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墨書 Inktalez
Quickly, these cute yet somewhat annoying little creatures were defeated by Ironclad. Ironclad took a breath and shook the slime off his sword. At that moment, small light particles flew out from the corpse of the slime, piercing through the air and instantly merging into Ironclad's mind. In an instant, his consciousness was pulled back to a long time ago, to a sunny training ground where he stood in military uniform among the instructor and other recruits. He saw the instructor's serious expression, heard his clear and loud commands, and felt the powerful uppercut he delivered.
As the memories flowed back, his body naturally recalled the sensation of that movement. His fist clenched tightly, his shoulders slightly dropped, and then, his body erupted with astonishing power as his fist traced a perfect arc through the air, striking forward with all its might. In that moment, he felt an unprecedented sense of exhilaration and strength flowing through him, as if every cell in his body was cheering.
He once again felt the confidence and strength of being an Iron Guard soldier, feeling every muscle and bone responding to his will. His body seemed to naturally recall all the training and experiences, and every movement became skilled and natural.
He stopped and looked at his fist, feeling a long-lost familiarity. He understood that this was the magical gift given to him by the slimes, a part of his lost memory returned to him by those little creatures upon their death.
Ironclad continued to climb upward, thinking that defeating the monsters might help him recall some memories. He quickened his pace, and as Ironclad stepped into the next level, he immediately felt a strange and dangerous atmosphere. Two peculiar creatures appeared before him, resembling mysterious ritualists rather than conventional enemies. They wore bird-like masks and were adorned with numerous feathers, emitting cawing sounds reminiscent of crows, which reminded him of some ancient mystical rituals. The small sickles in their hands seemed somewhat harmless, but Ironclad knew that every corner of the tower could harbor deadly dangers.
He gripped his sword tightly, watching the two bizarre creatures with caution. His instincts told him that despite their strange appearance, they were far from benevolent. He noticed that their movements seemed somewhat coordinated, as if they were performing some kind of mysterious ritual. Their cries grew louder and more piercing, increasingly unsettling him.
Without waiting for them to complete their ominous ritual, Ironclad decided to take the initiative. He charged forward, his sword flashing as he struck at one of them. However, the ritualist seemed to anticipate his move, skillfully dodging and quickly counterattacking. Ironclad narrowly avoided being cut by their scythes, his heart racing with an unprecedented thrill and danger.
The battle intensified and became tense, as the two strange ritualists moved in perfect harmony, as if they were one entity. Their small scythes traced dangerous arcs in the air, each slash threatening Ironclad with death. However, as the fight progressed, Ironclad's reactions and skills began to recover; he started to identify their weaknesses and regained more memories and experiences from his past battles.
At that moment, the two creatures quickly retreated, starting to howl loudly. The sound of their howling was piercing and eerie, sending chills down Ironclad's spine. His heart raced as he sensed an unprecedented danger. He could feel that these two bizarre beings were gaining some incredible power from their cries. Their bodies visibly swelled, muscles bulging as if controlled by some mysterious force. In their eyes burned a frenzied flame, and the small scythes in their hands seemed to become sharper, emitting a cold gleam.
Ironclad instantly heightened his vigilance, knowing that the upcoming battle would be even more challenging. He gripped the hilt of his sword, feeling its reassuring presence in his hand. He quickly adjusted his breathing, forcing himself to remain calm, with his sword pointed at the enemy.
They charged forward without hesitation, their speed so fast that Ironclad could barely react. Instinctively, he swung his sword to block, the blade clashing against the small sickles with a piercing metallic sound. He could feel the tremendous vibration traveling through the sword, as if his wrist might snap from the impact.
He struggled to maintain his balance, his eyes fixed intently on the movements of his enemies. Their attacks were swift, fierce, and precise; each slash brought the threat of death closer. His body reacted instinctively, each dodge and block sending a thrill of adrenaline as he danced on the edge of life and death.
He knew he couldn't let fear control him. He had to find a way to defeat them, or he wouldn't be able to enter the next level of the tower.
In a moment, he found an opportunity. They paused after a series of attacks, which gave him hope of defeating them. He seized the chance to counterattack, and his sword blade instantly pierced the heart of one of the enemies. However, just as the tip of the sword was about to strike, they let out a piercing howl again, swiftly retreating and cleverly evading his attack.
The blade of Ironclad sliced through the air, emitting a sharp whistling sound. His assault was decisive and swift, leaving the enemies almost no time to react. His great sword targeted one of them, while his fist aimed at another. He knew he could not give them any chance to catch their breath; otherwise, they would grow stronger and might become impossible to handle.
His sword reached the enemy in an instant, leaving a searing trail in the space it cut through. The enemy's eyes widened in shock as the force of the sword's wind caught him off guard; he had not anticipated such a rapid attack. Just as the blade was about to slice into his body, he hurriedly raised his small sickle in an attempt to block it, but Ironclad's strength clearly exceeded his expectations. The sword suddenly swept through, cleaving the enemy's sickle in two, and then the blade plunged into his shoulder, blood splattering everywhere.
At the same time, his fist also suddenly smashed into another enemy. This was a move he had practiced countless times in the legion, and every punch carried all his strength and determination. His fist fiercely hit the enemy's chin, the tremendous force causing the enemy's head to tilt backwards, emitting a muffled groan from his mouth. His body flew backwards as if struck by a heavy hammer, and he fell heavily to the ground, motionless.
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