Warrior Training System-Chapter 473: Cockroach on battlefield

"Althea, Lumine—keep the enemy mages busy," Shera ordered. "Mana guns, don’t let up, wanni shield them from attacks."

She turned sharply. "Theon, intercept anyone trying to reinforce the Circle Warriors cassian’s engaged with, don’t let them pile on."

Even as she spoke, Shera was already fighting. Five enemy mages pressed her at once, spells flashing in rapid succession, and she held them back alone—hammer moving, Domain flaring—while another team under her command moved into position at her signal.

Cassian, meanwhile, was holding off two Circle Warriors by himself. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t overwhelming either. The real problem wasn’t quality—it was numbers.

The cult had no shortage of bodies.

Most of their forces were warped vessels and Hollow Fangs—twisted, half-empty things—but even those were stronger than normal humans. And they just kept coming, wave after wave, grinding forward without fear or hesitation.

The same was true for the mages. The cult had them in abundance—at the lower ranks, they outnumbered the Circle Warriors nearly three to one. It put constant pressure on the Magisterian and Karmen forces, stretching formations and draining mana faster than anyone liked.

If not for the mana guns and the clear advantage in quality—better training, better coordination—the fight would’ve tilted far more heavily in the cult’s favor.

But in the end, numbers alone didn’t decide wars like this.

What truly mattered were the clashes at the top.

Naset was locked in battle with the cult’s bishop on one side of the field. Orlando, on right flank, was engaged with Ceno Kirk. Elsewhere, other heavyweights collided with the cult’s higher-ups, their fights warping the battlefield around them.

Whichever side won those battles would decide how the rest of this battle would end.

Cassian pushed all of that out of his mind. Those things were beyond his control. The only thing he could do now was fight—and kill as many cultists as possible.

He was locked in combat with two First Circle Warriors, both wielding agility-based Domains.

One moved in explosive bursts, zapping around Cassian in sharp, straight lines, striking and retreating in an instant. The other was more controlled, his movements smooth and gliding, almost like he was flying around the battlefield.

Normally, fighting both at once would’ve been overwhelming.

But Cassian was ready.

The Gale Whisper Sword Style flowed naturally through him. He read their footwork, their breathing, the way their Domains shifted just before they moved. Bursts or smooth arcs—it didn’t matter. He could predict both.

But that didn’t mean he could dodge everything or dominate the fight outright. Blades still found him—cuts opening along his arms, his side, his shoulder. He took them without slowing, fighting like someone who didn’t know how to die.

That was what started to wear on them.

For every three strikes they landed, Cassian answered with one of his own—and his cuts were precise. Clean. Placed where they mattered. It would’ve been tolerable if the damage on him had stacked, if blood loss or pain had slowed him down.

It didn’t.

Wounds closed. Breathing steadied. His movements only grew sharper.

The cultists’ irritation turned into frustration as Cassian began to read them more clearly, his blade slipping through their defenses and finding vital points again and again.

"Fucking cockroach," the one who kept zapping around snarled. "If not for that ridiculous healing, I’d have killed you minutes ago."

He blurred forward again, lightning-fast. For a split second he was right in front of Cassian—then gone. Cassian slashed downward on instinct, the blade cutting empty air as the man slipped to the side and carved across Cassian’s stomach instead.

Blood spilled freely.

It didn’t stop Cassian.

He followed through, twisting the missed strike into a vertical slash that smashed into the man’s shoulder, steel biting deep. The cultist screamed and staggered, his momentum broken—but Cassian couldn’t capitalize on it.

Even so, that wound forced a shift in their formation.

And that was all the opening the other warrior needed.

The other lunged for Cassian’s throat, smooth and precise. Cassian snapped his sword back just in time, steel meeting steel as he barely manage

But then something slammed into his back.

Pain flared as an axe bit into his shoulder—a Hollow Fang had dropped in from behind, the impact nearly knocking Cassian forward. He snarled, twisting hard as he kicked the creature away, forcing both Circle Warriors back at the same time.

"Theon—stop them!" Cassian shouted.

"I’m trying!" Theon yelled back, breathless. "There’s too damn many of these bastards!"

He punted one attacker off his feet, then snapped his weapon up and dropped the Hollow Fang Cassian had just kicked away. Another shot followed immediately, catching a cultist that had been lining up on Cassian’s flank, before Theon pivoted again to deal with one rushing him head-on.

Cassian’s frustration finally spilled over.

"You damn cultists—" he snarled, fury cutting through his breath. The two Circle Warriors looked worse than he did now, bloodied and limping, despite how many times they’d struck him.

He took a step forward, blade low, eyes burning."Come on," he growled. "I’ll kill you both, you faggots"

His Domain surged in response, pressure rolling outward as his senses sharpened—every movement clearer, every opening screaming at him.

The two cultists answered his challenge with rage of their own.

One came in like a hurled spear, riding a violent gust that carried him straight at Cassian in a brutal arc. The other flickered like a beam of light, ricocheting through the air as if bouncing off invisible mirrors.

Cassian saw both attacks coming.

He just didn’t try to stop both.

Steel snapped up to block the strike aimed for his neck. The other blow he ignored completely.

The second warrior’s blade punched into Cassian’s stomach. Flesh tore. Blood spilled. His guts slid free.

Any normal fighter would’ve collapsed on the spot.

Cassian didn’t even slow.

Pain never came.

His Domain surged instead.

He drove a boot into the attacker’s chest, kicking him back hard enough to rip the blade free as the man stumbled away. At the same time, Cassian wrenched his sword loose, blood dripping down the steel as the first warrior—already wounded in the shoulder—tried to retreat.

Cassian didn’t give him the chance.

He charged.

The wounded cultist’s eyes went wide in pure horror as Cassian closed the distance, intestines hanging loose, moving like nothing was wrong.

"You—zombie—" the man started to scream.

Cassian vanished.

A burst of wind exploded where he’d been. He reappeared inches away, blade already driving forward. The sword punched into the man’s stomach, blood flooding his mouth as Cassian kept going, slashing upward in one brutal motion.

Steel split bone.

The skull opened. Blood rained down over Cassian as he roared, ripping the blade free.

He didn’t stop.

Another gust of wind carried him toward the second Circle Warrior, who was still falling back, trying desperately to recover.

Cassian’s sword flashed once more.

The blade cut cleanly across the man’s neck, and the body tumbled away, lifeless, hitting the ground far from where it had started.