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The coastal kingdom of Lyrinth had endured weeks of unrelenting siege—tidal leviathans and serpentine abominations clawing from the depths, their jagged talons etching scars into stone walls that once gleamed under the sun. Villages vanished beneath frothing waves, the air thick with the brine of decay and the cries of those dragged into the abyss. Goldblade arrived as the last bastion trembled, his namesake weapon glinting with the trapped fury of a hundred battles. The creatures recoiled at its radiance, their obsidian eyes narrowing—a primordial recognition of the steel destined to end them. He met their onslaught without hesitation, the blade’s edge carving arcs of molten gold through gelatinous flesh and scaled hide. Each swing scattered phosphorescent ichor, each parry sparked like flint against stone. The largest beast—a kraken crowned with bioluminescent tendrils—lunged, its maw gaping wide enough to swallow watchtowers. Goldblade’s counterstroke split the monster from gullet to crest, its death throes unleashing a geyser that drowned the remaining horrors in their own filth. By dawn, the sea calmed, retreating to reveal sun-bleached ruins and salt-crusted survivors. The king’s gratitude meant little; Goldblade was already knee-deep in the next tide, his silhouette a flicker against the horizon—a promise etched in steel for wherever darkness pooled next.
