The battlefield was a living nightmare.
Jay's sword, slick with blood, felt heavier with each swing. The rain continued to pour, a steady downpour that mixed with the blood and mud, creating rivers of crimson that washed over the ground. Bodies lay scattered around him—friends, enemies, comrades—all reduced to lifeless husks.
His breath came in shallow gasps, but the weight of the war on his shoulders seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. He could hear the cries of the wounded, the desperate calls of soldiers who had lost hope, and the shouts of commanders rallying their troops for a fight they could no longer win.
He had seen it before, this endless cycle of death and destruction. But this... this felt different. It was no longer just a battle. It was a slaughter.
He looked around, his vision clouded by the blood and smoke in the air, and saw one of his fellow soldiers—a man he had spoken with just hours before—fall under the blade of an English knight. The man had begged for mercy. But mercy had no place here. Jay watched helplessly as his life was snuffed out with a brutal strike. The man's lifeless eyes stared back at him, a silent plea for something that would never come.
Jay's heart twisted. The screams of the dying filled his ears, the cries of agony reverberating in his mind like an endless echo. His stomach churned, nausea rising within him, but what terrified him more was the numbness that was beginning to set in. The horror of what he had witnessed should have broken him. But it didn't. Instead, it sparked something inside him—a fierce, burning fury that surged through his veins.
He had seen enough.
It wasn't just the faces of the dead that haunted him. It was the faces of the living—the soldiers he had fought beside, the men and women who believed in something greater than themselves, who had sacrificed everything to stand against the darkness. They were falling, dying in droves, and Jay couldn't keep pretending that he wasn't just as expendable as them.
He needed to change. He needed to survive. Not just for himself, but for the ones he had failed to protect.
In the heat of the moment, Jay's gaze snapped to the sky, a strange sensation bubbling up inside him. Something... ancient stirred, deep in his blood. His vision blurred as his heart began to race, the sounds of the battlefield fading into the background. His blood pulsed with a new rhythm, a fierce beat that resonated with the primal force he had never fully understood.
A voice, deep and powerful, echoed inside his mind. "You are Arc. You are the blood of kings and gods. Rise."
The words were both foreign and familiar, as if they had been whispered to him in a forgotten dream. The world around him seemed to slow, the chaos of battle becoming a distant hum. His breath quickened, and he could feel the change within him—the awakening.
Jay's hand trembled as he gripped his sword tighter, the hilt burning in his palm. His senses sharpened, every movement around him becoming vivid and clear. The war cries, the clang of steel, even the scent of blood on the air—they all hit him with the intensity of a thousand storms.
Arc DNA, his mind whispered again. His heritage. His true power.
A surge of energy coursed through him, and with it, a strange, overwhelming clarity. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, and suddenly, he could see everything. The paths of the enemies before him, the weak points in their armor, their strategies—they all became painfully obvious. His body, fatigued from hours of fighting, no longer felt tired. His muscles, once sore and aching, now hummed with unnatural strength.
In that moment, Jay became something more than a soldier.
He was a weapon. A force.
The air around him crackled with power as he turned toward the nearest group of English knights. His gaze hardened, and before he could think, his body moved with a speed and precision he hadn't known he possessed.
He struck.
The first knight never saw it coming. Jay's sword sliced through the man's defenses, cutting him down in a single, fluid motion. The others were slow to react, stunned by the sudden, explosive attack. Jay moved like a shadow, a blur of steel and rage, his strikes landing with lethal accuracy. Each swing of his sword felt effortless, each blow tearing through armor like paper.
He was unstoppable.
One knight after another fell before him, their desperate attempts to fight back futile against the raw power that surged through his veins. Jay's vision was clear, his focus unshakable. The world was moving at a pace that felt like it was moving in slow motion, and Jay was the only one moving fast enough to keep up.
He could hear Joan's voice calling out, urging the soldiers around them to press the advantage, but Jay didn't need her guidance anymore. He was beyond the point of needing instruction. He had become something... other.
His sword danced through the air, a blur of motion. He felt invincible, each strike a testament to the power coursing through his veins. His enemies seemed to melt before him, unable to even raise their weapons in time to defend themselves. He could feel their fear, their confusion as they realized that they were no longer fighting a mere man, but something far darker and far more dangerous.
As the last of the knights around him fell to the ground, Jay stood in the center of the battlefield, his sword raised high. The world around him seemed to pause, as if the very air held its breath.
And then, all at once, the sound of the battlefield returned. The cries, the clashing steel, the pounding of hooves—they all came back to him, louder than ever. But Jay didn't flinch. He was no longer the boy who had been dragged into this war. He was a warrior. A force to be reckoned with.
His eyes locked onto Joan, who was fighting off another group of knights, her own strength unmatched by any ordinary warrior. She caught his gaze for a brief moment, and in that instant, something passed between them. Recognition. Understanding. She had seen the change in him.
Without a word, she nodded, as if to say, Now you understand.
Jay clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his sword. He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. He was fighting to win. And nothing—no one—would stand in his way.
The chaos of the battlefield seemed to pale in comparison to the fire burning within Jay. The Arc DNA—his true bloodline—had awakened, and with it, a power he had never imagined. His body was no longer limited by mortal constraints; it moved with the ease and grace of a predator, honed by centuries of bloodshed and war.
He barely noticed the other soldiers around him. His focus was laser-sharp, his mind a battlefield of its own as the world slowed to a crawl. Each swing of his sword felt like it was cutting through the very fabric of the world, his strikes precise and brutal. His enemies were nothing more than obstacles to be removed from his path.
Another group of knights came charging at him, but Jay didn't wait. He surged forward with the force of a hurricane, his sword arcing through the air. The first knight fell before he even had time to raise his shield. Jay moved again, faster than humanly possible, and the second knight followed the first, crumpling to the ground in a heap of metal and blood.
His feet barely touched the ground as he maneuvered through the battlefield, his sword flashing in the dark. Each knight he faced fell within moments, unable to keep up with the ferocity of his assault. His movements were instinctual, guided by something ancient within him, something that whispered of forgotten battles and bloodlines of kings.
But it wasn't just the speed or the strength that had changed. It was the way Jay saw everything—the way his perception of the world had sharpened. He could see the flow of battle, the movements of the enemy, their weak points, and their strategies, all as clearly as if they were written in the air before him.
His body moved of its own accord, faster than his mind could process, and yet everything felt so clear. There were no more doubts, no more hesitations. Jay had become the hunter, and the battlefield was his prey.
He was unstoppable.
And then, amid the carnage, he saw something that stopped him dead in his tracks.
Joan.
She was surrounded, fighting with all the ferocity of a lioness, but even she couldn't stand against the tide of enemies pushing toward her. Her armor was battered, blood staining her clothes, and her sword had begun to lose its edge, the metal dull and chipped. Jay could see the exhaustion on her face, the weariness that had taken hold of her after hours of relentless fighting. But it was more than that. There was something in her eyes—a deep, unspoken pain.
The weight of leadership was bearing down on her, and she was beginning to falter.
Jay's heart clenched at the sight, and something deep inside him snapped. The last thread of his humanity—his need to protect—had been shattered by the death and destruction around him. He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. He was fighting for her. Fighting for the woman who had given him strength, who had trained him, who had shown him what it meant to fight for something greater than oneself.
With a roar, Jay surged forward, cutting through the remaining knights in his path like they were nothing. His body moved faster, harder, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached Joan in a matter of seconds, and without a word, he took her by the arm and spun her toward him.
"You don't have to fight alone anymore," he said, his voice low and urgent.
Joan looked at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. But there was no time for words. The battlefield was still raging, and more enemies were closing in.
With a determined nod, she grabbed her sword, ready to continue the fight by his side.
Together, they stood back to back, their swords raised in unison. The enemies who had once feared them now found themselves outmatched. Jay's presence on the battlefield was a tide that had turned the odds in their favor. His power, awakened by the bloodline he barely understood, was something that even the Black Order could not ignore.
Joan's eyes flicked to him, and for a moment, there was a silent understanding between them. She had seen his transformation, and she knew—he was no longer the boy who had stepped onto this battlefield. He was a force.
They fought side by side, their movements in perfect sync. Where one struck, the other followed. Jay's sword became an extension of his will, cleaving through anything that stood in his way, while Joan's blade moved with lethal precision, cutting down her foes with a speed that belied her exhaustion.
The battlefield, once chaotic and uncertain, now became their domain. The tides of war were shifting, and for the first time in hours, Jay felt a sense of control.
But it wasn't enough.
Despite their success, the English were regrouping, their forces now bolstered by a new wave of knights. And even worse, Jay could see the leader of the Black Order pushing through the throng, his black armor glinting in the dim light, his sword held high.
The man was no mere soldier. He was a monster, a beast of war, and Jay could feel the weight of his presence like a dark cloud hanging over the battlefield. The Black Order's leader was the true test. And Jay knew, deep down, that this wasn't just a fight for survival. It was a fight for the soul of this war.
Joan caught Jay's gaze, her expression fierce and resolute. "We finish this," she said, her voice unwavering.
Jay's jaw tightened, his grip on his sword hardening. He could feel the fire in his blood, the Arc within him rising to the surface. He was ready. He would finish this. No more hesitation, no more mercy. He would fight with everything he had, for her, for the soldiers beside him, for the fallen.
And he would destroy anyone who stood in his way.