't wait for a response. He jumped from the balcony, his cloak snapping in the wind. He didn't land on the plaza; he moved through the air, his new Vital Essence allowing him to glide across the rooftops of Thousand Blade City.
He was headed back to the Shadow-Wrought Valley. There was more to learn, more to harvest, and the "Azure Vault" that Malachi had mentioned was still waiting in the distance.
As he crossed the city gates, the commoners looked up. They didn't see a demon. They saw a boy who had stood against the iron and won.
[Mission Accomplished: The First Harvest.]
[Rewards: System Evolution 2.0. New Map Unlocked: The Azure Vault Continent.]
Blake Harrison—the Reaper—disappeared into the morning mist, leaving a broken city