The Oracle Paths

For the next twenty seconds, the air was filled only with the sharp whistling of blades cutting through flesh, followed by the guttural gurgles of their dying enemies. About fifty Light Warriors were laid low in that brief timespan.

The Pulsars seemed to have learned their lesson—none tried to ambush the duo again. It was mildly unsettling, but they found themselves quietly pleased by it.

By contrast, Sank-Uk and the few soldiers behind him were having a hell of a time.

Just as the former commander had successfully beheaded a towering Pulsar that had targeted his recruit squad, the situation went from zero to shitshow when the enemy regiment's big boss appeared in a blur, halting his uncontrolled charge.

The moment Sank-Uk looked up and recognized not just the man but his overwhelming lifeforce, his arrogance drained from his eyes, replaced by grim solemnity. In a split second, he knew that the guy facing him was going to be one hell of a tough cookie.

'A powerful Vitalist, even by their standards,' he quickly assessed, backpedaling with a nervous leap.

A Vitalist was the stage beyond Shimmer and Pulsar.

Shimmers had just awakened their Life Lumyst Aura but couldn't actively control it. Aside from a stat boost, it wasn't much use to them.

Pulsars had limited control over their Aura, imbued with Life and Holy Light attributes, the latter coating their bodies in a faint luminescent shield that passively defended them from attacks. However, they couldn't externalize it for offense.

Vitalists were the third stage of Light Warriors. Besides being significantly stronger in every aspect—capable of easily dismantling a squad of Pulsars barehanded within a minute—they could also coat their weapons and projectiles with their Aura and even emit it a few meters to boost their troop's regenerative powers or shield them. Control over this Aura beyond their bodies was still basic, only Lifemancers being able to wield it effectively.

As if things weren't dicey enough, six remaining Pulsars stood right behind their leader, forming an elite shock squad capable of achieving any mission, even the most perilous. As soon as their leader blocked Sank-Uk's path, the six giants fanned out around him, encircling him in a tight formation to isolate him from the troops under his wing.

Once he'd trapped his prey within the "circle" formed by his hulking subordinates, the towering man at their helm—holding a spiked club nonchalantly on his shoulder—calmly approached Sank-Uk.

"Fancy a duel between commanders to decide the outcome?" he casually remarked, picking at his ear as if it were standard procedure. "I promise, our fight will be fair."

Sank-Uk glanced left and right, as if counting the Pulsars, before sizing up his opponent with a frown.

The newcomer was an genuine giant, towering over five meters tall, dwarfing the other Pulsars under his command. Sporting the build of an ogre or troll rather than a human, this Light Warrior was different even without discussing his Aura.

Each of his fingers was as thick as a baby's forearm. He had long, wild, and unkempt gray hair, cascading down his back like a venerable lion's mane. His beard was, conversely, rather short and well-trimmed, but his large, oiled mustache curled at the ends, calling into question the aesthetic sensibilities of this foe. He also sported short claws, protruding fangs, a crimson third eye in the middle of his forehead, and three curved, goat-like horns to complete this nightmarish visage.

As for his gear, like all Light Warriors, he wore heavy plate armour cut from a single block of pure wood. His was nearly blood-red, marked by numerous darker striations and circular patterns. His club was made from the same tree.

"Do I really have a choice?" Sank-Uk finally responded, keeping his tone level after assessing his opponent. "And by the way, I doubt a fight against a Vitalist can be just while your Lifemancer backs you up."

"Can't argue with that, hehe," the Vitalist chuckled sinisterly before adding, "But I can promise that none of my men will interfere. That's more than you deserve, given your situation."

"I can't deny that either," Sank-Uk conceded, his expression grim.

In this context, Sank-Uk should've been brimming with confidence, as he still had his trusty guandao to accompany him even though his armour had been destroyed by the titan Featherfall. This glaive wasn't just steel; it had undergone three spiritual awakenings, setting it leagues above standard weaponry, even among his peers.

Here, being a Spirit Enchanter was a revered profession, a lynchpin allowing the Underworld Barbarians to stand toe-to-toe against their more physically superior eternal rivals.

Yet, even with the tribes' unyielding respect, these Spirit Enchanters struggled to tilt the scale of the capricious 50% success rate of spirit enchantments. A mere 1% boost in success rate made one worthy of near god-like reverence.

The catch was, the more successful consecutive enchantments an item received, the harder it became to influence the next one. Although the odds never changed, the spiritual energy and Aetheric laws involved scaled with a frightening complexity. This is why anything enchanted beyond +3 skyrocketed in value, bordering on mythical status when it came to precious artifacts, which were already a pain to acquire or fabricate.

Only common items like the iron axe Jake had borrowed earlier could be easily produced at higher enchantment levels.

In layman's terms, to forge a +3 enchanted guandao like his, probably seven or eight other weapons of similar caliber had been meticulously crafted, only to be obliterated in failed enchantment attempts. A failed spiritual awakening meant the item was annihilated, reduced to mere Aether.

Therefore, unless one was among the elite who had fully cultivated their Lumyst Aura, a failed enchantment was financially catastrophic, with not even scrap left to salvage.

Given the high risk of failure in the Duskwight Lands, clients usually commissioned their chosen Spirit Enchanter, providing duplicate items in advance to maximize the odds. When Sank-Uk had his guandao forged, he was dirt-poor and gambled everything.

Miraculously, it paid off—thanks to the grace of Lumyst. His triple-enchanted blade had become a trusted companion in every battle, growing alongside him.

Yet, sizing up the formidable lifeforce radiating from his opponent's armor and cudgel, Sank-Uk quickly realized that his superior equipment wouldn't make up for his physical shortcomings. His armor, after all, had been utterly decimated by Featherfall, reduced to scrap metal.

Sensing his foe's unease, the Vitalist sized him up disdainfully before mockingly saying,

"Don't take it personally that I've targeted you first instead of the two others. Something's off about them, and they have the Soulmancer's protection. She seems willing to risk her life for them. But although you're the deadliest, she totally ignores you. So my choice is clear: you die first."

As the giant's words trailed off, the eyes of both combatants narrowed. A split second later, Sank-Uk's widened in outrage and disbelief. Roaring furiously, he barely parried an incoming blade from the left with his cracked gauntlet, while his guandao whirled unexpectedly to his right to thwart another attack.

GONG!

The Vitalist's enormous cudgel clashed against his spear, sending echoing shockwaves. But another blade, sneaky as hell, managed to find its way through a crack in his gauntlet, piercing his clenched fist straight through."

"Y-you son of a—"

Sank-Uk barely had time to curse when the other five Pulsars descended upon him in unison, piercing him with their respective weapons before he could even react. Merciless executioners, they pulled out their blood-soaked blades and plunged them back in, twisting the knives as they did.

Feeling death's icy grip, all the killing intent and resentment fueled by his own Lumyst Aura erupted forth in a last-ditch burst of fury and self-preservation. It froze the six Pulsars in their tracks, even stopping the heart of one.

Unfortunately, it did jack shit to halt the Vitalist's cudgel mid-swing. A moment later, Sank-Uk's world went pitch black as his brains were scattered to the four winds.