Right now, back to Vonjo, Eugene, and the unconscious George—the silence between them lingered only briefly before Vonjo broke it with a smug tilt of his head and a casual, almost lazy tone.

“What do you think, kid? You think I hit them both?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as if daring Eugene to doubt him.

He didn’t point, didn’t puff his chest—he simply looked down at Eugene with the same expression one might use when asking if the sun rose in the east.

Eugene stood frozen. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

The wind rustled his hair, the smell of scorched dust and fading sulfur thick in the air. His eyes flicked back toward the distant field where the chaos had recently unfolded, and his mind fought to process it all.

The distance was absurd.

The two Hellspawn had been moving targets—fast, chaotic, unpredictable—and yet, somehow, Vonjo had dropped them both with a single shot?

No way.

As if the world itself could hear Eugene’s thoughts, the bullet comment screen roared to life.

“BULLSHIT!!”

“He’s way too far!! That shot was like…what? 3000 meters?? That’s an impossible range for an Archer!”

“Even a Grandmaster Archer would struggle to hit that at full speed, let alone someone with NO archery gear!”

“He’s bluffing! No, he’s lying! There’s NO way he did that!”

“That had to be a fluke! Or a setup! Hidden assistance maybe??”

“Hell no, that was skill. Wait, no—nope. I call cap. It should be impossible.”

“Guys, is this some kind of Bloodline Technique? Or maybe Divine Luck?”

“Nah bro, that ain’t divine. That’s cheating.”

The sheer volume of doubt swirled in layers of disbelief, suspicion, and awe.

Some commenters were trying to reason it out with logic, breaking down wind speeds and arrow trajectory—even though no bow had even been seen.

Others insisted Vonjo was a disguised master from some unknown elite faction, or that he was hiding a heavenly-tier artifact, or that it must’ve been a drone or external magic intervention.

But Vonjo was annoyed.

“Do these bastards think I’m lying?” he scowled. “I will show you I am not lying,” he thought. But outside, he pretended like he didn’t care about what they said to him.

He casually cleared one ear with his pinky finger, flicking away invisible dust like the entire conversation annoyed him.

“Eh? You don’t believe me, kid?” he asked.

The bullet comments scrolled furiously, but he didn’t even glance at them. His attention was on Eugene, who had just swallowed and clenched his fists nervously.

Eugene opened his mouth, hesitated, then stepped forward with a slight bow. “Sir… if I may,” he began respectfully, his voice unusually formal. “May I take the van?” He gestured toward the armored vehicle still humming softly in the background.

Then he added, “Good Sir can have my bow and the rest of my Archery equipment.”

Vonjo blinked. He immediately realized what this kid was saying. “What? You’re gonna leave me here? In this twisted hellhole? How am I supposed to go back to the human world?” His tone wasn’t angry—just incredulous, as if Eugene had just suggested he walk home from the moon.

Eugene looked sheepish. He fumbled for words. “I-I mean… I’ll send someone back for you, I swear. Just that… I’m not the best driver, and the path here was rigged with weird markers. And… the beasts… if they respawn… and I don’t want to risk my father dying due to delay so—”

Vonjo narrowed his eyes.

The look he gave Eugene was flat, unimpressed, and impossible to refute. It was the kind of gaze that screamed No matter what excuse you make, I’m not buying it.

Eugene faltered. He rubbed the back of his neck. “R-Right. I’ll wait. I apologize, sir. Please forgive me.”

Vonjo nodded. Even if you are the main character, you shouldn’t act like the whole hell and world revolves around you brat.

The moment passed. Vonjo turned his gaze to George and gave a half-nod. “It’s just blood loss,” he muttered. “Not a big deal really.”

Then he looked around. The hellscape was quiet now, but in the distance, shadows moved. Lurking. Watching.

“Stay here,” Vonjo said, voice low. And with that, he walked off into the darkness.

The shadows thickened the deeper he went. Glowing eyes blinked in the void. Hell beasts. Several of them. Crouched, poised, but hesitant—almost like they could sense it. Sense him.

A large beast with plated shoulders and a maw dripping with acidic saliva snarled as he approached, lowering its head defensively. Its claws scraped the cracked earth, and its breath fogged in bursts of steaming heat. It snarled louder, rearing up as if to pounce.

Vonjo just laughed.

“Oh yeah?” he said mockingly, rolling his shoulders. “That supposed to scare me? Like that’s gonna help you?”

The beast charged.

Vonjo didn’t flinch.

He darted forward, caught the creature mid-leap, and with a sickening crunch, twisted one of its limbs backward at an unnatural angle.

The beast howled—but he wasn’t done. His grip moved fluidly, another limb—snap.

Then another—snap.

The beast’s body convulsed in agony as Vonjo methodically disabled it, limb by limb, like he was deconstructing a child’s toy.

And then, at last, he tore off its head.

No flourish. No drama.

He simply turned around, carrying the severed head with one hand, its glassy eyes still glowing faintly.

When he returned, Eugene stumbled back instinctively, almost falling to the ground. “Wh-what the hell is that—”

“A gift,” Vonjo said. “For your dad.”

Eugene stared, pale-faced, watching as Vonjo dropped the blood-dripping head onto the cracked ground. Then Vonjo crouched and tilted his head, as if trying to recall something.

He muttered to himself. “What was it again? Something about blood refinement… purification. Right.”

And then, to Eugene’s disbelief, Vonjo began carefully removing sections of the creature’s head. Not hacking—carving, as if peeling layers of meat. With each movement, he talked.

“This here—see that grayish tint? That’s soul sludge. Can’t have that mixing with human blood. It’ll eat away the mana pathways.”

He pulled out a tendon. “This looks useful, but it’s laced with corruption threads. Subtle, but fatal. Toss.”

He slashed across a gland near the eye. “Ugh. Smells like sulfur mixed with bile. Nope. That’s a full body parasite center. Won’t do.”

Eugene stared in a mixture of horror and awe as Vonjo kept talking—lecturing even—about all the minute impurities, curses, deformities, and spiritual decay that could be laced within Hell Beast blood.

He described how some of them were born with innate venom in their marrow, or how others carried unstable mana pulses that could rupture a mortal heart upon absorption.

“So what you really want,” Vonjo continued, holding up a small, shimmering orb of filtered crimson energy, “is this. This here’s the pure blood. The rest? Garbage. Unrefined. Risky.”

The bullet comments were speechless for once.

Eugene felt like he was watching a surgeon operating on a divine beast.

Except the surgeon was barefoot, sarcastic, and holding body parts like groceries.

After what felt like forever, Vonjo finally straightened up.

“Done,” he said, wiping his hands on what was left of the beast’s hide.

He turned toward Eugene and nodded. “Let’s try it on your father.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep