"Boss! What happened to you?!"
Frieren wasn't the only one shocked; the pugilist's team was stunned, unable to comprehend the sudden and drastic turn of events. Their leader, a man who had struck down monsters with nothing but his fists, now lay sprawled across the alley, his body unmoving, his breath shallow. The mercenaries had expected a quick and easy fight, yet now they were standing on the precipice of their own doom.
Their minds raced, trying to make sense of the situation, but it was as if the rules of the world had shifted in the blink of an eye. The pugilist, who had been so confident just moments before, now lay broken, defeated with a single, effortless strike. They hadn't signed up for this; they weren't part of some hero-saves-damsel plot, playing the role of the villainous extras. This was not how the battle was supposed to unfold.
A thief-like man, his face twisted with a mix of anger and fear, stepped forward. His hand rested on the hilt of a dagger at his hip, ready to draw it and avenge his fallen leader. He had watched Ronan's effortless victory with growing dread, but he refused to let that stop him. The boss being knocked away didn't mean much; he had seen opponents stronger than the pugilist, and he had seen many like Ronan before. The thief had confidence in his own skill, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Frieren, who still stood frozen at the side. There was someone else who might be more vulnerable.
Whoosh!
In a flash, the thief lunged, his dagger drawn with a fluid motion. His gaze remained locked on Ronan, calculating his next move, while still keeping an eye on the elf. He expected a swift and easy victory. It would be nothing more than a distraction for Ronan, and once he dealt with the elf, the rest of the mercenaries would be able to swarm in and take the mage down.
But before he could even get close, Ronan's movements were already a blur. He grabbed the thief's wrist mid-lunge, the man's eyes widening in surprise as his body came to a sudden halt.
Snap!
The sickening sound of bone breaking echoed through the alley, filling the air with a sharp, metallic undertone. The thief let out a strangled groan, his body tensing from the excruciating pain. Few could endure such agony, but the thief gritted his teeth and refused to stop. His training had taught him to fight through pain, and he wasn't about to back down now. Dropping the dagger from his broken hand, he reached for it with his other hand, desperate to land a strike.
Crack!
The sharp noise of bone grinding against bone filled the air again as Ronan twisted his grip, his fingers pressing down with ease. The thief's body jolted, and yet, with stubborn resolve, he lunged again. His vision blurred with pain, his face contorted in both rage and desperation.
"Tsk," Ronan clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. He was almost speechless at the thief's persistence. How could someone still fight after such a devastating injury? But Ronan wasn't entirely surprised. It wasn't uncommon for those who lived in the shadows to believe in their own invincibility. These people were far more dangerous than they looked, driven by pride and past victories that had inflated their confidence to dangerous levels.
Ronan didn't care about them, nor was the thief's attack going to hurt him, but there was something to be learned from this moment. He had to test the limits of his damage immunity—how far could he go before the laws of this world finally caught up with him? How far could he push his own power before the inevitable backlash?
In a single fluid motion, Ronan flicked the dagger away from the thief's hand, sending it tumbling through the air. The blade spun before shattering into fragments, scattering in all directions. The thief's shocked expression was visible for a brief moment, his wide eyes unable to believe the ease with which his weapon had been dismissed.
"Goodbye."
Ronan's voice was cold, devoid of emotion, as he kicked the thief hard in the chest. The force was enough to send the man flying backward, his body skidding across the cobblestones before slamming into his companions. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body hit the ground with a heavy thud, leaving a bloody trail behind him. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he was beyond hope.
Ronan barely spared a glance at the thief as he moved on, his mind already focused on the others in the group. But just before he could turn away, the air around them began to heat up. With a snap of his fingers, Ronan summoned an intense wave of heat, a powerful blast of fire that engulfed the entire area. The temperature soared in an instant, the flames licking the air and turning everything in their path to ash.
The heat was suffocating, and the crackling of flames filled the alley. The thief's body, already broken and battered, was reduced to ash in an instant. The same fate awaited the rest of his companions, who had been too slow to react. The bloodstains from the earlier fight vanished, evaporated by the intense heat, leaving only a faint, lingering smell of iron and decay. It was almost as if they had never existed at all.
As the fire died down, a strange stillness filled the air. The only sound now was the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze, the aftermath of the violent destruction. It was a quiet, eerie calm that hung in the air like a heavy fog.
Except… there was one sound that didn't quite fit. The soft groan of someone struggling to regain consciousness.
The semi-conscious pugilist, who had been lying motionless just moments before, slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, his mind still fogged by pain and confusion. But as his gaze cleared, he saw it. The mangled, broken bodies of his companions, reduced to nothing more than ash and bloodstains. The realization hit him like a freight train.
"W-what?! Impossible!"
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