THUD!
The sharp, heavy sound of a body slamming against the thick trunk of a redwood tree echoed through the dense, twilight-lit forest.
A boy, no older than nineteen, scrambled backward until his spine hit the rough bark. He had messy brown hair, wide, panicked black eyes, and was currently sporting a very ugly, bleeding scrape across his right cheek. He clutched a sleek, expensive-looking wooden staff in his trembling hands, his knuckles entirely white.
"Stay back!" the boy shouted, his voice cracking horribly. "If you take another step, I'll... I'll skewer all of you!"
The threat would have been a lot more intimidating if he hadn't currently been backed into a literal dead end, completely surrounded by a semi-circle of seven heavily armed, grinning men.
They were bandits. Not the romanticized, noble thieves from storybooks, but the filthy, desperate, and incredibly violent kind that haunted the no-man's land between the Human Empire and the Dwarven borders. They wore mismatched leather armor, carried rusted but functional blades, and smelled faintly of cheap ale and stale sweat.
The boy gritted his teeth, desperately channeling the absolute limit of his meager mana core.
RUMBLE...
The ground beneath the lead bandit's boots suddenly trembled.
"Eat this!" the boy yelled.
[Earth Spikes!]
Three jagged, stalagmite-like spikes of solid rock erupted violently from the soil, shooting upward with lethal intent. It was a solid, well-executed spell for an early D-Rank awakener.
But it wasn't enough.
The lead bandit, a burly man with a nasty scar bisecting his upper lip, didn't even flinch. He casually side-stepped the eruption of stone, his agility betraying a peak D-Rank, possibly even low C-Rank physical foundation.
"Cute," the scarred bandit sneered, spitting a wad of phlegm onto the forest floor. "But you're out of your depth, rich boy."
The bandits closed the distance in a flash.
The brown-haired boy panicked, wildly swinging his wooden staff in a wide arc, trying to channel another spell. But before the mana could even formulate, the scarred bandit stepped inside his guard, grabbed the staff with one hand, and effortlessly wrenched it out of the boy's grip.
With a harsh, barking laugh, another bandit grabbed the boy by his messy brown hair.
"Gah!"
The boy cried out in pain as he was brutally yanked forward and violently shoved down onto his knees in the dirt.
"Look at him shake," one of the bandits mocked, kicking dirt into the boy's face. "Looks like a noble pup who wandered too far from his mommy's estate. Wonder how much ransom he's worth?"
"Forget the ransom," the scarred leader grunted, his eyes shifting away from the kneeling boy and landing on the ornate, heavily reinforced carriage sitting stalled on the dirt path about twenty yards away. The carriage's horses had been killed in the initial ambush, their bodies lying in the grass.
"We take whatever's in the carriage first. Then we decide what to do with the brat."
The kneeling boy's black eyes went wide with absolute, unfiltered terror.
"No!" the boy screamed, suddenly thrashing violently against the grip of the man holding him down.
"Stop! Don't go near the carriage! Take the gold in my pouch! Take the staff! Just stay away from it!"
He was frantic. Desperate. Completely disregarding his own safety.
Because his little sister was asleep inside that carriage.
The scarred leader ignored the screaming boy, gesturing with his head for two of his men to go crack the carriage doors open.
"DON'T YOU DARE!" The boy roared, forcing a final, desperate surge of earth mana into his hands to try and blast the man holding him.
WHAM!
The spell died before it even started. The scarred leader delivered a brutal, heavy kick directly into the boy's chest.
The boy collapsed, coughing violently, the air entirely driven from his lungs. He lay in the dirt, clutching his ribs, tears of utter helplessness and frustration blurring his vision as he watched the two bandits saunter toward the carriage.
He had failed. He couldn't protect her.
The two bandits reached the ornate carriage. One of them reached out, his dirty hand wrapping around the polished brass handle of the door.
"Excuse me."
The voice was calm. It was quiet. It wasn't a shout or a heroic declaration. It was just a polite, almost bored interruption that drifted out from the dense shadows of the tree line directly behind the bandits.
Every single bandit froze.
The two men at the carriage instantly turned around, hands flying to the hilts of their swords. The scarred leader narrowed his eyes, peering into the gloom.
A figure stepped out from behind the thick trunk of a redwood tree.
He was leaning casually against the bark, his arms crossed over his chest. He was covered in a thick layer of forest dirt, dried leaves clinging to a dark green, heavy ranger's cloak. The deep hood of the cloak was pulled low, completely obscuring his face and hair.
The scarred leader immediately flared his perception, probing the stranger's aura.
A moment later, the tension bled out of the bandit's shoulders, replaced by a scoff of supreme annoyance.
"A D+ Rank?" the leader spat, drawing his rusted broadsword. "You've got a lot of nerve interrupting our business, vagabond. You want to die that badly?"
Alden didn't move. He didn't uncross his arms.
He had been tracking this group for the last ten minutes. He hadn't intended to intervene. He was a wanted fugitive; drawing attention to himself was the pinnacle of stupidity. But when he saw the desperate, helpless look in the brown-haired boy's eyes as he tried to protect the carriage... it had struck a nerve. It reminded Alden of a boy who had once stood in a the academy, trying to protect an entire academy of people who ultimately betrayed him.
But more importantly?
Alden was incredibly, painfully bored, and he needed moving targets to practice on.
For the past week, Alden had been hunting beasts. But beasts were predictable. They charged, they bit, they swiped. He needed human opponents to test the new martial arts framework he had been trying to piece together in his head.
Since Liam had stolen his [Void-Walker Swordsmanship], Alden was currently relying purely on raw brawling. But swinging his fists wildly wasn't a sustainable fighting style. So, over the last few nights, he had been trying to invent his own close-quarters combat system—one specifically designed to eventually channel the highly volatile, explosive nature of his Chaos mana.
He had unimaginatively titled the mental blueprint: [Chaotic Martial Art].
"My naming sense is truly garbage," Alden muttered to himself under the hood, shaking his head slightly.
"What did you just say?" the scarred leader barked, taking a menacing step forward.
"Kill him."
Three bandits rushed Alden simultaneously.
Alden didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even use mana. His pathetic D+ Rank core remained entirely dormant.
He simply dropped his arms, his posture shifting into a strange, loose stance.
The first bandit swung a heavy iron mace in a horizontal arc aimed at Alden's ribs.
SWISH...
Alden didn't block. He didn't retreat. He stepped into the swing.
Moving with a terrifying, fluid grace that his A-Rank physical stats provided, Alden slipped inside the bandit's guard. He raised his right hand, not in a fist, but with his fingers slightly curled, like the claws of a beast.
[Chaotic Martial Art: First Form-The Collapsing Star.]
Alden drove the palm of his hand directly into the center of the bandit's chest. He didn't punch; he pushed. He used the bandit's own forward momentum, combined with a precise, explosive burst of physical kinetic force from his shoulder and hips.
CRACK!
The bandit's sternum caved in with a sickening crunch. The man was literally lifted off his feet, flying backward through the air and crashing violently into the trunk of a tree ten feet away. He didn't get back up.
The remaining two bandits hesitated for a fraction of a second, their eyes going wide.
That hesitation was all Alden needed.
He pivoted flawlessly. The second bandit thrust a spear toward his gut. Alden sidestepped, his left hand slapping the wooden shaft of the spear away, parrying the attack effortlessly. Simultaneously, he spun, using the centrifugal force of the rotation to deliver a devastating, spinning back-kick directly into the side of the bandit's knee.
SNAP!
The joint completely shattered. The bandit screamed, collapsing into the dirt.
Alden didn't even look down. He flowed into his next movement, facing the third bandit.
[Chaotic Martial Art: Second Form-The Abyssal Current]
The third man swung a sword down in a desperate, overhead chop. Alden raised his left forearm, catching the flat side of the blade right before it hit him, redirecting the strike harmlessly to the side. With his right hand, he delivered a rapid, blurring series of three consecutive strikes—throat, solar plexus, jaw.
Thwack-thwack-CRACK!
The third bandit dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.
In less than five seconds, using absolutely zero mana, three peak D-Rank fighters had been completely dismantled.
The clearing fell deathly silent.
The scarred leader and the remaining three bandits stood frozen, staring at the cloaked figure in absolute horror. The aura was definitely D+ Rank, but the physical output was monstrous.
"What... what are you?" the scarred leader stammered, taking a slow step backward.
Alden stood perfectly still, brushing a piece of lint off his dark cloak. He tilted his hooded head slightly.
"A guy who's trying to figure out if he should use open palms or closed fists," Alden replied casually, his voice echoing from the shadows of his hood.
"Come on. I need more data."
The leader didn't charge. He turned on his heel.
"Run!"
They scattered, bolting in three different directions toward the thick forest.
Alden sighed. He hated chasing people.
He bent his knees, his muscles coiling tight, and launched himself forward. The ground beneath his boots physically cratered from the explosive force of his leap.
He caught the first runner in three strides, delivering a brutal clothesline that sent the man spinning into the dirt. He bounced off a nearby boulder, intercepting the second runner with a flying knee to the chest that folded the bandit entirely in half.
The scarred leader was the fastest. He was already nearing the tree line.
Alden landed lightly, picked up a fist-sized rock from the ground, weighed it in his hand for a second, and threw it like a major league fastball.
THWACK.
The rock struck the leader directly in the back of the head. The man face-planted into the mud and stopped moving.
Alden dusted his hands off, walking casually back toward the center of the clearing where the brown-haired boy was still lying in the dirt, staring at the carnage with his mouth hanging wide open.
Alden walked up to him and stopped. He looked down at the bruised, trembling boy.
Slowly, Alden extended a gloved hand downward.
The boy flinched violently, raising his arms to shield his face, completely terrified that the monster who had just casually broken seven men was going to finish him off.
A few seconds passed. Nothing happened.
The boy slowly lowered his arms, opening his eyes. The cloaked figure was still standing there, his hand patiently extended in an offer of help.
The boy swallowed hard. Tentatively, he reached up and grasped Alden's hand.
Alden pulled him effortlessly to his feet.
"Th-thank you," the boy stammered, dusting off his expensive trousers, his eyes darting nervously toward the unconscious bodies littering the road. "You... you saved my life. And my sister's."
"Don't mention it," Alden replied smoothly, his voice devoid of any real emotion.
"They were blocking the road."
"I'm Elian," the boy said, offering a small, slightly more confident bow. "Of the... well, of a merchant house. Who might I be thanking?"
Alden ignored the question entirely. Giving his name right now was a fast track to getting a bounty hunter squad dropped on his head.
"Just a traveler," Alden deflected, turning his gaze toward the stalled carriage.
Before Elian could press the issue, the heavy, reinforced door of the carriage suddenly clicked, then swung open with an angry squeak.
"For the love of the Forge, Elian!"
A sharp, incredibly frustrated, and distinctly bossy voice rang out from the velvet-lined interior.
A girl stepped out of the carriage. She looked to be the exact same age as Elian—likely his twin. She had the same messy brown hair, though hers was tied back into a haphazard braid, and the same dark eyes. But where Elian looked soft and scholarly, this girl radiated an aura of pure, unadulterated impatience.
She was wearing a fine silk traveling dress that looked heavily wrinkled, as if she had just woken up from a very deep nap.
"Why is there such a loud noise out here?" she complained, rubbing her eyes and scowling at her brother. "Can't you let me sleep for five continuous hours without starting a—"
She stopped talking.
Her dark eyes finally registered the scene. The dead horses. The seven groaning, bleeding, or unconscious bandits scattered across the dirt road like discarded toys.
She blinked. She looked at the bodies, then at her bruised brother, and finally at the imposing, dirt-covered figure in the dark green cloak.
Her expression didn't shift to horror. She didn't scream. She actually looked remarkably calm, assessing the carnage as if she were looking at a mildly annoying mess of insects that someone had forgotten to sweep up.
"Well," the girl said, her tone flattening out entirely.
"I suppose that explains the noise."
She crossed her arms and descended the carriage steps, walking straight toward Alden. She didn't look afraid; she looked intensely, dangerously curious.
She stopped a few feet away, squinting at the shadows beneath his hood.
"You did this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at the bodies.
"I did," Alden confirmed neutrally.
"With a D+ Rank aura?" she challenged, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"I hit them very hard," Alden replied deadpan.
The girl let out a short, incredulous snort.
"Right. I'm Lyra. This idiot is my brother, Elian. We're from the Ironpeak sector of the Dwarf Empire."
Alden's hidden eye widened slightly. They were from the Dwarf Empire. This was the perfect, golden opportunity falling right into his lap.
"Nice to meet you," Alden said, quickly formulating a lie.
"I was actually heading to the Dwarf Empire myself. But... I ran into some trouble in the woods a few days ago. Lost my travel pass and my identification."
Lyra stared at him. She stared at the dirt on his cloak, the complete lack of a travel pack, and the total absence of any merchant insignias.
A slow, highly unimpressed smirk crossed her face.
"You are a terrible liar, Mr. Traveler," Lyra said bluntly, crossing her arms tighter.
"Nobody 'loses' a forged-iron visa in the woods."
Alden mentally winced. 'Sharp kid.'
"Lyra, be polite!"
Elian interjected, hurrying over and stepping between them. He looked at Alden with earnest, grateful eyes.
"He saved us. The least we can do is help him." Elian turned back to Alden. "If you need to cross the border, you can travel with us. Our family crest will bypass the gate inspections. We have a spare draft horse attached to the rear of the carriage; we can yoke it up."
Lyra rolled her eyes dramatically, but she didn't argue.
"Fine. But if he tries to murder us in our sleep, I'm letting the border guards turn him into a pincushion."
"I don't murder people in their sleep," Alden said dryly.
"It's inefficient."
Lyra paused, looking at him slightly horrified, before shaking her head and walking back toward the carriage. "Whatever. Help Elian hitch the horse. I want to be back in Ironpeak before I die of boredom."
Alden stood there, watching the twins bicker as they moved toward the back of the carriage.
He reached a hand up, touching the rough fabric of his eyepatch beneath his hood, a genuine, relieved smile finally crossing his face.
He had his ticket inside.