Chapter 141: Last Battle

The old man listened to Ethan’s demand, though a trace of worry appeared in his eyes—worried that Ethan might go too far and end up killing them.

“Remember! Don’t kill them.”

Ethan stayed silent, giving no reply, then turned around to see twenty challengers walking into the battle arena.

Some of them trembled in fear, while others still looked confident enough to take him down.

Risa glanced at Leon. Leon smiled and nodded, clearly telling her that Ethan would be fine.

Even if the challengers were many, Ethan’s level was far above theirs. That alone was proof enough that Ethan outclassed them.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, still gripping the Tempest Reaver in his hand. He stared straight ahead, watching the twenty men who had yet to make their move.

They were afraid to step forward, afraid to act, afraid to attack. Ethan was terrifying, and they all knew it.

Every little movement he made was under their close watch. Whatever happened, they couldn’t afford to make even the smallest mistake. They couldn’t let their chief down.

Ethan wouldn’t win if he just stood still. If none of the twenty dared to attack him, then he would have to be the one to move first.

He tightened his grip on the sword and dashed forward in an instant. A sharp gust of wind rippled from where he had been standing.

“He’s moving! Stay alert and watch your surroundings!” shouted one man.

The others moved their heads left and right, turning in circles as they tried to follow the air currents swirling around them.

SLASH!

Ethan’s blade struck one of them across the back. The attack came so fast that no one saw it coming. The others swung their spears wildly, trying to hit Ethan, but they only struck empty air.

“Damn it! He’s too fast—I can’t do this!” one man shouted.

He broke formation and ran out of the arena, shouting that he surrendered. His comrades called after him, begging him to return and fight.

But the man stood outside the ring, trembling in fear. The others called him a coward, yet to Ethan, he was a wise man.

“Never fight someone you’re not sure you can defeat,” Ethan said, his voice clear enough for everyone to hear.

“Shut up! Show your face, bastard!” one of the men yelled.

Ethan suddenly appeared right in front of him and slashed diagonally across his chest. The man screamed and fell, unable to move.

When Ethan went in for another strike, one of his friends managed to block it—but the impact shattered the wooden shaft of his spear. Shocked, he leaped back to avoid the next blow.

The battle grew chaotic. The formation of twenty challengers fell apart completely.

Their focus crumbled, and in panic, they began attacking in every direction, even injuring their own allies in the process—all in a desperate attempt to stop Ethan.

But none of their attacks landed. Ethan kept moving, calm and precise, using only his basic attacks instead of skills. Despite the effort, he seemed to enjoy it.

After half an hour of relentless fighting, Ethan had cut down almost everyone. His strikes left deep wounds, enough to make them collapse in pain but not die.

The field was covered in blood, staining Ethan’s black coat and boots.

He returned to his starting point and looked sharply at the old chief. His right hand still gripped the Tempest Reaver, its blade streaked with blood.

“The third round… is over,” Ethan said firmly.

The chief clapped, followed by the village elders. Then the rest of the villagers joined in, clapping with admiration.

Even though Ethan was far stronger, he never once showed any intent to kill. His self-control made the villagers realize something important.

Ethan hadn’t come to conquer them. He had come to save them.

“Impressive. I misjudged you, Ethan,” said the old chief.

“Give me fifty challengers,” Ethan replied.

“I figured you’d say that,” the chief said, raising his head toward the crowd. He called for fifty men to step forward, ready to face Ethan and accept whatever came next.

But to everyone’s surprise, not a single man dared to enter the arena.

After three battles that all ended in Ethan’s victory, doubt began to take hold.

“No one?” the old man asked, stunned.

Those who hadn’t fought yet lowered their heads and dropped their spears one by one.

Risa and Leon exchanged confused looks—they didn’t understand why no one wanted to challenge Ethan anymore.

Ethan watched as sixty-nine men, all potential challengers, laid down their weapons. Their reason was clear.

Their comrades had fought and failed miserably, unable to even scratch Ethan. If they couldn’t win, what chance did the rest have?

“I’ll count to ten,” Ethan said loudly. “If no one steps up to face me, I’ll take it as your surrender.”

He started counting down. His voice echoed across the field, steady and firm. The men looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

“Three… two… one!”

When the countdown ended, no one moved. Not a single challenger dared to fight.

Ethan turned to the old chief, “Does that mean I’ve won this battle?”

The old man shook his head. He couldn’t rely on his cowardly men—but there was still one person left, someone who could fight Ethan as an equal.

He was the old chief’s son, and heir to the tribe.

“Aries!” the chief called.

“Yes, Father.”

A man jumped down from the podium and landed in the arena, facing Ethan. Ethan narrowed his eyes—this one was different.

He didn’t carry a spear. Instead, he drew a sword that Ethan couldn’t identify. But Ethan could tell right away—this man was far stronger than the rest.

“He’s my son,” the old man said.

“The next chief of this tribe.”

“You want me to fight your son? Are you sure? What if he loses?” Ethan asked.

“He won’t lose. You’ll soon understand why I trust his strength.”

Ethan went silent, serious now. If the old man spoke with such confidence, then something was definitely off about this Aries.

Ethan took a few steps back, still holding his Tempest Reaver. Then, Aries dropped a few drops of blood onto the ground, and a glowing red rune appeared beneath him.

Risa narrowed her eyes. It was her first time seeing something like this.

The village elders had once mentioned a sacred blood magic only available to the chief’s descendants—but never explained what it truly was.

“Blood-Cursed Magic: Blood Sacrifice!” Aries roared.

A surge of power burst from his body, lighting up the red tattoos across his skin. His muscles swelled, and a fierce red aura surrounded him.

A strength boost? Or maybe a berserk buff? Ethan thought.

Without warning, Aries leaped forward at incredible speed, swinging his sword sideways toward Ethan’s neck. Ethan was startled and barely managed to dodge.

He’s fast! That spell boosts both strength and speed!

“Since he’s that strong, does that mean I’m allowed to kill him?” Ethan asked.

“Go ahead,” the old man replied. “Though I doubt you can.”

Ethan smirked and leaped to the far end of the arena to switch weapons. Speed wasn’t meant to be fought with speed. The best way to counter speed was with endurance and power.

For that, Bloodblade Ashura was the perfect choice.

He put away the Tempest Reaver and summoned the crimson sword. Reaching out, he gripped it tightly in his right hand.

[Mode Tempest Deactivated]

[Mode Ashura Activated]

A burst of raw power exploded from Ethan, his hair turning from black to crimson red.

Everyone was stunned by his transformation—the shift in strength was unlike anything they had ever seen.

“Playtime’s over,” Ethan said quietly, “Time to get serious.”

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