Soulbound: Dual Cultivation-Chapter 403: First Battle

Lucas watched the usurpers’ front ranks begin their advance, shields lifting, cavalry shifting into formation behind them like a gathering storm. Dust rose beneath their boots and hooves, thickening the air of the valley. The sound alone carried weight, a low rolling tremor that would have unsettled most men.

He turned sharply.

"Bartho."

Bartho stepped forward at once, his eyes steady despite the scale of what stood before them.

"You take the squad," Lucas said, his voice firm but calm. "Follow the signals. Do not break discipline no matter what you see."

Bartho’s jaw tightened.

"And you?" he asked quietly.

Lucas’ gaze shifted toward the approaching wall of enemy steel.

"I will break them first."

There was no dramatics in his tone. Only certainty.

Bartho bowed his head once. "Understood."

Lucas removed the Core briefly from beneath his cloak and secured it more firmly against his chest. The Dominion bracelets across the formation pulsed faintly in response, as though acknowledging a heartbeat quickening before battle.

He adjusted the mask over his face, ensuring it sat perfectly against his skin.

A soldier hurried forward with a spear at his request. Lucas took it in one smooth motion, testing the balance with a practiced turn of his wrist. The shaft was solid, well-weighted, long enough to reach beyond shield walls in the first clash.

He mounted his horse in a single fluid movement.

The animal sensed the tension in the air, hooves stamping once against stone, breath flaring through its nostrils.

Lucas guided the horse along the front line of the thousand chosen to meet the initial impact. He did not rush. He rode slowly, letting each soldier see him clearly.

Some of the men swallowed hard as the enemy numbers became fully visible. Three thousand advancing infantry. Rows upon rows of shields. Behind them, the cavalry massed thick enough to blot portions of the horizon.

Lucas raised his voice, not in panic, but in command.

"They think this valley is our grave."

The men listened.

"They think their numbers will bury us."

A few tightened their grips on their weapons.

Lucas’ eyes burned through the slits of his mask.

"Look at them."

The soldiers obeyed.

"They stand there believing they are stronger. They believe they will ride us down. They believe they will return home victorious."

He slowed his horse near the center.

"They are wrong."

The rumble of the approaching usurper infantry grew louder, boots striking stone in accelerating rhythm.

Lucas raised his spear.

"We will all die one day," he said, his voice carrying across the front ranks. "If not here, then somewhere else. That is a certainty no king, no general, no god can erase."

He let the words settle.

"But today," he continued, "if death comes, it comes with purpose."

His gaze swept across their faces.

"You fight for your women who wait in uncertainty. For your children who deserve a future not ruled by traitors. For your fathers who bled before you. For your mothers who raised you."

The first wave of usurpers broke into full charge.

Their cavalry followed, hooves beginning to pound with terrifying force.

Lucas’ horse shifted beneath him, eager.

"We do not die for pride," he roared. "We die, if we must, to carve a path for those who cannot hold a blade."

He leaned forward slightly.

"They call themselves rulers."

The distance between the two armies shrank rapidly.

"They call themselves conquerors."

The valley trembled under the thunder of hooves.

Lucas lifted his spear high.

"LET’S SEND THESE FUCKERS TO HELL!"

He drove his heels into his horse’s sides.

The thousand at the front surged forward with him, a unified roar erupting from their throats as steel met acceleration and they charged towards the incoming Usurpers army.

The valley erupted before steel even met steel.

As Lucas and the thousand surged forward, the heights above ignited in bursts of elemental light. Flames spiraled downward in roaring arcs. Blades of compressed wind shrieked as they descended. Jagged spears of stone shot from elevated positions, aimed to shatter formation before impact could ever happen. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

For a fraction of a breath, the sky seemed to fall.

Lucas did not slow.

Behind the charging front, the Ice Belle acted.

She did not descend dramatically. Instead, the air she had claimed tightened instantly at her command. Moisture condensed in violent obedience, coalescing into a vast, translucent barrier that curved over the advancing Valerion front like the shell of a living glacier.

Flames struck first.

They splashed against sudden frost and hissed into steam. Wind blades embedded and shattered.

Stone spears cracked against hardened crystalline layers that formed faster than the eye could follow.

The shield was not perfect. Shards of heat and scattered debris slipped through edges, grazing armor and cutting flesh. But the formation held.

The soldiers felt it.

They felt protection.

They felt that they were not alone in that deadly stretch of stone.

A roar rose from Valerion’s ranks, louder now, steadier. Confidence replaced the flicker of fear that had threatened to creep in moments earlier.

Behind them, Valerion’s cultivators stepped forward in synchronized motion, raising their hands, channeling their elements with disciplined precision. Columns of fire surged upward. Torrents of pressurized water crashed toward the enemy front.

Yet the usurpers had prepared.

Their defensive cultivators formed layered barriers of earthen walls and shimmering energy veils. Fire dispersed. Water split around reinforced stone. Electricity grounded through prepared conduits hammered into the ridge.

Neither side yielded ground through cultivation alone.

There would be no distant victory.

Only collision.

Lucas lowered his spear as the distance vanished entirely.

Across from him, the usurper commander drove his own mount forward, blade raised, armor gleaming despite the sweat running down his pale face. Even through the chaos, Lucas noticed it again. The sheen of weakness. The stiffness in posture.

Too late now.

The two forces crashed together with a thunder that shook the valley walls.

Shields splintered.

Spears punched through gaps in armor.

Horses screamed as bodies collided in brutal proximity.

Lucas’ spear struck first, piercing through a raised shield and into the throat behind it with clean, merciless force. He released the shaft instantly, drawing his blade in the same motion as his horse barreled deeper into the mass.

The space around him bent.

It began subtly, like heat distortion in summer air. Then violently.

An enemy soldier lunged toward him with a downward strike. Lucas twisted his wrist, and the space between them compressed unnaturally. The man’s blade never reached him. Instead, the soldier himself folded inward, crushed by invisible force as though the air had clenched into a fist around his torso.

Lucas extended his hand toward a cluster attempting to flank him.

The ground between them warped.

For a heartbeat, reality seemed to ripple like disturbed water. Then it snapped. The space occupying that narrow stretch collapsed violently inward before rebounding outward in a concussive burst. Armor crumpled. Bodies were hurled aside like broken dolls.

Around him, the thousand fought savagely. Dominion bracelets flared as squad leaders redirected force, strengthening blows, reinforcing shields at critical instants. Coordination sharpened beyond normal limits.

The usurpers pressed with greater numbers, but their movements were not as sharp as they should have been. A cavalry rider swayed too long before striking. An infantryman hesitated half a breath too late. Nausea tugged at balance. Fatigue dulled reflex.

And then the Ice Belle tightened.

The air dropped instantly.

Breath crystallized in front of faces. Sweat turned to biting chill against exposed skin. Muscles already strained by toxins stiffened as cold burrowed into joints and sinew.

Horses faltered mid-stride, hooves skidding against a thin glaze forming beneath them.

Panic flickered across enemy lines.

Lucas drove forward into it.

He stepped down from his mount when space became too tight, blade carving arcs through weakened resistance. With each movement of his hand, the fabric of distance bent to his will. He shortened gaps to strike faster than perception allowed. He widened space suddenly to throw enemies off balance before snapping it closed in crushing force.

An entire segment of the opposing line attempted to regroup and reinforce their commander.

Lucas raised his palm.

The air between them imploded.

There was no flame. No lightning. No spectacle of color.

Only pressure.

When it released, the space they had occupied was empty save for twisted armor and bodies thrown aside in unnatural angles.

Around him, sword clashed against sword. Spears thrust. Elemental bursts flared and died against layered defenses. Men screamed. Horses collapsed. Ice spread subtly beneath boots, stealing traction at critical moments.

The usurper commander roared orders, attempting to rally his front.

Lucas turned toward him through the chaos.

The battle had fully ensued.