Chapter 106: Lothar (3)

"Well? Anyone else?"

The silence that followed the young man's casual question was thick and suffocating. Every remaining bandit in the tavern stood frozen in place, their hands hovering over their weapons, eyes wide with fear. No one dared move. No one dared speak. The sight of their comrades' brutal deaths had stripped away any illusion of bravado they once had.

The young man let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. "This is what makes you all such peasants," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "When a weak person stands before you, you bear your teeth, snarl, and pretend you're wolves. But when a stronger one appears…" His eyes swept across the room, his smirk widening. "You cower like frightened sheep."

The room remained silent, not a single man brave enough to answer. The tension was palpable, the atmosphere thick with the weight of impending doom. The young man's words cut through them like a knife, stripping them down to their most primal fear. No one dared meet his gaze.

Satisfied with their silence, the young man shifted his attention to Lothar, whose face had turned a sickly shade of pale. The bandit leader's eyes darted around the room, clearly weighing his options, but it was obvious there was no escape. He was trapped.

"There's no need to think of an escape," the young man said, his tone calm but carrying a terrifying finality. His eyes locked onto Lothar's, cold and unyielding. "Everyone in this room is going to die."

Lothar's throat tightened, and for the first time in years, he felt genuine fear creeping up his spine. His mind raced, but the truth was undeniable. The young man standing before him wasn't just some wandering swordsman; he was something far more dangerous, far beyond anything Lothar had ever encountered.

Lothar swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he finally forced himself to speak. "Who… who are you?"

The young man's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "Does it really matter?"

And with that, the young man's blade gleamed once more, ready to strike. The purple starlight emanated through the air, illuminating everything.

"YOU!"

Lothar realized that he could no longer avoid the fight.

SCHLANK!

He grabbed the axe, which was resting on the ground right, and then channeled his mana into it. Being a 3-star Awakened, he was already able to manifest his mana outside of his body and weapon.

Lothar roared the sound, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. He swung his axe in a wide arc, the blade crackling with mana as it cut through the air. A beam of energy shot forth from the swing, a crescent of raw power aimed directly at the young man.

The force of the blow sent chairs and tables flying, the ground itself seeming to tremble under the weight of the attack. Without hesitation, Lothar leaped from his chair, using the momentum of his swing to propel himself forward. His eyes were wild with desperation, his axe raised high as he charged the young man, determined to crush him before he could make another move.

But the young man… he didn't flinch.

Instead, he watched the incoming strike with a calm, almost amused expression, his smirk never fading. As the beam of energy approached, he spoke, his voice light and teasing. "Ah, finally decided to fight, have you?"

SWOOSH! CRACK!

With a slight shift of his body, the young man tilted just enough to evade the beam, the energy passing harmlessly by him, smashing into the far wall with an explosive crash. Dust and debris filled the air, but the young man remained completely unfazed.

His eyes gleamed with a vibrant purple glow as starlight mana began to swirl around him, the air itself seeming to hum with the sheer power radiating from his body. The long and thin estoc in his hand pulsed with the same starlight energy, its blade shimmering with an ethereal glow.

Lothar swung his axe down with all his might, the heavy weapon descending like a guillotine. But the young man was ready. In one fluid motion, he raised his estoc to meet the strike.

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The clash of steel reverberated through the room as the estoc met the axe. Lothar expected the sheer weight of his weapon, combined with his 3-star strength, to overpower the young man. He was certain the boy would stumble or, at the very least, show some sign of strain.

But he didn't budge.

The young man's thin, elegant sword held firm against the brute force of the axe, deflecting the strike with almost insulting ease. Lothar's eyes widened in disbelief. His axe was heavy, forged for crushing blows, and yet… this boy, this slender kid, had deflected it as if it were nothing.

"Is that all?" the young man asked, his tone still light, almost mocking. The glow of starlight around his body intensified, the purple energy swirling faster now as if feeding on Lothar's growing frustration.

The young man's blade shimmered, the black starlight that now coated it pulsing with ominous energy. His eyes gleamed with the same ethereal purple as he grinned at Lothar, his mocking tone cutting deeper than the blows themselves.

"Well, let me show you how you really need to move."

And then, before Lothar could even register the shift, the young man shot forward, a blur of dark energy and speed. It was as if the air itself folded around him, propelling him directly in front of Lothar. The movement was so swift, so precise, that it seemed as though the young man hadn't even moved at all—he had simply appeared.

Lothar's eyes widened in panic as the thin estoc gleamed, now only inches away from his chest. He saw it coming, but there was no time—no chance to block, no space to evade. The speed was beyond anything he had ever encountered.

SCHLUNK!

The estoc pierced cleanly into Lothar's side, slipping between his ribs with sickening precision. He gasped, his breath catching as the blade slid through his flesh like butter. His hand instinctively went to the wound, gripping at the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt, but the damage was done.

"RAAA!"

Lothar roared as his mana surged from his body in a desperate attempt to create distance. The force of the pulse sent a shockwave through the room, scattering loose objects and forcing a momentary gap between him and the young man. Just as Lothar had anticipated, the boy leaped back with ease, avoiding the mana pulse with a grace that only deepened Lothar's dread.

SWOOSH!

The momentary pause gave Lothar's men the opportunity they needed. With battle cries erupting from their throats, they charged at the young man, their weapons raised high. Lothar, gritting his teeth, clutched at his bleeding side and staggered back, his mind racing. We just need to tire him out, he thought, eyeing the potion hidden within his pouch.

If we can push him long enough, I can heal and finish him off.

The bandits swarmed the young man, swinging their blades and axes with all the fury they could muster. But the boy remained unfazed, his eyes cold and calculating as he watched them approach. For a moment, it almost seemed like he was bored by their efforts.

The young man closed his mouth, taking a slow, deliberate breath through his nose. His body remained still as the bandits closed in, and for a split second, time seemed to hang in the air.

Then he moved.

In one swift, fluid motion, his sword traced an elegant arc through the air, and from the blade, a beam of crescent-shaped starlight erupted. The beam rushed forward on a horizontal axis, slicing through the air with a brilliance that filled the room with an ethereal glow.

SLASH!

The crescent of starlight tore through the room like a silent storm. Everything in its path was bisected with terrifying precision—tables, chairs, even the walls crumbled as the energy carved through them. The men who had charged forward were caught in the beam's trajectory, their bodies severed in two before they even had time to realize what had happened.

Blood sprayed through the air, mixing with the starlight in a macabre display.

Five of Lothar's men, however, had managed to cover themselves in mana just in time. The beam struck their shields of energy, sending them skidding backward but leaving them alive—though visibly shaken by the sheer power they had just witnessed.

Lothar watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He could scarcely believe what had just happened. In a matter of seconds, half his men were gone, their bodies lying in pieces on the floor. The few who remained were visibly trembling, their hands shaking as they clung to their weapons.

The young man straightened, his sword still glowing faintly with the remnants of starlight. He glanced at the five men who had survived, his expression still calm, almost indifferent.

"Looks like you have a few left," he remarked, his voice quiet but deadly. "Not that it'll make much difference."

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