The blue-eyed youth, Levi, narrowed his gaze as everything unfolded before him.
He observed the muscular man charge at Amon, whose figure seemed slightly blurred.
Levi squinted, trying to perceive more clearly.
The moment the masked man stepped within range of Adam, his limbs stiffened for the briefest second.
'This…' Levi drew in a sharp breath. 'It definitely has something to do with his appearance. In that case, we must never look directly at him during a fight.'
His expression grew solemn at the realization.
He turned to the remaining guards. "Quick, enter the inner room of the warehouse. Destroy all the lights."
His voice was low, barely audible. Amon, watching from a distance, could not make out the exact words but felt sure they had discovered something.
'Related to my ability?' he guessed faintly, then shrugged and followed behind them. 'Well, it doesn't matter. I never placed too much importance on that side of myself anyway.'
Amon exhaled slowly. A faint breeze drifted past him, brushing against his silver hair and causing it to sway lightly.
He approached the warehouse with careful steps, sword clutched tightly in his hand.
Upon reaching the doorway, he noticed the flickering lights inside gradually dimming until they vanished.
'It seems my guess was correct. They've realized something about my… uniqueness.'
He wasn't surprised.
After a moment's hesitation, he stepped into the warehouse.
The place was silent, eerily so. Only the soft breeze entering through the open door produced sound, causing a faint rustle and the fluttering of sleeves somewhere in the darkness.
Unfortunately, his senses weren't heightened to the extent that he could pinpoint the exact locations of the thugs.
His gaze scanned the dim surroundings as he turned his head with slow caution.
He could hear muffled noises from nearby, though the warehouse's vast interior caused the sound to distort slightly.
'Sister…'
He didn't need anyone to tell him who was making that sound.
Minutes passed in silence.
Amon stood motionless at the center of the warehouse, patience etched into every part of his stance.
He knew that with time, Bard and the others would grow impatient. They would eventually make their move. He just needed to be ready.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard the faint rustle of movement.
Amon's lips curved into a slight smirk. Without hesitation, he swung his sword toward the source of the sound.
Bang
His blade collided with something solid, followed by a soft groan of pain.
Then silence again.
Whoosh
Suddenly, the air shifted. Amon felt a heavy force strike his back before he could react.
He stumbled forward, quickly regaining his balance as the weight of the blow settled into his shoulders.
'A coordinated attack?'
His instincts kicked in and he immediately raised his guard, eyes scanning the space around him.
But the attacker gave him no time to process.
Whoosh
A second strike landed, this time against his right shoulder. The force behind it was even heavier.
Recognizing the danger, Amon moved without hesitation. He leapt back, dragging his sword with him, retreating from the zone of attack.
He heard light, rushed footsteps retreating as well. Whoever had struck him seemed satisfied with the brief exchange and pulled back.
Amon steadied himself, inhaling deeply.
'I must remain calm. There's no need to rush things.'
He pulled a mask over his head, feeling a wave of calm wash through him. His gaze sharpened once more.
Suddenly, a thought formed.
'Maybe I can try that…'
Amon's eyes narrowed with focus as he took a breath and adjusted his grip on the sword.
'If I imitate old man Don's movements, perhaps I can grasp some of his sword techniques. His swings, the way he gripped the handle… his thumb was always at this angle. The sword looked slightly bent in his grasp, but he always wielded it as though it were part of him.'
As he analyzed every detail of Don's technique, something sparked.
A warm, golden light bloomed before his eyes.
[Congratulations on unlocking the true effects of your EX-rank ability: Faceless]
[Faceless: You are cursed to wander the myriad realms without a face, devoid of personality, emotional attachments, and destined to eventually fade into nothingness]
[Effect: Fully impersonate another being. Gain their strengths, appearance, aspects, and mannerisms]
[Impersonated: Old Man Don (30 percent)]
[You have received a major boost to your strength and physical capabilities]
[You have obtained Old Man Don's aspect ability: C-Rank Swift Sword Strike]
[Swift Sword Strike: Enhances sword arts by 40 percent]
Amon's body froze as he stared at the golden screen floating before him.
'What is this? One of those systems I've read about in other worlds? I actually have one? And what's an aspect ability?'
A flood of questions surged through his mind, but there was no time to dwell on them.
With his increased physical abilities, he noticed an immediate shift. His vision had cleared. It was as though the darkness of the warehouse had lightened, unveiling the hidden shapes lurking within.
At the same time, faint thoughts surfaced. Instincts and decisions only Old Man Don would make rose like memories etched into his body.
He adjusted his grip on the sword again. This time it truly felt like an extension of his being.
He had no formal sword arts, but by mimicking Don's movements, those he had seen countless times outside the man's home, he began to sense something stir within. A faint trickle of unfamiliar energy coursed through him, enhancing every swing.
Then he noticed a figure. A youth in a green shirt, a grin curling on his lips, rushing toward him.
But Amon did not panic.
He raised his sword with calm precision and brought it down in a smooth, controlled motion.
Swish
The air split cleanly.
Before the youth could react, Amon's blade sliced down with force.
The thug's eyes widened in terror. Before he could scream, the blade found its mark. His head tilted unnaturally to the side as his life was extinguished in an instant.
Amon stood silently, raising his sword and staring at it in faint surprise.
It felt light, unnaturally so. When he had cleaved the youth's neck, the sensation was almost surreal, as if the blade had turned into a hot knife gliding through soft butter.
'This sword… it is far from ordinary. Could it be? Were all the old man's words true?'
His eyes widened, a cold realization dawning on him.
'Then this world… is far from ordinary.'