THE LAST WARRIOR REVENGE

Red Frog Sect

That very day, after Barata gave him guidance and the inheritance of the sword, Arga bid farewell to his master. He couldn’t stop expressing his gratitude to the old man—someone who had saved his life and taught him martial skills for the past three years.

In those three years, Arga had finally mastered all the techniques and powers of Barata, who was once known as the Mad Demon. That title was not without reason. In the past, Barata had been a wild killer, which earned him that fearsome name.

As for the origins of that old man, Arga still did not know. But in time, everyone would come to realize that the Mad Demon had a successor—and that successor was Arga.

With the sword hanging on his back, Arga left the place where he had trained, his heart heavy with sadness. Barata only waved his hand toward him, his expression a mix of sorrow and pride.

With strong determination, Arga walked away from the forest. He already knew the direction of the Red Frog Sect.

This was because, before the Golden Step Sect was destroyed, the Red Frog Sect often held competitions among disciples from various lower-ranked sects. But none had ever been able to defeat the disciples of the Golden Step Sect, which was a first-class sect—number one in the western region of the Wind Country.

As he walked, Arga kept thinking. He still didn’t know who was truly behind the great massacre that night. His master seemed to have left him with a puzzle he had to solve on his own.

After half a day’s journey from the forest, he stopped at a tavern located in the Red Frog territory. He could tell by the red frog statue standing at a gate not far from the tavern.

Inside the rather large tavern, Arga ordered a cup of black coffee and several pieces of palm sugar, along with some cookies and roasted meat prepared there. He savored it all—after such a long time of surviving only on vegetables and mushrooms. There had been no meat at all, let alone his favorite coffee and palm sugar.

“A strict teacher, huh,” Arga thought to himself with a smile, remembering his master’s eccentric ways during training. He sipped the coffee slowly, then bit into a piece of palm sugar for sweetness.

Just as he was enjoying his drink, a group of people suddenly entered the tavern.

More than ten of them came in and sat not far from where Arga was. All of them wore matching clothing dominated by the color red.

Arga could already guess where they were from, but he chose to remain calm and act as though nothing was unusual.

The group chatted loudly, and Arga clearly overheard what they were saying.

“Our sect will be holding an open competition for the Eternal Scroll, which is said to make our bodies even stronger,” said one of them.

“I’ll join that competition. Whoever faces me will be beaten without mercy!” replied another, who seemed to be the most arrogant of the group.

Arga listened carefully. He had guessed correctly—they were disciples of the Red Frog Sect.

“Jaya, you’re already at the middle level. Do you think any low-class warrior would dare face you?” another of them said.

“Too bad that trash sect won’t be joining again. I’m sure if they did, they’d win by cheating, just like before…” sneered the one called Jaya.

“They’re nothing but a pile of trash, fit only to be wiped out! Hahaha! We should celebrate that in this five-year tournament they won’t be here to ruin our fun anymore!” shouted another.

“The Golden Step Sect? What’s so great about them, huh? They were just pretending to be strong. Their top rank in this country was nothing but luck!” Jaya added with a mocking tone.

Arga clenched his cup, fury burning in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to slaughter them all right then and there. But he restrained himself. If he acted rashly, his greater plan would collapse into nothing.

Unfortunately, one of the disciples noticed Arga gripping his cup so tightly as if holding back rage.

“Hey, look! That beggar’s doing something weird!” one of them shouted.

Jaya turned his head first, walked over, and stood with his hands on his hips before Arga. He studied the young man’s hand gripping the ceramic cup with such force.

“Hey, beggar, what’s wrong with you? You look like you’re holding back anger. Don’t like us being here in this tavern? Don’t you realize whose sect’s territory this is? Tell me—where do you come from?” Jaya asked arrogantly, flashing a nasty smirk.

Arga struggled to restrain the fury that had already flooded his veins and coursed through his entire body.

Suddenly, one of Jaya’s friends grabbed Arga’s head and slammed him onto the table.

Bang!

Jaya grinned with delight at the sight.

“Good! You’ll get a reward from me for that cruel act, hahaha!” Jaya shouted.

Seeing their companion praised for attacking Arga, the others rushed in to beat his head.

Arga endured the abuse. His plan was to kill their leader and dig out information about the enemy clan, not waste his strength on these childish cowards who still needed others to protect them.

But when one of them reached for his sword hilt, Arga could no longer hold back. With lightning speed, he seized the man’s wrist and crushed it.

Crack!

The man screamed at the top of his lungs as the bones in his wrist shattered in Arga’s grip.

Seeing this, Jaya and the others, shocked, immediately attacked him in earnest.

But Arga was ready. He had mastered his master’s skills and techniques to perfection.

In an instant, all ten of them were defeated by Arga’s bare hands.

Jaya clutched his chest where Arga’s strike had landed, the pain in his ribs excruciating.

“In just a few moves…? Who is this man!?” he thought in disbelief.

“Retreat! Report this to the master!” Jaya shouted.

The Red Frog Sect disciples fled in panic, leaving the tavern, which was now filled with curious onlookers.

Everyone stared at Arga in awe. He had defeated the Red Frog Sect bullies without even rising from his seat. Not a single drop of his drink had spilled.

Jaya and his companions reported the incident to their supervising master, Marga.

When Marga saw his disciples beaten and bruised, he grew furious and stormed toward the tavern they had mentioned.

“You’re dead, beggar,” Jaya thought with a sinister grin.

They followed their master to the tavern, but by then Arga had already left. The tavern keeper told them that the young man with the red headband had headed south.

Marga and his disciples quickly pursued him. Sure enough, they spotted him walking toward an inn.

“Hey! Stop right there!” Marga shouted.

Arga ignored him. He didn’t feel those words were directed at him.

“I said stop!” This time, the shout carried inner energy, forcing Arga to turn and counter the unseen strike.

His body staggered back several steps after deflecting Marga’s invisible attack.

Fortunately, thanks to his master’s harsh training, his senses were razor-sharp. He could block even an attack he couldn’t see.

During training, Arga had been beaten black and blue while learning what his master called instinct. He had to sense the direction of attacks with his eyes closed. Again and again, the old man’s staff struck his head until it was covered in wounds.

But eventually, Arga succeeded. He trained by trying to catch droplets of water falling from a tree. He had even managed to evade his master’s strikes while blindfolded. His master had told him that instinct could always be improved through further training.

Marga was stunned to see his attack blocked. Within the sect, only a few could withstand his unseen strike.

Inwardly, Marga grew uneasy.

“Who is this man…?” he thought with a sense of dread.