Northern was well aware that unraveling Chaos Art would take more than just a few battles. Unlearning proved harder than learning—a gruesome process for the mind, or perhaps people simply overstated it.
Either way, he was about to find out.
The first thing he had to do was debunk everything he had learned of Chaos Art, starting from the very footstep.
A subtle change rippled through Northern as he altered his movement in battle. His focus shifted from exploiting disorder to mirroring the frenzy of the monsters charging before him.
His style suddenly grew more chaotic. Anyone watching who understood his intentions would think he was doing the complete opposite of what he aimed to achieve.
Yet Northern strangely found these adjustments easy to draw out—first in his mind, then even more so in his actions. Perhaps the battle intelligence he'd gained from Formless intertwining with Chaos Art, was what made the transition almost natural.
But all of that meant nothing. Whether his intelligence made battle adaptations easy or sparked creativity in the art of combat, Northern didn't care.
It would be a long, grueling process, but it began with a single step—a step he took as he abruptly shoved one foot forward and lashed out with his sword, bringing it down in one cruel overhead strike that cleaved through the creature's head.
The blade lodged somewhere within the skull, but Northern's legs didn't stop. His armored boot smashed upward from below as he simultaneously yanked free the invisible sword and plunged it through the monster's gaping mouth.
Another beast crashed into his side, but void force shimmered around him like invisible armor. He pivoted and carved a clean downward cut across the monster, sending it staggering backward in a spray of purple droplets.
Northern lunged forward and drove the invisible sword into the monster's chest, hoisting its entire frame upward before slamming it down onto another that charged at him.
The monsters rushed him relentlessly, and he met them with equal intensity—his mind locked in perfect focus as he matched their ferocity with calculated precision, their frenzy with cold fury.
It marked good progress in a short time, though perhaps "short time" stretched the meaning of the words.
Northern had sunk so deeply into his task that time slipped away unnoticed.
Monsters still poured from the rift as the Drifters began losing their hold, even though Northern's presence made their task tenfold easier. The few creatures they had to deal with were becoming too much to handle.
Many of them gasped for breath, their movements sluggish as the monsters pounced on them with predatory ease.
The representatives of the citadels still served as a sturdy backbone—diving in for desperate rescues when needed.
But even their efficiency had diminished tremendously from what it once was.
And still the monsters poured from the rift—albeit, thankfully, only maelstrom ranks.
Northern gritted his teeth so hard they could have shattered metal.
'What the hell are these people doing?!'
Verulania reinforcements should have arrived by now. The soldiers—Drifters, of course—should have entered the estate already. Wasn't the student declared an esteemed honorary guest?
What was delaying their reinforcement?
Northern had a sinking feeling...
'It better not be...'
Though his mind burdened him with the thought, Northern really, really, *really* hoped it wasn't the case.
The main city couldn't be under attack. There was no way. That would complicate everything.
A green vine adorned with radiant golden roses slithered to his side. After swinging his hammer sideways and mangling one monster's body before sending it flying, Northern glanced at the beautiful woman beside him. Her beauty had a roguish, foreign quality as she dismounted the vines she'd been riding and landed with catlike grace next to him.
"We need to retreat!"
Northern glanced at her, the visor of Molten Vein pulsing with heightened brightness.
Of course they did. The tide was shifting—and not in their favor. With the way things were going, they definitely couldn't quench this disaster alone.
Well, he could—if he weren't so depleted, forced to be stingy with his Void essence. Plus, the students and civilians had all been moved to safety. Why push himself any harder?
Northern looked at the lady and nodded.
She grinned, her fierce eyes radiating a defiant light that seemed strangely enchanting.
As she flew away from his position, her vines intertwined and flowed toward Northern, who continued wielding his sword with cold, calculated ferocity.
He turned his sweat-slicked face just as she descended from her vines.
"I will watch everyone's back! That way retreating will be easier."
The lady's face flickered with surprise. She hadn't even told him what she wanted, yet he had already figured it out.
A smile curled across her defiant face as she murmured:
She was already in motion, her vines writhing across the broken arena as though possessed with their own consciousness. Her balance remained flawless—perhaps her feet somehow fused with the vines. Northern couldn't tell.
He shrugged and straightened, launching his elbow into the jaw of a monster that lunged for him. He seized its lower jaw before the creature could reel backward, then drove the invisible blade deep into it and wrenched it free. Purple blood sprayed across his face in grotesque patterns.
He slashed the sword downward, flicking the viscous stain away, rendering the blade pristinely invisible once more.
Then he fixed his gaze forward—cold, stern, unwavering. The blue light in his eyes gleamed with sinister intensity.
Meanwhile, his clone tore through the horde of monsters with escalating, almost maddening ferocity. The hammer carved terrifying arcs through the air, pulverizing anything it struck before sending the remains flying.
The tempo of his attacks crescendoed until the very ground quaked and split with almost every swing. This created space for the others to execute a pincer formation and retreat, as the monsters stood disheveled, fixated on the singular terror he unleashed.
As if this weren't enough, javelins of ice and fire began to soar skyward before raining down like harbingers of destruction. Each impact birthed an explosion that mushroomed into the atmosphere.
All four Citadel representatives and the surviving Drifters stared with expressions caught between shock and reluctant admiration. They understood the Enigmatic Paragon.
But what in hell was that student?
How could he possess such devastating power?