Chapter 181: The man who brings genocide with him

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[Bronze Savage]

[Tier 0]

[Physique: 3 (Low)]

[Mind: 3 (Low)]

[Savage Magic: Glass Dome (Low).]

[Resistances: None.]

[Traits]

[Mask of the Savage]

[As long as their Masks are not broken, they can revive themselves even if they get beheaded.] Searᴄh the nôvelFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

[All abilities are enhanced by a Minor Tier.]

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Mark blinked his eyes open and found himself on top of a tree branch. Below him, savage merchants were shouting at the passerby savages. He cracked his knuckles with his thumb, closed his eyes back, and took in a deep breath.

The people walking by, their feet crunching against the ground, sweat dripping from someone's back onto the mud. His senses couldn't capture any of that—he was in a Parasitic Host, no longer in his full demonic potential.

But now, my Mortal Puppet is already a Savage and he already has a Savage Magic of his own.

Mark stood up on the branch and yawned, stretching his body. Now that his Mortal Puppet was already at an optimal level, he could complete the Dream Gamble and take any one thing from it.

He wanted both the savage magic 'Glass Dome' and trait 'Mask of the Savage,' though.

Mark squinted, the eyes underneath his masked face glinting.

I can only ask for one thing from Yanchan when I win the Dream Gamble, but I can ask for all his Savage powers. In essence, that is a single thing, right?

"Reol'ran…"

"Don't ask me, you fool. It is your demonic trick, not mine. And I don't even know the answer."

Mark rubbed his nose. It made sense.

"Well, my Puppet is working hard, how can I stay lazily here now?"

He jumped down the tree and the merchant nearby looked at him. "Oi, Junga, have you had enough of lazing around?"

Mark looked at the old man and shook his head. "Who has enough of lazing around, old man Rah? I wish I could just laze around all my life."

The old man sighed, opening his monstrous masked face and showing his mouth filled with fangs. "You are young, Junga. Just twenty or so years and already a Silver Savage, what can't you do in this life? Go live your dream."

Mark rubbed the horse under the tree on its mane, and it grumbled.

Suddenly, two children ran towards the old man but one of them stumbled on a rock and fell towards the ground. The old man's gentle eyes widened and he tried to help the kid up. Mark gently caught the kid's collar, pulling her up and she took a deep breath as she bowed to him in thanks.

Masked and with no expression, but her words were one of emotion.

Thankfulness.

"Sir Junga, thank you!" she greeted him.

"Ah, little girl," Old Man Rah sighed. "Don't run around like that, you'll fall, right? And Sir Junga doesn't know any of you, tell him your name."

Mark sighed and ascended his horse. "You are wrong, Old Man Rah. I know her, I know you, and I know many others in this city. The old lady who makes sweets tastier than anything I've eaten before, the old man who feeds all the horses. I know everyone."

The old man blinked.

They all had names, all had stories, and all of them had faces beneath their masks.

Mark's horse trotted forward.

"You don't need to thank me," he said, looking down at the innocent children and the old man.

The irony of being thanked by the race he was here to genocide was not lost on Mark. He was the ruin of their peace, the ender of their happiness. Yet, he wouldn't regret. Regret was a tool for the weak.

He turned and looked at the masked face of the little girl who was looking up at him with that masked face of hers. She looked like no one. Just another mask.

Even then, she was not a quantity.

By killing the Savage Gold Lords, I will make the demons gain an advantage in this world. They would expand their dungeons, and this world might be conquered just like that. You, you, and everyone would probably all die.

They were not masks, they were people.

"Why do you do this Mark?" Reol'ran asked, her voice somewhat shaky. "You could have just seen them as masks. But the last three days in this city, you spend each and every moment familiarizing with them. Don't tell me it was only for getting information about your new identity as Junga."

The horse trotted along towards the central parts of the savage city, towards the mud-thatched mansions. Old Man Rah looked at the back of the man on his horse, then looked down at the little girl.

"That Junga is one of the nicest Silver Savages I have seen. He is so kind."

The Little Girl rolled her eyes. "I know that. He bought all the children Old Woman Ma's sweets when he was eating it."

Mark smiled as he trotted past.

"I could have acted as if I didn't see all the murders in my path, as if they were all justified. But why would I do that? I am not going to be hypocritical to myself. I don't care about who I murder, and that's the truth. You know why I am like this more than anyone."

Reol'ran remained silent. She was not some saint, she just didn't know why Mark would bother knowing the people who would die because of him.

"Reol'ran, people just are not supposed to be masks. Even if they are masked."

He had spent the last three days learning the culture of savages, and their way of life. And that just gave faces to masks, nothing more.

He had never regretted killing humans with faces, not to mention savages.

His horse sped up and within just ten minutes, he reached an isolated mud-thatched mansion. Descending his horse, he walked to the horse and knocked. A minute later, a man opened the door.

"A silver?" The man frowned. "What do you want?"

"Gold Lord P'oof. Pardon me, but I have an emergency that requires the presence of a Gold Lord!"

"Eh? Is it another batch of landslide survivors?" The man scratched the slit on his forehead. "Are there no other Gold Lords? What are the other nine doing, leaving all these to me."

"Lord P'oof, seven of them are battling a Demon Cave and have yet to return and only one other Gold Lord is currently present in the city other than you."

"What is this about anyway?"

"I am not sure about what I saw, but I saw an armor. It was a walking armor, and I don't know, I heard something like—"

"An armor?!" The savage's face completely twisted into a frown. "Where?"

Sure enough, Mark smiled inwardly.

He remembered the legend he had been told by an old man.

"Centuries ago, Emperor Samha—a mere human—was the greatest archer on known land. Renowned for his wisdom and perfect aim. The heavens itself was so impressed, they bestowed upon him an armor. Light and strong, beyond compare.

"In those days, cruel savages ruled the land. They weren't as harmless as they are now. Back then, they reveled in murdering humans purely for the ecstasy of it.

"But Emperor Samha faced the savages on his lonesome, wearing his legendary armor. His arrows tore through the savages, destroyed their ranks, and put an end to the cruel savagery. He ruled the land for years. A mere human, and he ruled over savages. Yet, they respected him."

They say that legendary armor is still out there somewhere. In the hands of some peasant. And according to myths, a man—the man to inherit the armor—would rise when the world faces a threat and will abolish everything that stands in his path.

"I don't know exactly where, but I felt like it was beckoning me towards it. Lord P'oof, should I inform Gold Lord Snow, too?"

"Absolutely no!" P'oof immediately ran for his horse and began ascending it, Mark squinted his eyes and got on his own horse.

"Shouldn't it be better to have Gold Lord Snow with us?"

"There is no need to trouble her when I am here. Tell me where you saw this armor, now!"

Greed, truly, it muddles the mind.

"It was outside the city, in the forest some kilometers away!"

"Is it still going to be there?"

"I don't know, my lord, there were some humans around—"

"You utter fool! Lead me there, quick!"

Mark began riding his horse but the man jumped out of his own and cracked his knuckles. "A horse is too slow. Tell me the direction."

"North."

Holding Mark's hand, the man began running like a blur through the air, and in a blink, they were out of the city and headed north. Mark felt the scenery around him blur—truly, the sense of a silver savage was too weak.

"Where is it?"

"Head further north."

P'oof squinted his yellow eyes. If a human reappears with that armor, everything will get messy. That armor was too strong. And it's… going to be mine!

His speed increased even more and Mark frowned inwardly.

He is not as fast as I expected, but he has hidden tricks up his sleeve.

He counted in his heart.

I am now about 10 kilometers away from the city.

"How much further?!"

"Go ten kilometers further."

So that no one else can interfere in our battle.