In a dimly lit pub on the edge of Bluefeather Duchy, four men sat in a corner booth, their heads close and their voices hushed. Each wore a heavy cloak that shadowed their faces. They had to—if anyone recognized them, they’d be reported in a heartbeat, if not outright killed. The whole Kingdom knew their faces by now. They were the Verdant Brothers. Once, they’d been a well-known adventurer team in Eryndor, but that life was gone. Ever since Talon reported their crimes to the Adventurer Guild, they had been fugitives, hunted by Adventurers and even Duke Ironflower’s own men. Out of the original eight, only four remained: Eren “Sunfire,” the leader; Denzel “Ironclad,” his second; Furor; and Adrian. The rest were dead, and these four had been running ever since. “Are you sure Talon’s in the city?” Denzel asked for what sounded like the tenth time. His tone was sharp and impatient. He leaned back, glaring at Furor as if daring him to answer wrong. “Yes,” Furor shot back, his irritat

Talon smiled slightly, his gaze flickering to meet the axeman’s. “I really didn’t want to do this.”The axeman frowned. “What?”“I apologize. This might hurt.”Before the man could react, Talon’s hand shot forward and caught his elbow. With a sharp twist, he forced the joint back at an unnatural angle. The axeman screamed as his arm cramped against itself. Talon didn’t stop there—he shoved forward while still locking the elbow, sending the man stumbling backwards with pained groans escaping his throat.All eyes turned toward them.At that moment, Talon’s free hand clenched into a fist. Heat surged through his meridians as his inner force flowed out, strengthening his strike. He punched forward with the instinctive and supernatural precision of a Martial Sage.The axeman’s aura flared, a shimmering layer that wrapped around his body like a shield. The blow landed with a muffled thud, the aura cushioning the force like dense c

The sound of flesh tearing snapped across the forest. Wet squelching followed, and every head turned in horror. The green-haired man froze mid-breath, his body stiff, eyes bulging as Veyra’s pale arm protruded from his chest. Her slender hand clenched around his heart, still beating, red and slick between her fingers. “Y–you—” he croaked, but no more words came. She yanked her hand free. Blood sprayed. The man collapsed lifelessly at her feet. Veyra’s crimson eyes met Uri’s as she let the heart slip from her grasp. It hit the ground with a wet smack. “You bitch?!” a voice bellowed. The team captain, Uri, radiated fury. His aura surged outward, a heavy pressure grinding across the battlefield. The air itself seemed to tremble as a faint mountain-shaped phantom shimmered around him. Veyra's lips curved into the faintest smile, fangs flashing for a heartbeat before she blurred forward, the ground beneath her feet fracturing from the speed. Uri answered in kind, his heavy frame

Talon braced himself as the two Warriors pressed him from both sides, their auras colliding with his mind like walls of iron. Every strike they threw could crush a tree in half, and his body screamed with each dodge and deflection. He couldn’t overpower their protective aura—so he had to bypass them. His eyes narrowed and he slashed Dark Griever in a backward swing. The ripple of unseen concussive force streaked out, hitting the one on his left, not strong enough to break aura, but enough to send him staggering. Talon appeared right in front of him before he could balance himself, Dark Griever glancing off his aura just as the second Warrior lunged forward to provide support. Talon twisted, dragging the first into the second’s path. Aura slammed aura, and their clash opened a tiny window. They scrambled to regain their stance, and attack with their weapons. Both of them had defensive type Professions, they didn't h

He laughed. "I am not that corny."The light-hearted exchanges alleviated some of the seriousness of the thought process, yet did not eliminate the harsh reality: his weapon required improvement. The second flaw was more troubling and significant: he needed to ascend to the Warrior tier as quickly as possible. The encounter with the Bulwark Team had been a stroke of luck—most of their Warrior-level members focused on defense rather than offense, and the sole true powerhouse had been eliminated early on. Even then, his illusions and attacks faced strong opposition. They maintained their forms, obstructed the essence of his strikes, and their bodies absorbed any damage their defenses permitted. It was only when he resorted to a brutally direct approach—projecting a chilling, concentrated killing intent—that he saw the energy flow of two of them falter and break. That killing intent prov