Chapter Forty-Nine: Scarlet in Ten Paces

Shaar ran back in a few quick steps with his fire fork in hand. It was only when he stood before Himm that Himm snapped back to his senses. With a thunderous shout, Himm’s arms trembled and a surge of ashen battle energy erupted along his spear. This time, he gathered all his strength, pushing his battle energy to the utmost; the aura extended nearly a foot beyond the spear’s shaft, clearly the peak of his power.

The spear became a swirling mass of gray, striking fiercely. Himm’s roars echoed as he stabbed again and again. Within the storm of battle energy, Shaar raised his fire fork, blocking left and right. Occasionally, the thud of the spear striking Shaar’s body could be heard. In terms of martial skill, Shaar was far inferior, relying purely on brute strength to desperately parry the relentless, tidal onslaught. Himm unleashed his entire repertoire of spear techniques. Shaar endured several heavy blows; the spear’s tip and shaft left marks on his body. Though battered and swaying, he refused to fall.

Himm felt a mix of urgency, shock, and fury. Never in his life had he faced such an opponent—someone who, after taking so many hits, acted as if nothing had happened. This level of assault would have felled Himm himself in just two strikes, yet this wild brat howled in pain but only seemed to grow more spirited the longer the fight went on.

Finally, with a clang, Himm twisted his body and gripped the spear with both hands for a savage thrust—a maneuver meant for cavalry, but Himm, desperate, no longer cared for formality. He wished only to run the boy through.

The spearhead, wreathed in explosive battle energy, drove for Shaar’s chest and belly. Shaar’s eyes widened, a strange light flashing within them. He retreated swiftly, his fire fork darting out again and again to meet the spearhead.

A succession of crisp, metallic sounds rang out. The two combatants finally halted. Himm stood with arms extended in a thrusting posture; Shaar hunched back, dodging. Both were utterly exhausted. Himm’s spear was now riddled with fine cracks from tip to shaft—some sections just short of breaking entirely. The once-sharp point had been blunted, the very tip struck clean off by Shaar’s fork, leaving the bare end pressed against Shaar’s ribs. But it could go no farther, for it rested against a patch of dragon scale armor.

Himm’s face twisted in disbelief. Suddenly, with a roar, his spear shattered into countless fragments, shards of metal grazing his face and leaving deep cuts. Himm seemed not to notice, staring blankly at the youth before him.

How—how could this be?!

His hands were slick with blood, the result of forcing battle energy far beyond his limits and suffering its backlash. His fingers trembled as he suddenly collapsed to the ground, blood spilling from his mouth—the battle energy recoil had ravaged his insides.

But why was this boy unharmed? His martial skills were crude, yet—

As Himm fell, several Night Guard knights rushed over and dragged him away. The rest gazed at Shaar with complex expressions. For a moment, a strange silence settled over the field.

Behind Shaar, Dodoro crouched beside Pitiable Creature, who was trembling with fright. Witnessing the duel’s outcome, Dodoro was left astounded: this little thief is truly formidable! That knight could wield battle energy—a true mid-level warrior—yet was still defeated!

Shaar inhaled deeply, but his relief was short-lived. Though strengthened by dragon blood and protected by dragon scale armor, he had not escaped unscathed. After all, dragon blood and dragon scales were not invincible; their legendary resistance to blades and arrows was only relative. Ordinary attacks might be harmless, but battle energy from a mid-level warrior was another matter entirely.

After taking more than ten blows, Shaar felt as though his bones might come apart. Agonizing pain throbbed through his body. The final spear thrust to his ribs, though he managed to break the tip in time, still carried a surge of battle energy that smashed into his chest. The scales had not broken, but the energy penetrated nonetheless. Now, his chest ached unbearably, and he was sure one of his ribs was broken—the pain nearly made him cough blood.

He understood well: even with the dragon blood’s enhancement, it had its limits. A few more strikes like that, and he would surely perish.

"Kill him."

From the Night Guard, Himm’s weak command sounded. Though defeated, he had not forgotten his duty. The knights did not hesitate. Those behind dismounted, drew their swords, and leapt at Shaar.

Several blades stabbed from both sides; Shaar could only retreat while swinging his fire fork in wide arcs. Clangs echoed as he shattered a few sword tips, but he still took several more hits. One blade slashed his shoulder—despite his strengthened body, the edge cut through his skin, and blood flowed. Had it been before, that strike would have severed his arm.

The attacker was another skilled fighter, wielding battle energy. Shaar, hit hard, kicked savagely at the man’s thigh, snapping it with a scream. As Shaar turned to flee, another sword stabbed his back. The dragon scales saved him from being pierced, but the force was like a heavy hammer’s blow.

Shaar staggered, finally falling to the ground. No sooner had he hit the earth than several blades stabbed down at him. He rolled desperately, fire fork flailing in wild defense.

Not one member of the Night Guard was weak—even the lowest among them were full warriors. How could Shaar, alone, resist so many at once? Half of them could wield battle energy, and now, with orders given, each face was set with deadly intent. In moments, Shaar was wounded in multiple places. Though the dragon blood fortified his body, and the dragon scales protected his vitals, he could not withstand so many attacks.

He did not know how long he fought, nor how many blows he took; his mind grew hazy. Swinging his fire fork, he struck down a knight, blood splattering his face. Just then, he heard the rush of wind and saw a heavy flanged mace descending upon him. Injured and slow to react, Shaar could not dodge. The mace, imbued with explosive battle energy, struck his back with a thunderous crash, lifting Shaar off the ground and hurling him aside. He landed coughing blood, his vision swimming. Every bone in his body felt shattered.

The mace was a heavy, all-metal weapon, similar to a spiked club, wielded by one of the elite Night Guard. The blow, even with dragon scales, jarred his body so violently that Shaar coughed blood and could no longer rise. He rolled over weakly, limbs refusing to obey.

At this moment, Pitiable Creature rushed forward but was quickly seized by two Night Guard and dragged away. She screamed and kicked, but how could she resist two powerful knights?

Dodoro lay trembling, his face ashen, unable even to raise his head.

Shaar lay sprawled on the ground, his face pressed into the dirt, blood from his mouth mixing with mud. His breath was ragged. He shook his head with effort, sensing several knights standing over him. They saw his weakness and did not hurry to finish him, but gestured back and forth, their sharp swords ready to fall at any moment.

Then, heavy footsteps approached. A tall knight with a flanged mace in hand pushed aside the others and stood over Shaar. It was the very man who had struck him down. With a face full of murderous intent, he raised the mace high, aiming for Shaar’s head—one blow would reduce it to pulp.

The shadow of the mace loomed over Shaar’s skull. In that instant...

Around Shaar’s neck, the dull gray stone suddenly erupted in a blaze of crimson light! The glow swelled without warning, dazzlingly bright!

In a flash, the red light enveloped Shaar entirely, sweeping over his body. Before their very eyes, all the wounds—blows, cuts, bruises, battle energy injuries, everything—he had suffered healed in the blink of an eye!

As the light faded, Shaar was whole again. The stone at his neck, once a dull gray, was now crimson as blood crystal.

Dodoro, startled by the flash, looked up and saw this astonishing scene. The sorcerer’s jaw dropped, sweat beading his brow, and a single thought filled his mind:

Damage absorption?!

With a single breath, Shaar felt power surge through his body, a wild energy flooding every corner of his being. It was as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him, filling him with such vigor that he nearly burst. He could not help but grunt heavily.

At that moment, a savage, unrestrained fury overwhelmed Shaar’s mind—anger, bloodlust, violence… He leapt up, the red aura still swirling about him, his eyes entirely scarlet. No consciousness remained, only an irrepressible urge to kill.

He roared, and the crimson light exploded outward, silently saturating the air around him, tinting even the atmosphere a faint red.

The black fire fork spun in Shaar’s hands, tracing a circular arc, leaving a trail of red light where it passed.

Ten paces—within ten paces, all was scarlet.

Every knight in range saw the flash of red. Then… silence.

After a moment…

Crack!

The knight closest to Shaar, the one with the flanged mace, suddenly heard a crisp sound as his armor split. Looking down, he saw his cuirass torn open and blood spraying from a fine cut on his torso.

The iron mace in his hand fell apart, the upper half crashing to the ground.

His eyes widened in terror. No sound escaped his lips as he watched his body, sliced on a diagonal from the waist, his upper half slowly sliding off. Blood sprayed, and half his corpse collapsed, the lower body still standing.

At the same time, a dozen knights within range fell. The five or six nearest had their heads split cleanly in two, brains and blood spraying everywhere—the arc of Shaar’s fire fork visible in the wounds. Two more were severed at the waist. Three others, standing a little farther, suffered grievous injuries: one’s sword and arm were sliced off, another’s shoulder was separated from his body, while the last, screaming, tried to run but found his upper body moving while his legs remained behind.

Himm, paralyzed on the ground, watched in horror as half his squad was slain in an instant. His eyes, fixed on Shaar, brimmed with madness.

Break—Break the Thousand Army! Crimson Killing Aura!

No wonder this boy could block his sword—he had mastered the art of Breaking the Thousand Army! No wonder his strength was monstrous without using battle energy.

He did not cultivate battle energy—he cultivated killing intent! Crimson Killing Aura!