"Is there a strong enemy nearby? Why are we returning early?" Kalem asked, glancing at Garron with suspicion.
The deployment had been brief, the engagement minimal. They had barely ventured into the terrain, and the so-called battle had ended without much of a struggle. Something about it felt off.
Garron smirked, amused by the younger warrior's sharp instincts. "No, we just led you to deal with the aftermath of a skirmish with a lie."
Kalem narrowed his eyes. "So this wasn't a real test?"
"Of course not," Garron confirmed. "Gehenna may consume warriors non-stop, but we aren't idiotic enough to send rookies straight into real battlefields without first getting them used to the terrain."
Kalem exhaled, nodding. It made sense. Even for a place as brutal as Gehenna, throwing untested recruits straight into an abyssal conflict would be a waste of resources.
"The real thing will be tomorrow," Garron added.
Kalem crossed his arms. "I see."
As they disbanded for the night, murmurs spread among the recruits. Some sighed in relief, while others, realizing what awaited them, were gripped by fear. Kalem, however, simply returned to the stable where he had been staying.
There was no need to celebrate or panic.
Tomorrow, he would fight.
And he would be ready.
The next morning, before the first rays of sunlight pierced the sky, the recruits were gathered once more.
This time, the tension in the air was palpable.
Kalem stood among the warriors, but he could already sense the shift. This was different. The smell of blood was fresher, the earth damp with something far less innocent than morning dew. The tremors beneath their feet spoke of something unnatural approaching.
Then, as the iron gates creaked open, the sight beyond them came into full view.
A horde.
Not just a scattered group of abyssal creatures, but a sea of horrors.
The landscape beyond the fortress was a ruin, jagged rocks curling like the fangs of a beast, forming the gaping maw of the abyss itself. From its depths, twisted abominations crawled forth—some humanoid, others nothing more than a grotesque fusion of limbs, talons, and eyes.
Each step they took reeked of predatory hunger, their soulless gazes locking onto the gathered recruits.
Kalem analyzed the battlefield with careful precision. The sheer volume of enemies was daunting, but he remained composed.
"You don't look scared," Garron noted, standing beside him.
Kalem adjusted the straps of his weapon crate. "The numbers are alarming, but none of these are beyond what I can handle."
Garron let out a chuckle. "That's a bold claim. So, what are you going to do?"
Kalem reached into his crate and retrieved a long spear. His gaze sharpened.
"Reduce the numbers."
Kalem took a step forward.
With a controlled breath, he channeled mana through his muscles, his grip tightening around his spear. Then, like a bolt of lightning, he shot forward.
"Spear Style—Spiraling Spear!"
Mana surged through the weapon, the tip spinning like a drill as he lunged into the thick of the enemy horde. His spear pierced through the first wave of creatures, drilling straight through their bodies before he wrenched it free, blood spraying in an arc.
His movements were relentless.
A second enemy pounced, claws reaching for his throat—he twisted mid-air, using his momentum to carve through its limbs. A third came from the side—he slammed the butt of his spear into its skull, caving it in with brute force.
As more monsters charged, Kalem's crate, still strapped to his back, opened slightly.
A set of blades shot out, hovering in the air like a swarm of fangs.
"Phantom Knives."
The knives launched forward in a synchronized barrage, but instead of flying in straight lines, they twisted mid-air, changing direction unnaturally.
The creatures, caught off guard by the unpredictable flight paths, failed to react in time. The blades impaled them from all angles, ensuring no escape.
Kalem exhaled. It was working.
But the battle was far from over.
For every monster he felled, another took its place.
His body moved on instinct, shifting between different weapons.
"Dagger Style—Night of Long Knives!"
His twin daggers carved through flesh with rapid precision, severing tendons and arteries.
"Spear Style—Spiral Strike!"
With a swift spin, his spear tore through multiple enemies at once, the rotational force amplifying its cutting power.
"Axe Style—Decapitation!"
An abyssal creature leaped at him—he met it mid-air with a downward chop, his axe cleaving its head from its shoulders.
"Chained Sickle Style—Violent Wind!"
Kalem swung the chained sickle in wide arcs, its trajectory chaotic yet controlled. The weighted end crashed into skulls, while the curved blade severed limbs.
His versatility was unmatched.
But the enemy did not stop coming.
For every beast slain, two more crawled forth. The battlefield stretched endlessly, and even Kalem, for all his preparation, was starting to feel the weight of attrition.
His muscles burned. His breathing grew heavier.
And worst of all—his mana reserves were starting to run low.
Then, a massive beast lunged at him.
Kalem barely dodged, rolling to the side as another creature swiped at his blind spot. He parried in time, but the impact sent him skidding backward.
Garron, observing from a distance, smirked. "There it is."
Kalem had fought flawlessly up until now, but this—this was Gehenna's battlefield. Endurance mattered more than technique.
And Kalem, for all his skill, was still human.
The creatures sensed this.
They surged forward with renewed aggression, capitalizing on his faltering momentum.
Kalem clicked his tongue, gripping his weapon tighter.
He was retreating.
For the first time in this battle, he was on the defensive.
But his eyes remained sharp.
He wasn't out yet.