The militiamen gaped in stunned silence. They had fought side by side with these adventurers and knew their strengths well—the burly man was the strongest among them, a high-ranking low-tier swordsman at best. Yet barely a night had passed, and he had already broken through the barrier to become a mid-tier swordsman!
"No! Brother Scar!"
The militiamen were dumbfounded, but the young swordsman was sharp-witted enough to realize the danger. He cried out in alarm, his voice cracking with urgency.
Only he knew the truth: their leader had indeed stumbled into a breakthrough during last night's brutal clash with the beast, ascending to mid-tier status—but his power was far from stable. The flickering, erratic glow along his sword blade was proof enough that he had not yet mastered the protective aura of a true mid-tier swordsman. Forcing his unsteady power into battle now could cost him everything. Their old swordmaster had drilled it into them time and again: after a breakthrough, one must first consolidate their newfound strength, or risk suffering a backlash that could seal their path to advancement forever.
The situation could not have been clearer. The boar, having manifested a protective aura, had long since grown accustomed to its enhanced power. The burly swordsman, however, had only just tasted the strength of a mid-tier warrior—he had not even grasped the basics of wielding his soul force. How could he hope to stand against a mutated beast under such circumstances?
The boar, sensing his presence, let out a deafening roar and charged straight for the burly swordsman. Its speed was blinding, the thunderous thud of its hooves shaking the ground beneath their feet. The swordsman gritted his teeth, facing the oncoming juggernaut head-on. He had fought the boar before, yes—but that had been under the cover of night, with traps and ambushes to even the odds, and the skirmish had been over in the blink of an eye. Now, confronting the mutated beast in broad daylight, he truly felt the weight of its power. On paper, they were both mid-tier fighters, evenly matched. But his own mid-tier status was a fragile, untested thing, unable to unleash the full might of its potential.
Standing against this charging boar felt like trying to stop a boulder tumbling down a mountainside—futile, impossible.
Can I do this?!
He clamped his jaw shut, his hands tightening around the hilt of his greatsword as the question echoed in his mind.
"Brother!" his companion's voice rang out, sharp with panic.
In that split second, the burly swordsman made up his mind. He dodged the boar's charge with a graceless, desperate roll, narrowly escaping the beast's path. Breaking through the mid-tier barrier had been a stroke of fortune—losing this hard-won opportunity in a single reckless battle was a price he could not afford to pay.
BOOM!
As the swordsman tumbled out of the way, the boar roared past him, its massive bulk sending him skidding sideways in the dirt from the sheer force of its passing. Unabated, the beast crashed into the forest beyond, its rampage leaving a trail of splintered trees and shattered undergrowth in its wake—a swathe of destruction carved through the woods by the raw power of a mutated beast's protective aura.
Every single person stared, their eyes wide with horror, at the devastation before them. They had seen the signs of the beast's rampage along the path here, but witnessing its destructive might firsthand was a far cry from mere footprints and broken branches. This level of power defied their wildest nightmares.
Holy Light above—if that thing had gored someone with its tusks, it would have torn them to shreds without a second thought!
The adventurers drew in sharp breaths, their faces ashen. The militiamen fared even worse, trembling violently, their hands so unsteady they could barely hold their weapons. They had fought this monster last night? And lived to tell the tale? It felt like a fever dream, too surreal to be true…
A low, menacing snarl cut through their shock, freezing the thought of flight in their minds. They were militiamen—used to facing bandits and outlaws, fellow humans with mortal weaknesses. But this creature was something else entirely, its size and strength far beyond the limits of any man. Faced with such a terrifying foe, primal fear had overridden their reason, paralyzing them where they stood.
Not a single person dared to move an inch. They could only stand rooted to the spot, their hearts pounding, as the massive beast emerged from the trees once more. This time, the boar seemed calmer, its bloodshot eyes sweeping over the cowering figures before it—until its gaze locked onto Black.
Unlike the others, who had been scrambling in panic, Black had simply stood there, watching the battle unfold with the detached air of a spectator. Yet the boar had instinctively sensed that this human was the deadliest threat of all—the one it must eliminate first. Without hesitation, it let out another thunderous roar and charged forward, its massive body hurtling straight for Black!
"What are you doing?! Run!"
At the sight of this, the militiamen's faces drained of all color, and the adventurers shouted in alarm. They had assumed the boar would target the militiamen closest to it—not this nobleman standing several paces away. Did wild boars hold grudges against the wealthy, too?
The young swordsman had no idea what had triggered the beast's rage, but he yelled anyway, gripping his sword tightly as he sprinted toward Black. In his mind, this pampered aristocrat must have been frozen stiff with fear. It was no surprise—he had seen it countless times before. Nobles swaggered about in fine clothes, bragging of their courage, but the moment real danger reared its head, they crumbled into sniveling cowards. This young lord was probably petrified out of his wits at the sight of the charging boar… that he hadn't fainted dead away was a miracle in itself.
Meanwhile, the burly swordsman gritted his teeth and charged at the boar once more. He had no desire to face this monster head-on, but the beast was now barreling toward the one person they could not afford to lose. Holy Light above—they dared not imagine the consequences if this nobleman died. Even if they escaped this forest alive, the gallows would await them all!
Faster! Move faster!
But try as they might, the distance between them and Black was too great—and the boar's speed was simply too terrifying. If the swordsman had mastered a charging technique, he might have stood a chance of intercepting it. But he had only broken through to mid-tier status half a day ago; he hadn't even touched the edge of mastering his soul force, let alone learned any advanced combat skills.
It's over!
As the boar hurtled toward Black, mere steps away from goring him, despair etched itself onto every face. They could already see the beast's razor-sharp tusks piercing the young noble's body, tearing him to shreds like a ragdoll. Perhaps they could seize the opportunity to flee—but what would be the point? If Black died here…
Then, a miracle happened.
At the very instant the boar was about to collide with Black, its massive body suddenly lurched sideways, letting out a shrill, agonized cry it had never made before. Caught off-balance by the force of its own charge, the beast was hurled into the air, flipping over Black's head before crashing heavily to the ground.
BOOM!
The deafening impact left everyone frozen in place—but this time, it was not fear that rooted them to the spot. It was sheer, utter disbelief at what they had just witnessed.
That was when a soft, crisp sound cut through the silence.
*Click.*
The burly swordsman's eyes widened until they felt ready to pop out of his skull. He stared at Black, standing a few paces away, his gaze fixed on the young noble's hand. He had seen it clearly—the faint click had been the sound of Black sheathing his sword. But he could swear he had not seen Black draw it in the first place. One moment, the boar had been charging; the next, it had been flying through the air, crashing to the ground. Then, and only then, had he noticed that Black's sword had been halfway drawn from its scabbard. Before he could even think that the noble had reacted too slowly to save himself, Black had casually slid the sword back into its sheath, as if nothing had happened. He then reached into his cloak, pulled out a clean white handkerchief, and wiped a few specks of dirt from his shoulder—debris kicked up by the boar's passing.
The burly swordsman swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to the fallen boar. This time, he saw it clearly: a deep, clean sword wound marred the center of the beast's skull, blood and brain matter oozing slowly from the gaping gash. The boar, once so fearsome, lay motionless, its massive body twitching for a few seconds before falling still forever.
It was dead.
The others finally closed in, gathering around the boar's corpse. They stared at the lifeless monster, their mouths agape, unable to utter a single word.
Are you kidding me? A mutated beast with mid-tier strength and a protective aura—dead? Just like that?
They glanced from the boar to the young man, who was still dabbing at the dirt on his shoulder, and back again, at a complete loss for words.
He killed it? How? Who is this young noble?
In an instant, a thousand questions flooded their minds—but Black seemed utterly oblivious to their shock and confusion. He folded the handkerchief neatly and tucked it back into his breast pocket, then turned to face the stunned militiamen and adventurers clustered around the boar's body.
"This is the one, right?" he said, his voice calm and casual, as if he had just finished a leisurely afternoon stroll.
"Then we're done here."