Chapter : 1757
Lloyd’s eyes were no longer human. The pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, and the Blue Rings were pulsing with a cold, rhythmic light—like the status indicator on a high-end server. There was no rage in his expression. There was no sadness. There was absolutely nothing.
"You talk too much," Lloyd said. His voice was a flat, digital monotone. It didn't carry the weight of his vocal cords; it sounded like it was being generated by a machine. "It is inefficient. You are expending 15% of your available lung capacity on verbal taunts that have a 0% chance of inducing a surrender."
The knight hesitated, his hand tightening on his broadsword. He was used to victims who screamed or begged. He was even used to heroes who roared with righteous fury. He was not prepared for a teenager who looked like he was calculating a tax return.
"Inefficient?" The knight growled, trying to hide his sudden unease. "Boy, you’re surrounded. We are the elite. We are the Shadow Knights. You’re just a meal."
"An organic consumption metaphor," Lloyd noted, tilting his head at a 15-degree angle. "However, your threat assessment is flawed. You have failed to account for the environmental variables. We are standing in a high-moisture environment. You are encased in conductive carbon-steel. And I am a Kinetic Engineer."
Lloyd raised his right hand, palm open to the sky. He didn't reach for his sword. He didn't need it.
System Check, the thoughts scrolled across his vision in pale blue text. Biological integrity: 40% (trauma). Emotional status: NULL. Steel Blood Bloodline: ACTIVE. Magnetic Alignment: 100%.
"Steel Blood," Lloyd whispered. "Variation: Weaver's Loom."
He reached into his own biology. His Ferrum bloodline wasn't just magic; it was the ability to manipulate the atomic structure of iron. He focused on the hemoglobin in his blood—the iron that carried oxygen to his muscles. He didn't just summon it; he re-engineered it.
He forced the iron to the surface of his skin, pushing it through his pores in a process that should have been agonizing. But he had turned his pain sensors off. From his fingertips, thousands of microscopic red droplets sprayed out. They didn't fall.
Using the ambient static electricity of the storm, Lloyd created a localized magnetic field. The iron droplets elongated, spinning and stretching until they became threads thinner than a human hair but stronger than diamond-tipped cables.
He flicked his wrist.
The air around him hummed. The "Weaver's Loom" was a radial web of thousands of these threads, extending twenty feet in every direction. Because they were so thin, they were invisible in the dark rain. The only sign they existed was the way the raindrops were being sliced into perfect halves as they fell through the air.
The leader of the knights roared and charged. He was a veteran of twenty wars, and he believed that a heavy sword and a fast run could solve any problem. He swung his blade in a massive downward arc.
Lloyd didn't move his body. He simply twitched his index finger.
A bundle of wires, hidden in the mud, shot up like a trap. They wrapped around the knight’s sword and his arm. The kinetic energy of the swing was so great that when the wires stopped the motion, the shockwave had nowhere to go. It traveled back through the knight's arm, shattering his radius and ulna into dozens of pieces.
"Correction," Lloyd said.
He pulled his hand back. The wires were vibrating at such a high frequency that they generated intense heat. They didn't just cut; they cauterized.
The knight’s arm, still holding the sword, was neatly detached from his shoulder. The cut was so clean that the blood didn't even spray; the heat of the wire had sealed the arteries instantly. The limb hit the mud with a dull, heavy thud.
The leader stared at the empty space where his arm used to be. He didn't feel the pain yet; his nerves were still trying to understand why they were gone. "What..."
Lloyd swept his hand horizontally. "Your guard is open. Error found. Executing fix."
A single wire whipped through the air. It passed through the steel plates of the knight’s neck armor as if they were made of butter. The leader's head slid off his shoulders, the helmet rolling into a puddle with a wet, metallic clink.
"Target 1 neutralized," Lloyd droned. "Eleven variables remaining. Adjusting trajectory for multi-target engagement."
________________________________________
Chapter : 1758
The remaining eleven Shadow Knights were frozen. They were professionals, men who had killed mages and monsters, but they had never seen a man fall apart like a wooden doll. The rain continued to hammer down, and the steam from the leader’s cauterized neck rose into the air, a ghostly white plume in the dark.
"What are you?" one of the knights gasped, his voice cracking. He held his shield up, but his hands were shaking so hard the metal rattled.
"I am a solution to a problem," Lloyd replied. He began to walk forward, his movements mechanical and smooth. He didn't run. He didn't need to. He was the center of a web, and the flies were already caught.
Three knights from the left flank charged together. They were smart; they knew they couldn't win alone. They tried to overwhelm him with three different angles—a spear to the gut, an axe to the head, and a mace to the knees.
"Coordinated attack detected," Lloyd’s inner voice analyzed. "Analyzing weapon material: High-carbon iron. Susceptibility to magnetic interference: 92%. Force required for structural failure: Minimal."
Lloyd moved his hands in a fluid, circular motion, like he was weaving an invisible cloth.
The wires lashed out. They didn't strike the men; they struck the weapons. The threads wrapped around the spearhead, the axe blade, and the mace head. With a sharp, calculated tug, Lloyd used their own momentum against them. He didn't just pull the weapons; he redirected the kinetic energy.
The spear was yanked into the path of the axe. The axe shattered the spear's wooden shaft. The mace was swung wide, hitting the second knight in the ribs with enough force to cave in his breastplate.
"Physics is a constant," Lloyd lectured, his voice cold and empty. "You cannot ignore momentum. You cannot ignore friction."
He clenched his fist.
The wires that were wrapped around the weapons suddenly contracted. They didn't just pull; they spun. The superheated threads acted like a high-speed saw. The three knights were caught in a vortex of vibrating steel.
It was a gruesome sight. The wires passed through the joints of their armor—the weak spots where the leather and chainmail were vulnerable. In the span of three seconds, the three knights were dismantled. It wasn't a battle of swords; it was an industrial accident. Arms, armor plates, and weapons fell into the mud in a chaotic, steaming heap.
"Armor integrity: 0%," Lloyd noted. "Biological status: TERMINATED."
"Get him!" another knight screamed from the back. He was a mage-knight, his armor etched with glowing runes of protection. He slammed his fist into the ground, summoning a wall of earth to block the wires. "Burn him! Use the fire-salt!"
The knights threw small glass orbs—alchemical fire. They shattered in the air, erupting into green flames that burned even in the rain.
Lloyd didn't flinch. He adjusted the magnetic field around him. The water in the air—the rain itself—was drawn toward him, forming a swirling shield of high-pressure liquid.
"Fire requires oxygen," Lloyd said. "Water is a natural suppressant. Conclusion: Your attack is irrelevant."
The green fire hit the water shield and was instantly snuffed out. Lloyd then released the pressure. The water exploded outward, hitting the knights like a blast from a high-pressure hose, knocking them off their feet.
While they were mid-air, the wires moved.
It was a harvest. Lloyd wasn't fighting; he was collecting data and resolving errors. He moved through the remaining knights like a ghost. He didn't use a sword. He used the invisible threads to perform "surgery" at a distance.
One knight tried to raise a shield; Lloyd sent a wire to slice the straps holding the shield to his arm, then used a second wire to take the arm.
Another knight tried to cast a spell; Lloyd sensed the mana gathering in the man's fingertips and sent a single wire to slice those fingers off before the spell could form.
"Magic is just energy without a proper delivery system," Lloyd noted. "Engineering provides the system."
The final knight standing was the largest of them all, a man named Boros who was famous for his strength. He swung a massive, two-handed warhammer that could crush a stone wall. He was the only one left, and he was driven by a suicidal rage.
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"Die, you freak!" Boros screamed, bringing the hammer down with enough force to crack the earth.
Lloyd didn't move. He stood right in the path of the hammer.
Chapter : 1759
At the very last millisecond, Lloyd raised his left hand. He didn't catch the hammer with his palm. He caught it with a woven "nest" of thousands of steel wires that he had created in the air.
CRACK.
The sound was like a thunderclap. The hammer hit the nest of wires and stopped. The wires acted like a shock absorber, the elasticity of the steel threads soaking up all the power of the strike. The kinetic energy was redirected into the ground, causing the mud around Lloyd’s feet to explode outward in a perfect circle.
Boros gasped, the vibration of the stopped strike traveling back into his arms, numbing them instantly. He tried to pull the hammer back, but it was stuck in the web.
"Structural analysis of your weapon: Defective," Lloyd said, looking into Boros’s terrified eyes. "The weight-to-balance ratio is 4% off. The wooden haft has a hairline fracture 12 inches from the head. It was always going to break."
Lloyd twitched his thumb.
The wires around the hammer head tightened and spun. The heavy iron head of the hammer was sliced into a dozen thin "pancakes" of metal. The wooden handle was reduced to sawdust.
Boros stared at the empty handle in his hands. He looked at the carnage around him—ten of the kingdom's best warriors, reduced to scrap metal and meat in less than five minutes.
Lloyd reached out and placed a hand on the knight's chest plate.
"Your heart rate is 180 beats per minute," Lloyd observed. "Your adrenaline levels are peaked. You are experiencing a 'fight or flight' response. However, I have disabled both options."
He didn't kill the knight. Not yet.
Lloyd looked past Boros at the final two survivors who were trembling by the trees. He retracted the wires. The thousands of red threads snaked back across the mud, sizzling as they touched the cold water, and disappeared into the pores of Lloyd's hands.
The pain of the metal returning to his blood was like being injected with liquid lead, but Lloyd’s face remained a blank, porcelain mask. He stood in the center of the graveyard he had built, the rain washing the mud from his boots.
He was no longer a boy. He was no longer a noble. He was a Ghost of the Steel Blood, a creature of pure logic standing in a world made of broken dreams.
He looked at the two survivors, his Blue Ring Eyes glowing with a steady, terrifying light.
________________________________________
The ten Shadow Knights were no longer a factor. They were merely scrap metal and silence. Lloyd Ferrum stood in the center of the carnage, his boots anchored in the black slush of the forest floor. He didn't look like he had just fought for his life; he looked like a mechanic who had just finished a particularly messy job.
He turned his gaze toward the two survivors. They were backed against the rough bark of a massive, ancient oak tree, their breath coming in ragged, white plumes.
"Two variables remain," Lloyd said. His voice didn't carry the weight of human emotion. It was a flat, metallic sound that seemed to vibrate in the air like a struck tuning fork. "Your armor is composed of a low-grade iron alloy. Your weapons are heavy, designed for momentum rather than precision. Statistically, your survival window is currently closed. Why are you still holding your breath?"
The knight with the crossbow didn't answer with words. He answered with steel. His finger, slick with rain and sweat, yanked the trigger.
The heavy bowstring snapped with a sound like a breaking bone. The steel-tipped bolt tore through the curtain of rain, aimed directly at the center of Lloyd’s chest. It was a shot that should have ended the story.
Lloyd didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his arms.
As the bolt reached a point six inches from his heart, the air hummed with a low, magnetic frequency. The iron bolt suddenly jerked, fighting against an invisible wall. It didn't bounce off; it simply stopped. It hovered in the air, vibrating so violently that the raindrops touching it turned into steam.
"Inefficient," Lloyd noted.
He didn't use a spell. He reached out with the iron in his own blood, commanding the magnetic poles of the projectile. With a slight tilt of his head, the bolt turned 180 degrees. It didn't fall to the ground. It stayed suspended, the sharp tip now pointed directly back at the man who had fired it.
Chapter : 1760
"Standard ballistics require a vacuum for perfection," Lloyd said, his voice a drone. "In this atmosphere, you forgot to account for the magnetic pull of the Ferrum bloodline. Error corrected."
He flicked a finger, and the bolt didn't fly—it dropped. It sank four inches deep into the frozen mud at Lloyd's feet, standing perfectly upright.
The second knight, whose armor was a patchwork of dented steel plates, tried to turn and run. He didn't get more than two steps. Lloyd raised his palm, and the forest echoed with the sound of a thousand nails being pulled from wood.
The knight’s armor suddenly shrieked. The metal plates, designed to slide over one another for mobility, ground to a halt. The magnetic pull Lloyd exerted was so precise that it fused the overlapping joints of the man’s suit. The knee guards locked. The elbow plates tightened. The knight went from a running man to a rigid statue in a heartbeat. He crashed forward, unable to move his limbs to break his fall, and slammed into the muck with a heavy, metallic thud.
"My suit!" the knight muffled into the mud. "I can't move! It’s crushing me!"
"I am simply increasing the attraction between the rivets and the plates," Lloyd explained, walking slowly toward the downed man. "Your protection is now your prison. It is a logical progression for a man who wears a cage and calls it armor."
The knight with the crossbow dropped his weapon. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking so hard they rattled against his belt. "Please! We were just hired! Rubel told us you were a rebel! We didn't know about the girl! We didn't know!"
Lloyd’s eyes, which had been as dull and grey as unpolished lead, suddenly sharpened. The mention of Mina—the warmth of her memory clashing with the cold reality of her death—sent a ripple through the iron in his veins.
For a split second, the cold logic flickered. The "Black Box" in his mind, the system that filtered out his pain, struggled to contain the sudden surge of adrenaline. He didn't see a knight; he saw a person who had been present when the world ended.
"The girl," Lloyd said. The flat tone remained, but there was a new, dangerous edge to it, like a razor-sharp wire. "Mina. She was a non-combatant. A civilian variable in a military dispute. Her death provides no tactical advantage. It was a waste of resources. A waste of potential."
"I’m sorry!" the knight sobbed, his face a mask of filth and tears. "I have a daughter! She’s only five! Please, don't kill me! I’ll tell you everything! I’ll give you Rubel’s codes!"
Lloyd looked at the man. He looked at the trembling hands. Five years old. A daughter. A life that existed outside of this slaughter.
For a moment, the magnetic field around the forest relaxed. The groaning of the locked armor slowed. The knights felt a tiny, desperate spark of hope. They thought they had found a crack in the monster’s logic.
Lloyd looked past them, toward the smoldering ruins of the cabin in the distance. He remembered Mina's hand reaching for the door. She had been someone's daughter, too. She had been his world.
"A daughter," Lloyd repeated. The hope in the knight's eyes flared. "Data suggests that children of executed soldiers often seek vengeance. It is a repetitive cycle that increases future risk factors by 72%."
The hope died instantly.
"Keep her away from damp cabins," Lloyd said, his voice dropping to a whisper of cold steel. "The world is an unsanitary place for daughters."
He didn't draw a sword. He didn't use the wires from the previous massacre. He simply raised his hands, and the twelve swords of the fallen Shadow Knights—scattered across the mud like discarded toys—began to vibrate.
Slowly, they rose. They dripped with rain and dark blood, hovering in a circular formation around Lloyd. They turned in the air, their points aiming at the two survivors with mathematical precision.
"I find physical execution to be... messy," Lloyd said. "It leaves traces. It requires contact. I prefer a more automated solution."
He flicked his wrists outward.
Two of the hovering swords flew through the air, their hilts slamming into the hands of the paralyzed knights. The magnetic pull Lloyd exerted was so strong that it forced the men’s gauntlets to snap shut, their iron fingers crushing the leather grips of the swords.
