CHAPTER 392: THE THOUSAND PETAL DANCE

Brigid crouched low behind the boulder, layers of camouflage spells wrapped over her like a second skin—enough to fool even a lower-circle warrior’s domain. She added a shielding spell for good measure, steadying her breath.

Then, out of nowhere, Cassian appeared right behind her, stepping out of thin air. The suddenness nearly made her jump. He pressed a finger to his lips, silencing her startled expression into one of sharp annoyance.

"Where are we even hiding from?" she whispered irritably.

"There..." Cassian pointed toward a stretch of forest that looked no different from the rest.

Brigid squinted but saw nothing unusual.

"I can hear them," Cassian murmured, voice low. "At least a dozen footsteps. All heading this way."

A moment later, she caught it too—the faint rustling of bushes in the distance. Her mana sense pricked as shadows slithered between the trees. Then they emerged: lizard-like creatures, scaly bodies darting quick and low, noses to the ground as they sniffed hungrily at the air. From afar, the wide sweep of their backs and long tails were clear, but what made Brigid’s breath hitch was the pair of bat-like wings folded against their spines, their dark green scales blending almost seamlessly into the surrounding foliage.

Brigid’s eyes widened, fear lacing her voice as she whispered, "Those... those are demon spawns. I never thought I’d see them outside the temple..."

Cassian’s gaze swept over the creatures, calmly counting their numbers. "Strong?" he asked.

Brigid swallowed hard and nodded. "Each one’s at least on par with a first-circle warrior. But that’s not the worst of it—their scales resist mana. Unless you compress it into something dense and solid,

spells barely scratch them. That’s why mages hate fighting these things... they’re practically built to counter us."

Cassian let out a low hum, eyes narrowing as one of the beasts shifted in their direction. His hand drifted toward his weapon. "So..." he murmured, lips tugging into the faintest grin, "should I deal with them, or not?"

"If you want to, be my guest—just let me get some distance first..." Brigid muttered, already retreating quickly.

Cassian couldn’t help the amused smirk that tugged at his lips as he watched her dart away. Straightening, he stepped out from behind the boulder.

The creatures froze mid-prowl, nostrils flaring as they caught his scent. All six lifted their heads from the tall grass in unison, revealing twisted, goblin-like faces stretched larger and uglier than any normal beast. Curved horns jutted from their skulls, sharp and cruel like a devil bull’s.

One by one, they rose to their full height. Their guttural growls rumbled low, vibrating in the air. Each stood as tall as an average man—yet thicker, heavier, every inch of their frames packed with grotesque muscle. Bat-like wings curled menacingly against their backs, oversized arms dragging slightly as their small, crooked legs carried them forward with unnatural weight.

Their predator’s eyes glowed a savage, burning orange. Jagged ears twitched, spikes ran across their shoulders and down their massive forearms, ending in clawed hands tipped with black, hooked nails.

Hell’s spawn—hideous, brutal, and aptly named.

One of the spawns spread its wings wide, the leathery stretch catching the air as it launched forward with a guttural roar. Its fanged maw gaped, claws outstretched, rushing straight for Cassian.

Cassian’s blade moved faster than the beast itself. In a blur, he slipped past its charge, steel flashing in the breath of a second. The creature’s momentum carried it forward, but its descent faltered mid-spin—one wing suddenly refusing to hold balance.

It crashed hard into the very boulder Cassian had been crouched behind moments ago. Stone split with a thunderous crack, fragments scattering as the beast’s body slumped amid the rubble. The sickening crunch left little doubt of its fate.

But Cassian had no time to savor the kill. The other five had already taken to the air, wings beating, eyes burning bright as they swooped down on him all at once.

Cassian didn’t budge as the spawns closed in, their claws cutting through the air like scythes. He stood his ground, calm, almost casual, shifting only when the first swipe came. A slight turn of his shoulder—just enough for the talons to miss him by an inch.

Another came from the side. He tilted his head, letting it whistle past his cheek. Then another. Again. Again. Each dodge was razor-close, measured to the width of a nail. Not once did he stumble. Not once did he falter?

An eager smile tugged at his lips. At last, he was testing the new edge of his Gale Whisper Sword Style. Flow like the wind—the first principle. He moved as if carried by a current, never resisting, always slipping past their strikes.

And then the second: Hear the wind. His senses stretched further than sight, catching the faintest shift in air pressure, the subtle beat of wings. He was only just beginning to grasp it, faint and fragile, but it worked—and it thrilled him.

These creatures were, in a way, the perfect training partners for Cassian. Every lunge, every sweep of their oversized arms, tore at the air with sharp currents, and their massive wings only added to the noise and turbulence. To him, it was like they were announcing each move before it landed, making their attacks easier to read—and easier to dodge.

Of course, they were nowhere near the speed of a Circle Warrior. In raw strength, though, they had plenty—more than most first-circle warriors could match. Their toughness was even more impressive, their bodies hard and resilient, though still a step below the tempered defenses of a true second-circle fighter, whose hardened domain was far more difficult to break through.

"It’s enough now..." Cassian muttered under his breath. A full minute of their frenzied assault hadn’t even managed to scrape his clothes, and that alone told him where he stood. As the demon spawns lunged at him again, his sword began to move—not with haste, but with a strange, fluid slowness, as though it were drifting on the wind.

The air itself seemed to guide his motion, a current carrying him forward. Cassian’s blade traced a long, sweeping arc, curving and flowing with elegance. It was one of the opening movements of the Gale Whisper Sword Style’s first form—the Thousand Petal Dance, the Whirling Petal Cut.

As the last of them fell, their bodies hit the ground one by one—each marked with deep slashes across the neck, chest, or stomach, wherever his blade had found its mark. Such precision wouldn’t have been possible with any ordinary technique. It was the form that made it effortless, letting him weave between Still Wind Cut, Phantom Cut, or Drifting Petal Slash as though they were one. Every strike, every stab flowed seamlessly into the next—movements born from a style designed to blend countless techniques into a single, unbroken dance.

But then a sharp yelp cut through the silence. His eyes snapped toward it, and there she was—the purple-haired woman—struggling in the grip of a wingless demon spawn, one of the first he had struck down yet somehow still alive. The beast lifted her high like a trophy, claws raised to cleave her in two.

"Fuck..." Cassian spat, his domain flaring for the first time in the fight. With a thunderous boom of wind bursting around him, he vanished forward in a blur—flashing straight toward the wounded spawn.