Chapter 12

Swords flew towards us like deadly arrows, flung by invisible forces seeking to impede our passage. There were many, emerging from every corner with a precision that defied logic, as if guided by the invisible hand of fate. However, Altria remained unflappable in the face of the impending threat: her stance was that of a warrior whose heart was aligned with the pulse of battle, whose spear was an extension of her very being.

With movements that were a ballet of efficiency and grace, she spun her spear with a dexterity that made time seem to bend to her will. Metal sang as it clashed against metal, and one after another, the swords were shattered or diverted from their lethal course. The sound of the destruction of these blades was like a wild music, chanting the hymn of a battle unfolding on that threshold between light and darkness.

Yet, the calm that followed was abruptly interrupted when an imposing figure emerged from the darkness of the cave. An aura of power and arrogance surrounded him like an invisible cloak, and his eyes burned with the flame of an unwavering challenge. "You shall not enter here," he declared, with a voice that seemed to carry the weight of millennia. His gaze then fixed on Altria, and for a brief moment, his expression hardened, tracing the outline of doubt or recognition. It was as if he saw a reflection of someone from the past, someone whose name had been intertwined with his own in history. A frown marked his brow, and for an instant, there hung in the air the silent question: would the loyalty he had sworn to another be shaken upon seeing Altria's face?

It was in this tense atmosphere that Altria turned to me, her voice resonating with a firmness that cut through the quiet. "Shall we enter, Master?" The inquiry seemed unnecessary, almost rhetorical, but in her eyes, there was the gleam of a flame burning with the desire to move forward, to face whatever lay ahead.

"Yes," I responded, and upon hearing my affirmation, I observed the way Altria's hand clenched around the spear with an iron determination. It was a simple gesture, but revealing of her readiness for battle; it was as if the permission she awaited from me was the final sign needed to unleash the contained storm.

"Then let us advance," said Altria, her voice a serene whisper contrasting with the fury of the battlefield. With no apparent hurry, I dismounted from the horse, aware that my presence by her side in combat would be but a hindrance. Moreover, the idea of dancing with death in such a dangerous waltz held no allure for me; I did not possess the impulse to risk myself unnecessarily. After all, the role of a master is not to throw oneself into the jaws of danger, but to guide and support one's servant.

"I apologize, but this path shall remain closed," proclaimed the servant with unwavering confidence, as short swords materialized in his agile hands. His posture was that of a veteran combatant, steady and threatening, yet he did not advance. Like a solitary and determined sentinel, he simply stood ready to bar any attempts to enter the mysterious cave.

However, Altria was not swayed by words or threats. Her master had declared the intention to penetrate the depths of that cave, and so it would be. With a subtle touch, she urged her steed forward towards the obstinate figure that lay in front of her. The servant, in turn, unleashed a veritable arsenal of blades into the air, forging a rain of steel intended to prevent the warrior's advance.

But Altria was beyond such an attempt. With a mastery that defied the very essence of combat, she maneuvered her spear with supernatural precision, each movement shattering or deflecting the flying swords that sought her end. Altria's spear was a grey blur, an extension of her will, almost touching the essence of the one who dared to stop her. In a lightning-fast attack, the tip of the spear sang through the air, aiming for the servant who, with agility, dodged narrowly, feeling the blade cut dangerously close to his skin.

The battle between Altria and the servant took on epic proportions, each movement filled with intention and power. The servant, a striking silhouette against the dark backdrop of the cave, launched himself with supernatural speed towards Altria. His feet barely touched the ground as he flew through the air, delivering a powerful kick aimed at the warrior with the force of a silent thunder.

Altria, whose reflexes rivaled the lightning in furious storms, raised her arm in defense. The impact of the kick was so monumental that it resonated like the boom of a cannon, a wave of force that pushed her back. The horse, noble and steadfast, dug its four hooves into the brittle ground, triggering a rain of stones and dust. Its colossal strength defied inertia, keeping both rider and steed firm and ready for the next clash.

Without losing a single instant, Altria reacted. Like a storm reorganizing after the first bolt, she advanced with a resolution that made the air tremble around her. The servant, no less formidable, became a whirlwind of movements: leaping with the lightness of a leaf on the wind, dodging with the cunning of a feline, and attacking with the ferocity of a cornered beast. His swords, extensions of his own arms, cut through the air with the precision of a sculptor chiseling his masterpiece.

Altria, mounted on her war steed, faced each attack with her lance at the ready. She delivered counterstrikes with the lance that cut through air and fate, each thrust a promise of victory. The duel was a deadly dance, a symphony of steel and intent where each note was a blow and each pause, a breath stolen from the abyss.

Suddenly, the servant retreated, gaining distance from the warrior. His hands traced ancient symbols in the air, and out of nowhere, a legion of swords appeared, floating with a silent threat. They were like a forest of blades ready to descend upon Altria in a cutting gale.

"Rhongomyniad!" Altria's voice shook the battlefield as she invoked the name of her sacred lance. The artifact began to spin in her hand with a speed that defied sight, becoming a red vortex of pure energy. A beam of searing light shot towards the suspended swords in the air, an uncontrollable force that promised to annihilate everything in its path. Altria's spinning lance was the epicenter of an imminent cataclysm, a scarlet whirlpool that engulfed light and shadows around it.

"Rho Aias!" The servant's voice sounded with urgency, almost diluted by the deafening roar of Altria's energy. At the last possible instant, he conjured his magical shield, a barrier manifested by translucent petals that overlapped in layers, glowing with the promise of an impregnable defense. The servant's outstretched hand was the fulcrum of this mystical creation, and as Altria's attack collided with the Rho Aias, the world seemed to tremble under the impact.

The resulting explosion was a symphony of colliding forces, a visual cacophony that tore through the air with shards of magic and power. The ground shook, the cave echoed, and the light of the detonation illuminated the darkest corners, as if the day had come to challenge the perpetual night of the underground.

When the dust and glare settled, only uncertainty remained. "Did he die?" I wondered, my thoughts a mixture of concern and admiration. Altria's attack had been a storm of pure destruction, something few could claim to have survived. And yet, the Rho Aias was a legendary defense.

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