Chapter 300 - Blood Will Flood the Stone

• [A/N: New arc starts now! Hope you enjoy it. After some advice, I’ve decided to change the titles to something more meaningful instead of all those Roman numerals. Let me know how it reads]

Corpses littered the slope, strewn like discarded offerings to a bloodthirsty god. Dismembered limbs jutted from fractured earth, some twitching still, nerves firing in post-mortem spasms.

Ribcages had been ripped open like fruit split by bare hands. Entrails steamed in the cool dawn air, wrapped around rocks and weapons like grotesque garlands. Eyes stared blankly at the rising sun—some intact, most not—glazed orbs peeking through slashed faces or rolling down inclines where heads had been tossed or crushed beyond recognition.

The battlefield had become a place of stillbirth, where hope had died before it ever drew breath. Pools of dark, almost black blood congealed in the craters left behind by the Xok’al’s charges, their heat baking the crimson into the stone until the entire slope smelled of scorched iron and boiled fat.

Bits of armor were fused to charred bodies, melted into twisted shapes that once resembled helmets, pauldrons, or shields. The ground itself was cracked and blackened, scoured by claws and cracks.

Ash swirled lazily in the air, drifting down in flakes that coated the dead in grey. Fires smoldered across the ruins of the Ajnal fortress—a once-formidable citadel now broken open like a ribcage, its obsidian walls shattered by sheer brute force. Its outer towers were cleaved cleanly in half, spines of stone crumbled and bleeding smoke into the sky. What had stood for a century collapsed in minutes.

Then came the sound.

A wet, crunching snap as something stepped forward.

A clawed foot landed on a broken Ajnal’s skull, the brittle bone giving way beneath the full weight of the beast. The head caved in with a sickening squelch, one eye rupturing outward, as the rest of the face folded under the pressure. The monster didn’t even look down. Its attention was already moving, scanning for any survivors.

Reptilian eyes gleamed beneath the smoky haze, pupils thin and vertical, rimmed in deep gold. Its hide shimmered faintly in the sunrise, a shade between polished metal and scorched onyx.

Its two upper limbs moved with unnerving grace, shaped not like arms but like living weapons. The right ended in a brutal cleaver-like curve, its jagged edge darkened with gore and chipped from bone. The left tapered into a long, spear-like spike, glistening wet with fresh blood that ran down its shaft in slow, deliberate trails.

And behind it came more.

Dozens. No—hundreds.

Creatures of varying shape and size, but sharing that same maddening architecture: two legs, two bladed arms, and a tail that was never singular. Some trailed two, twitching and coiled like whips, while others bore three, and some even four, each tipped with cylindrical natural cannons. Their limbs resembled those of men, but warped—elongated and jointed in ways that made them unsettling to watch.

The bladed arms were shaped into cruel instruments of war: hooks, spikes, machetes, serrated edges that gleamed with the filth of what they'd just torn through. Their natural chitin glistened with a wet metallic sheen, darker than obsidian, harder than steel, and each motion they made was fluid, like instinct honed over eons of killing.

A sound cut through the wind—a high, sharp cry, ragged and short.

They all stopped.

Simultaneously, the Xok’al turned their heads toward the sound like a murder of crows scenting blood. It came from the cliffs, high above—what remained of the mountain’s embedded fortress. There, held aloft by a single bladed appendage, was the corpse of another Ajnal. Its armor was pierced straight through the sternum, and its body hung limp, broken. One arm was severed at the shoulder, the other twitching in its death throes. Red spilled from its shattered ribs in long, dripping strands, painting the black mountain rock below.

The four-tailed Xok’al dropped it.

Then, as if given permission, the feeding began.

The Xok’al descended on the corpses without hesitation. Snarls and guttural clicking filled the ravine as they tore into the dead—not just flesh and bone, but armor and weapons too. Mandibles snapped down on metal, shattering it to splinters. Jaws unhinged as they gorged themselves, rending bodies in half and devouring them whole. Some chewed skulls like nuts, others tore out spinal columns with rhythmic jerks, gnashing through flesh as blood sprayed in arcs across their backs.

One creature pulled a severed leg free from a pile and sucked the marrow from it, the sound wet and obscene.

And yet—

Beneath it all, under a mound of bodies, one Ajnal still breathed.

Barely.

He lay crushed beneath several of his comrades, his own body mangled beyond recognition. Both legs were gone, severed clean above the knee, and what remained of his torso was flayed open, ribs cracked inward like the collapsed frame of a ship. He didn’t feel the pain anymore. Not because it wasn’t there, but because his mind had already begun to retreat from it—shivering in that final, frozen corner before unconsciousness.

His only view was a slit of morning light, framed by the carcasses above him. And through it, he saw everything.

He watched as one of the beasts picked up his captain’s arm and bit into the upper bicep, chewing slowly before tossing the rest aside. He watched as a group of them fought over a torso like wild beasts, pulling until it split in half with a wet rip. He saw teammates, brothers, eaten down to their bones—humiliated in death, devoured until nothing was left but scattered plates and half-digested armor.

Then his eyes moved.

Dragged slowly to the figure standing at the heart of it all.

It wasn’t much different from the others—two legs, two bladed arms—but two more limbs sprouted from its back, extending just above the shoulders, jointed and flexing like the others, each shaped into a weapon. Yet it wasn’t the anatomy that sent dread coursing through his ruined body. Not the fear of death—he knew that was already coming.

No.

It was what it meant.

What that fifth tail meant.

He remembered the stories—half-whispers from the elders who’d survived the Xok’al Origin War. Tales of a monster that tore through platoons by itself, that leveled villages, cracked open fortresses, and vanished into legend.

And now, after all these years... it had returned.

The broken warrior stared, tears spilling from eyes he could no longer feel, his breath stuck in his throat—because the creature looked back.

Those golden, slitted eyes found him through the smoke and ruin.

There was no hunger in that gaze. No rage.

Only… inevitability.

And the survivor wept.

Because not even death would save them now.

For in the Ajnal’s oldest stone tablets, etched long before the War of the Twelve Tribes, a revelation from a Great Priest had warned them—

“When five tails rise, blood will flood the stone.

The sixth shall feast on kings and crush the sky.

But should the seventh stir from bone—

Then all shall burn.

Then all shall die.”

Ayu focused inward, channeling that buried vitality and forcing her own heart and lungs to obey—beat faster, breathe deeper. She pushed her cells to their edge, willed them to burn hotter, faster, harder. Slowly, thin trails of smoke began rising from her pores as her skin heated, her tanned complexion shifting toward a glowing red.

Then she opened her eyes and exhaled sharply—hot smoke spilling from her mouth like fire.

Her senses surged to the edge of what the body could hold. Her heartbeat thundered like a war drum in her ears, and yet she could still hear it—that subtle whisper of a single blade of grass spinning gently in the wind, hundreds of meters away.

And then—she moved.

Her figure blurred across the open plains with violent speed. Yet the wind barely cracked, the grass barely stirred. Her form rode over the world, not against it. She flowed with the wind, danced over the dirt, touched nothing too hard nor too light—caring for the earth beneath and the life that grew from it.

Her path curved and zigzagged with impossible grace, rolling, shifting, weaving across the vast field on bare feet. It should have made the wind roar and the ground tear open—yet it didn’t. It felt instead like ashes swept by a strong, silent breeze.

Seconds folded into minutes before she finally eased to a halt.

Her breathing steadied. The heat faded. The smoke trailing from her skin began to dissipate as her temperature dropped back toward normal bounds. Sweat poured across her arms and down her spine, dripping from her chin—but she held herself upright.

Her eyes opened.

There, floating in front of her, the System message waited—still as always—displayed in her native Thai script, just like the first one she ever saw inside The Tower.

Fury — 11.078%

The difference was minuscule.

Ayu sighed, shoulders sinking just slightly. Two weeks had passed since she’d finally received the notification—her skill acknowledged at last by the Tower itself. She’d been thrilled. In the first week alone, she pushed Fury from seven to ten percent, the growth steady and satisfying.

But this past week? Barely a single notch of progress.

Slower than a snail dragging its belly across mud.

Well, no matter. She’d just keep—

Her nose twitched.

A familiar scent teased the air.

Her eyes widened. The tiredness vanished as warmth rushed through her chest, and before she even fully processed it, her feet were already moving. A wide grin bloomed across her face as she sprinted toward the scent, arms loose, heart pounding—not from strain, but from joy.

It didn’t take long to see him.

Still a few dozen meters away, still halfway up the slope, that unmistakable silhouette. That same careless stance, those ruined clothes, that goofy smile already forming when their eyes met.

She didn’t slow down.

A leap, a blur, and then she crashed into his arms, nearly knocking him over.

“How was the trip?” she asked, clinging tight.

Before he could speak, her gaze fell to his right arm.

It was noticeably shorter.

“Pretty good,” Alonso said with a chuckle, raising the limb. “Got a little souvenir from the last Master Warrior. It was gone up to the elbow before I left—should grow back in a few hours.”

Ayu rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. “Could’ve been worse.”

“What about the crafter? You met Boge? Did he do your blades?”

“Oh, yeah,” Alonso grinned.

With a slight motion, his two swords floated from their sheaths. Sharp, clean edges flashed in the morning light. Their hilts were crafted from bone and tightly wrapped cloth, the grip carefully designed.

“Nice work,” Ayu nodded. Then, already moving on, “So how many Masters this time? Got enough data? How’s the technique’s progress?”

“That’s a lot of questions,” Alonso muttered, amused. “Not bad, I guess.”

He stretched his neck, then let out a sigh.

“Let’s just say... the Beastmen Masters aren’t exactly fans of me anymore. They’re going all out from the start. Barely enough time to collect data.”

Ayu laughed. “Well, what do you expect? You’re already pretty damn famous across the plains.”

Alonso leaned back, shrugging with a faint smirk. “Famous for losing most of the time.”

“Hey, no fake modesty now. You’ve beaten two Masters already. What do you want—next time I see you, you’ll be fighting Makoh or something?” Ayu grinned.

“Two out of eleven. Not sure that’s worth bragging about.” He waved it off. “Anyway, enough about me. How’s Fury and the Third State coming along?”

Ayu rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not much. Fury crept up a bit, but I’m still a distance from reaching the Third Body State. Maybe a few more SP will help,” she added with a mischievous blink. “When are we going hunting four-tails again?”

“Oh, about that...” Alonso’s face shifted, turning serious. “You heard the news?”

“News? News about what?”

“The Xok’al destroyed an Ajnal fort in the far north. Sounds like it was pretty bad.”

Ayu’s eyes widened. “You think...”

Alonso shook his head. “Hopefully not. But... I guess it’s time to leave.”

Ayu went quiet, the weight of it pressing down on her. Then slowly, she nodded.

Yeah... it was time.

“Okay… eh, alright. I should probably say bye to Makoh before heading out,” she said.

“Want me to come with you?”

“Sure. He shouldn’t be far,” Ayu replied, scanning the horizon. “I think he was patrolling the West ridge—might be related to what you just said about the Xok’al invasion.”

They both nodded and set off toward the western cliffs.

Ayu moved effortlessly, her steps light and fluid, while Alonso had to push a little to match her pace. Still, it took less than an hour to reach the edge of the western range, where the stone narrowed into a ridge flanked by jagged peaks.

Ayu stepped ahead, cupped her hands to her mouth, and yelled, “MASTER!!!”

The sound echoed through the mountains, sharp and clear. Alonso couldn’t help but smile at how beastmen still relied on sound to signal across distance, even when EM was clearly more convenient. But who was he to judge? He was used to it by now.

A few moments passed.

Then a breeze swept through the ridge—too sudden, too clean.

They turned serious at once.

Grandmaster Makoh had arrived.

“So you are leaving for the West, child?” His voice came soft but deep, carried by the wind itself.

Ayu bowed slightly. “Yes, Master. Thank you for all your teaching. I… I won’t forget. I’ll visit if I can, but I have to go now. My friends are waiting. And I want to help in the war against the Xok’al.”

Makoh studied her, expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “I know. And you should. But beware, Ayu. Never let your power become certainty. Even strength can dull the spirit.”

Ayu nodded back, then pressed both palms together and raised them slowly in front of her chest—a gesture of reverence among the beastmen.

“There’s one thing I want to show you before you go,” Makoh said. “Will you follow me?”