( What… what did I just witness? )
Durandal's knees weakened for a split second—not from fear, but awe. The halberd's arc still echoed in his eyes. That wasn't just power… it was dominance, complete and unyielding.
( He didn't hesitate. He didn't warn. He just— )
Blood still painted the air, and yet Kazel stood there like it was beneath his notice.
( That man was going to kill him. And now… he's meat on the ground. )
He swallowed hard.
( So this is the man I've sworn myself to…)
A quiet fire lit in his chest—fear, yes, but also pride. For the first time in his life, he stood behind someone who could not be bent.
( He doesn't talk of justice. He doesn't talk of mercy. He talks of action. And that's the only thing people like us understand. )
He straightened his back.
( Durandal… no, I… have chosen correctly. )
The leader's eyes twitched. His lips parted but no words came. The blood pooled toward his boots.
( He moved before I even saw it. I didn't sense killing intent. I didn't feel a shift in soul power. He just— )
"You…" he muttered, taking a step back. "You killed Lango like he was a pig—"
"I told you it was unfair," Kazel interrupted, voice flat. "I wasn't lying."
The leader's hands curled into fists, trembling. Rage mixed with disbelief. Not just at the death, but at the public humiliation—his underling executed before the six factions. The crowd didn't whisper anymore. They gawked.
He took another step back.
( No… not here, not now. )
The mercenary's pride told him to draw. But his instinct screamed to run.
"What's wrong?" Kazel asked, his voice low—unhurried, but thunderous in its presence.
Each step he took forward was like the ticking of a war drum. The crowd dared not breathe.
Then he stopped.
His nose twitched.
( He smells something…? ) thought Durandal, eyes trailing him like a devout acolyte watching a god descend.
Kazel turned his head, his sharp eyes scanning the rooftops.
There he was.
Agabah, the young master of the Second Moon Sect, clad in his pristine black robe, hands behind his back as always, his thin mustache unmoving in the wind. Looking down from above with his usual air of contempt—as if this entire affair was beneath him.
Kazel raised his hand, pointed his finger at the heavens, and then his voice tore through the street.
"ENJOY THE SHOW, AGABAH!"
His words exploded like a blast wave, rippling through the crowd. Many heads turned to the rooftop, eyes widening.
Agabah narrowed his gaze but said nothing. His posture stiffened.
Then Kazel's halberd fell back into his grip, and his cold gaze slid back to the mercenaries. The blood of their companion still dripped along the stone like spilled ink.
Two left.
The weak one… and the leader.
Kazel's eyes locked onto the latter.
( There… the strongest. The one giving the orders. )
And in that instant, a shift occurred. Kazel's presence darkened. He wasn't a man anymore. He was a hound tasting blood, a predator scenting fear.
His fingers clenched around the halberd.
He hunted.
The leader swallowed hard, drawing his blade at last—not out of courage, but desperation.
Durandal, watching, could only think one thing:
( He's not even angry. This is just instinct. A lion among scavengers… )
The leader exhaled slowly and lowered his stance, his muscles coiled like a spring. Then—snap—a green shimmer enveloped him as his spirit beast manifested behind him.
A long-limbed, sickly green Fighting Mantis, its blade-like arms twitching with surgical precision, eyes gleaming with focused malice.
"You're fast," muttered the leader, lips tight. "But I see everything now."
From within the crowd, murmurs erupted."That's the Fighting Mantis... he's going all out!""That beast allows him to pinpoint weak spots—he won't miss if he strikes!"
But across from him, Kazel… grinned.
He lifted his halberd and calmly raised his left hand. In a shimmer of pale blue mist, the Frostfang Alpha emerged—majestic, lupine, towering with shimmering ice-coated fur, breath misting the air. Its crimson eyes locked onto the mantis, lips curled back in a silent snarl.
But that wasn't all.
Two glowing, ethereal forms appeared above Kazel's shoulders—Shishi, the twin lion spirits, circling like celestial moons.
In an instant, Kazel's body lit with a chilling aura.
"Amplify."
The temperature plummeted. Even the spectators stepped back, shivering, their breath suddenly visible.
The mantis clicked its arms. The leader lunged.
CLANG!
Their weapons collided mid-step, halberd against short twin blades. Sparks flared—then frost crept along the metal, fast and hungry.
The leader stepped back, but Kazel was already there—moving inhumanly fast. Frost spiraled behind each swing, the Frostfang Alpha's aura syncing perfectly with Kazel's movement.
( He's reading my steps—no, ) the leader thought, heart pounding. ( He's hunting me like prey! )
He pivoted, Mantis eyes glowing—critical point, shoulder joint!
A blade struck true—Kazel's shoulder. But—
Thunk.
It didn't pierce.
The mercenary leader's eyes widened in disbelief. His weapon, meant to slice into vital points with ease, stopped—dead—like it hit a wall.
Kazel's body glimmered faintly, like obsidian laced with living silver. A ripple of metallic scales shimmered under his skin.
( What... what kind of defense is this?! )
Behind Kazel, the spectral form of an armored beast flickered into view for a heartbeat—a hulking Veinscale Armadillo, its plated hide fused with ethereal energy. An Epic Spirit Beast, one renowned for granting near-impervious defense.
( I hit the critical point—but he didn't even flinch... )
Then—
WHACK!
Kazel's halberd swept upward in a brutal uppercut, launching the leader skyward like a ragdoll. His ribs cracked audibly.
And before the man could land—
SLASH!
The halberd carved across in a wide arc, the blade leaving a trail of frost and blood in the air. The wound wasn't just deep—it was final.
The leader crashed to the ground, skidding to a lifeless halt.
The Fighting Mantis behind him gave one last twitch before it dissolved into particles of fading light.
But Kazel was not done.
His halberd dripped with the blood of the leader, yet his eyes—those cold, tyrannical eyes—shifted toward the last one. The weakest of the three. The man was already backing away, terror painting his face, weapon forgotten, mouth stammering.
"W–Wait! Please!" he dropped to his knees, pulling out a pouch. "I'll pay! Spirit stones! I can pay! I'll even swear off mercenary work—!"
Kazel walked slowly.
Each step echoed like judgment. The crowd was dead silent. No pity. No sympathy. Just awe and dread.
"I don't need your coins," Kazel said coldly. "I need a message."
The man screamed, tried to crawl away—only for Kazel to swing his halberd downward.
CRACK.
The sound was sickeningly final.
Blood sprayed across the stone path. Heads turned. Some guests vomited. Others stared wide-eyed, frozen in horror and admiration.
Kazel bent down, grabbed the severed head by the hair.
Then—he looked up. Toward the rooftop.
Agabah stood tall, arms behind his back, still cloaked in that superior calm.
Kazel didn't care.
With a sharp, clean motion, he hurled the head through the air.
It spun, blood trailing like a red comet, before slapping down at Agabah's feet on the tiled roof.
"A token, Agabah!" Kazel roared, his voice cutting through the morning air like a blade. "Tell your father the Second Moon doesn't scare me. Send more flies if you like... I'm just getting started."
Agabah was no longer calm.
His hands, once clasped neatly behind his back in noble pretense, twitched with visible tension. His lips thinned, his jaw clenched so tight the veins on his neck bulged. One of his retainers stepped forward in alarm.
"Young master—"
"Silence," Agabah snapped, his voice no longer composed but serrated with humiliation.
The severed head dripped blood beside his boot, staining the pristine roof tiles of the Second Moon. His sharp eyes glared down at Kazel, who now stood bathed in morning light, halberd resting on his shoulder, looking up with that damned smirk.
That insolent smirk.
( He dares… He dares throw blood at me—at me—in front of them all? )
All eyes below were already whispering. The factions saw it. The mercenaries saw it. The Shield and Spear saw it. That brat had just declared war.
Agabah's heart pounded with fury, but his voice returned to a cold, cutting whisper. "Very well… Kazel of the Immortal Sect… you will regret making a spectacle of me."
His eyes narrowed to slits. ( I'll crush you slowly. Publicly. Let's see how long you stand before your so-called sect collapses from the weight of your pride. )
He turned without another word, robes fluttering, his figure vanishing behind the tiled horizon—but the heat of his rage still clung to the rooftop like steam over a battlefield.
The crowd was stunned—shocked—thrilled.
And from that day forward, whispers spread like wildfire.
The Immortal Sect had returned. And its young master was no lamb. He was the storm.
The stocky man of the Curved Blade Sect, arms crossed, clenched the sheath of his curved katana.( Nobu was right… a monster truly grows from the weakest land. )
The woman in the snow robe of the Heavenless Bow Sect narrowed her eyes, the breeze catching the white tips of her robe.( That wasn't just ferocity. That was precision—artistry in slaughter… )
The petal-chewing lady of the Five Ladies Sect halted her chewing, the petal crushed between her teeth. Her playful eyes were now sharpened, voice muttering low:"…And here I thought we'd only find boring brutes in this region…"
The twin black-armored warriors from Shield and Spear exchanged a glance. One nodded.( A warlord in youth's skin. )
The solitary representative of the Punctured group stood stiff among the crowd, his face unreadable beneath the hood—save for the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He watched the blood drip from the halberd, the severed head lying still.( Looks like the price must be pumped up... )He took a step back into the crowd's shadow.( He wants a higher bounty... and he very well earned it. )
And with that, he vanished into the mass of spectators—silent, calculating.