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The aftershocks of the explosion had not yet fully subsided, and the smell of char mixed with the stench of flesh was so thick it was choking.
The two did not linger in the filthy basement.
Leon S. Kennedy used his tactical knife to cleanly cut the thick hemp ropes on the man's hands and feet, while Noah leaned over and carefully removed the tightly stuffed rag from his mouth.
They supported the completely unconscious man from both sides and dragged him out of that subterranean prison that reeked of decay.
The air outside was also filled with the smell of gunpowder, but it at least carried a hint of the valley's chill, enough to clear one's muddled mind.
They laid the man flat on a patch of relatively clean grass that hadn't been affected by the explosion.
Noah unscrewed his canteen, poured some cool drinking water into his palm, and then unceremoniously slapped it onto the man's face.
Stimulated by the cold liquid, the man's whole body jolted, a violent cough erupted from his throat, and immediately after, he snapped his eyes open.
His eyeballs were bloodshot, and his pupils were unfocused and dull for the first few seconds.
It took a good while before his focus slowly returned.
His gaze first landed on Leon S. Kennedy's face, who was closest to him; that typical Caucasian face caused a hint of astonishment and wariness to surface in his originally confused eyes.
"¿Americano?" (American?) His voice was raspy, carrying a heavy Spanish accent.
Leon S. Kennedy didn't answer, only signaling with his eyes for him to look the other way.
The man's head turned stiffly, and when he saw Noah's well-defined Eastern face, the astonishment on his face turned into total bewilderment.
In his understanding, this land forgotten by God shouldn't have such a combination of 'outsiders' appearing.
"¿Asiático?" (Asian?) he asked subconsciously.
"Chinese." Noah shrugged.
He knew that in such an extremely chaotic state, the language the other party would react to first would inevitably be his native tongue.
But right now, what was needed was the most direct and effective transmission of information.
The man seemed stunned; he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but his brain's sluggishness prevented him from organizing effective speech.
He struggled to prop up his upper body and looked around, and when he saw everything before him clearly, he was completely dumbfounded.
What should have been a valley farmhouse was now a massive crater emitting black smoke.
Charred wood, shattered stones, and some unrecognizable wreckage were scattered everywhere.
This scene, like the coming of the end times, was clearly far beyond his last memories before being imprisoned.
"¿Dónde...dónde estoy?" (Where... where am I?) he murmured to himself, the confusion and fear in his eyes nearly overflowing.
Just then, from behind the ruins destroyed by the explosion not far away, came a heavy and rhythmic sound of footsteps.
The sound unhurriedly stepped on the unburnt charcoal and rubble, making a tooth-grating noise.
Leon S. Kennedy and Noah looked toward the sound almost at the same time.
A dark figure, tall to the point of being disproportionate, slowly walked out against the backdrop of the flickering firelight and moonlight.
It was a man at least two meters tall.
He wore an old black trench coat and a wide-brimmed dark fedora; the shadow cast by the brim covered most of his face, leaving only a thick, messy, grayish-white beard that hung down to his chest visible.
Behind him followed two young Villager holding torches.
The eyes of those two Villager were just like those of the madmen holding explosives before—filled with numbness and vacancy.
But this tall leading man was entirely different.
Emanating from him was a coldness and arrogance belonging to an absolute ruler.
His gaze swept over the massive crater, then looked at the broken remains scattered on the ground belonging to his'subjects'; there was no ripple in his eyes beneath the shadow, as if those who died were just a bunch of insignificant livestock.
Finally, his gaze landed on Noah, Leon S. Kennedy, and the Spanish man who had just been rescued.
Noah felt the undisguised killing intent from that gaze.
He knew the man before him was the signer of that alert order—the Village Chief, Bitores Mendez.
Leon S. Kennedy's muscles tensed, his fingers tightened slightly on his shotgun, and he lowered his body into a standard combat stance.
The pressure this big guy gave him was far more intense than that of the Minotaur Giant just now.
"Leave this big fellow to me," Noah said in a low voice.
"Hey, let me try first," Leon S. Kennedy whispered to Noah, turning his head. "I have to see what this guy is made of; I can't let you do all the heavy lifting."
Noah glanced at him, nodded, and stepped back half a pace, making a 'go ahead' gesture.
Having received tacit permission, Leon S. Kennedy no longer hesitated.
He exerted force with his feet, keeping his body close to the ground, and rushed toward Bitores Mendez at high speed in a tricky Z-shaped route.
When uncertain of an opponent's background, close-quarters combat was the most direct way to test their strength, speed, and reactions.
Facing the charging Leon S. Kennedy, Bitores Mendez didn't even change his posture.
He just stood there like an unshakeable mountain.
Just as Leon S. Kennedy got within three meters of him, and the cold glint of the dagger was about to slice through the air.
Bitores Mendez's movement was so fast it was completely inconsistent with his massive physique.
He simply raised his right hand, and that large hand wearing a rough leather glove grabbed Leon S. Kennedy's knife-wielding wrist with unerring precision.
Leon S. Kennedy felt as if his wrist were clamped tight by a giant iron pincer; a massive force that was simply impossible to resist surged through, and his bones were letting out groans of being overtaxed.
His heart chilled, and he immediately abandoned the attack, turning his other hand into a palm strike to chop at Bitores Mendez's elbow joint.
However, Bitores Mendez merely lowered and shook his arm.
Leon S. Kennedy felt an unrivaled centrifugal force instantly spread through his entire body; the lower-body strength he took pride in was as fragile as paper before the opponent.
His feet left the ground, and he was swung up effortlessly by Bitores Mendez like a broken sack, then slammed back violently in the direction he had come from.
"Bang!"
Leon S. Kennedy's body slammed heavily into a pile of charred wooden beams, letting out a muffled thud as broken wood splattered everywhere.
The violent impact brought a sweet taste of blood to his throat, and his internal organs felt as if they had been displaced.
Enduring the intense pain, he struggled to crawl out of the ruins, coughing while looking at that motionless, massive figure, his eyes filled with shock.
What was this?
In that moment just now, he had almost failed to put up any effective resistance.
The opponent's strength was completely outside the realm of normal humans.
He looked up at Noah, who had already stepped in front of him again, a helpless and slightly self-deprecating bitter smile squeezed onto his face.
"...Alright, I agree with your suggestion."
Bitores Mendez and the two Villager behind him approached step by step.
They walked toward Noah and the Spanish man with a clear objective.
Noah turned his head to glance at the man behind him.
That Spaniard named Luis, or whatever his name was, still had eyes full of confusion and terror.
His pupils darted around, unable to focus; clearly, he hadn't fully recovered from the dizziness of the explosion.
Noah slowly stood up straight, facing Bitores Mendez and his two torch-bearing lackeys.
He took a step forward, shielding the Spanish man completely behind him.
Seeing Noah's action, Bitores Mendez's mouth curled into a contemptuous smile beneath his thick beard.
He seemed to think that this Asian man, who didn't look particularly strong, was like a mantis trying to stop a carriage.
He didn't even bother to act personally, merely giving an order in Spanish to the two Villager behind him.
"Matalo." (Kill him.)
Receiving the command, the two Villager were like activated Puppets, raising their farm tools—a pitchfork and a sickle—and charging at Noah with a roar.
Noah looked at the two charging men, his expression unchanging.
Just as they were about to reach him.
With a strange footwork that almost defied the laws of physics, he shifted half a meter to the side.
He perfectly dodged the pitchfork's thrust, his body sliding past the wooden handle of the pitchfork.
His left hand accurately chopped at the Villager's carotid artery.
The Villager's roar stopped abruptly, and his body went limp, collapsing to the ground.
At the same time, the other Villager holding a sickle had already rushed close, the rusty sickle whistling as it swept horizontally toward Noah's waist.
Without even looking, Noah delivered a back-handed elbow strike right into the opponent's temple.
"Thud!"
A muffled sound; the Villager didn't even groan, his eyes rolled back, and he fell straight backward.
Leon S. Kennedy stood up from the ruins just in time to see this scene.
He rubbed his still-aching chest, looked at the two Villager who had been taken care of in an instant, and sighed.
The contempt on Bitores Mendez's face finally vanished.
Those eyes hidden in the shadow of the hat brim, for the first time, truly and seriously scrutinized Noah.
He realized he seemed to have misjudged him.
Noah didn't give him any more time to think.
After dealing with the two grunts, he lightly tapped his toe on the ground, and his entire center of gravity shifted forward instantly.
With no fancy moves, just a simple straight punch, his fist was like a cannonball leaving the barrel, tearing through the air and blasting straight toward Bitores Mendez's face.
Seeing this unadorned punch, a flash of violence crossed Bitores Mendez's eyes.
He was provoked.
Provoked by the active challenge of this tiny human.
He let out a low roar and also raised his fist, as large as a clay pot, neither dodging nor evading, prepared to use the purest strength to completely crush this ignorant fellow along with his arm.
One large and one small, two disproportionate fists rapidly approached in mid-air.
A cruel smile had even surfaced on Bitores Mendez's face, having foreseen the tragic sight of the opponent's bones and tendons snapping.
However, the next second, he could no longer smile.
"Boom—!"
When the fists met, what was heard was not the crisp sound of bones shattering, but a dull thud so heavy it made the air tremble!
An unimaginable, terrifying force like a mountain flash flood came from that small fist, instantly overwhelming his proud, indestructible defense of strength.
Bitores Mendez felt a destructive shockwave surge through his fist, into his arm, through his shoulder, and straight into his chest cavity.
The bones in his arm were wailing, and his internal organs felt as if they had been struck hard by an invisible giant hammer.
The contempt and cruelty on his face were replaced by extreme shock and pain.
His mountain-like physique was hit head-on by that punch as if by a heavy truck traveling at full speed.
His feet instantly left the ground, and he flew backward uncontrollably.
Four meters, five meters... his massive body traced a pathetic parabola in the air, finally crashing heavily into another pile of burnt ruins in the distance, kicking up a large cloud of dust and sparks.
The entire valley fell into silence.
Leon S. Kennedy watched as the giant, who had thrown him like a toy and possessed terrifyingly inhuman strength, was punched away by Noah.
He helplessly rubbed his face.
The Spanish man curled up on the ground also stopped trembling; for the first time, a hint of clarity appeared in his chaotic eyes.
He stared blankly at the not-so-burly Chinese man who was slowly withdrawing his fist.
"Cough... cough cough..."
A violent coughing sound came from the pile of ruins.
Bitores Mendez struggled, using his uninjured arm to prop himself up on the ground, crawling out from the mess of broken wood.
His fedora was long gone, revealing a face covered in dust and blood, distorted by anger.
The right hand that had clashed with Noah's fist was hanging unnaturally at a strange angle; clearly, the bones inside were completely broken.
He looked up and stared intently at Noah.
In his eyes, only deep wariness remained, along with a resentment and killing intent that almost solidified after being humiliated.
He weighed his options.
His arm was severely injured, and the opponent's strength completely exceeded his estimates.
Continuing to fight would leave him with zero chance of victory.
This thought flashed through his mind for only a second.
In the next moment, this ruthless Village Chief made the most decisive choice.
He kicked off the ground violently, his massive body exploding with amazing jumping power, like a predatory beast; with one leap, he jumped directly onto the mountain wall several meters high beside him.
Without staying for a moment, in a few bounds, that massive figure quickly merged into the darkness of the mountains and disappeared.
The night wind blew, swirling the ashes on the ground with a'shasha' sound.
Leon S. Kennedy slowly walked over; he first looked in the direction Bitores Mendez had disappeared, then at Noah's right hand which still held its fist-clenching posture, and finally, his gaze landed on the Spanish man who was still slumped on the ground, shaken.
He walked over and patted the man's shoulder.
"Hey, pal, you okay?"
The man looked up at Leon S. Kennedy, then at Noah, the confusion in his eyes having mostly faded, replaced by a daze from surviving a disaster.
He opened his mouth, seeming to have many questions to ask, but ultimately only a few simple words came out.
"Who... are you?"
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