The King-Sea Inn was built entirely of wood, serving as a temporary refuge meant only to last until the Sand-Scale occurrence subsided. But all of a sudden—
BAM!
The inn's double doors were shattered into splinters in that instant, as fragments flew backward under the force of the blow. The residents, who had been enjoying their food, drink, or simple rest, were jolted back to their senses.
Five men, all clad in black, stormed through the broken entrance, with a single figure leading the charge.
The moment they entered, their eyes locked onto four guards stationed before a particular room. Others, who had been idling at the back, were already roused by the noise and now stood fully alert.
Without a word, the five men in black launched their attack.
It all happened so fast which left the guards stunned. They responded instantly, unsheathing their weapons and engaged the intruders. They had been stationed here to keep others away, but never had they imagined anyone would dare assault them outright.
After all, they were the guards of Young Master Simley of the Blacksmith Clan. His family name had always served as their shield, like a banner that deterred trouble. It was different in the wilderness, where ambushes were common—but here, in the open, such a brazen strike was unthinkable.
Who could have dared to target them?
BBANG…
A middle-aged man rushed out, crushing the door behind him. He was one of the two guards stationed inside to protect the blacksmiths. Without hesitation, he drew his weapon and countered the blade already swinging close.
He held his weapon firmly as he pressed with a force of his own. A loud crash rang out as both men were thrown backward from the clash.
"It's him! He was the one who sent us out!" shouted the Head Coachman in alarm, pointing at the man who had just emerged from the room.
Hamizz, the leader of the black-clad mercenaries, scrutinized the figure before him and scowled as he sensed the energy radiating from him. The middle-aged man was emanating the aura of a Bronze Realm cultivator at the third stage. Hamizz himself was at the fifth stage.
It was a two-stage difference. No wonder the middle-aged guard had been hurled across the floor, crashing into the far wall. However, Hamizz was far from finished. The order was to show them what absolute quietness meant, and he intended to carry it out.
Seeing that his opponent's cultivation was two stages lower only made him more eager to fight—and to end the battle decisively. Hamizz also wanted to prove to Master Balin that his team was worth every crystal spent on them. He was a sword cultivator; his blade suddenly became enveloped in a dark hue as he sent a surge of energy toward the middle-aged guard.
The surge was wrapped in a dark presence as it swept forward, as if with a sense of its own.
The guard knitted his brows, gripping his weapon tightly. His legs moved with precise steps, allowing him to dodge the strike. He was clearly skilled in movement technique; his footwork sharp and disciplined. But that was not all. Just as relief flickered across his face, a crushing pressure descended upon his back.
He spun around quickly, only to see a blade already descending. With sharp reflexes, he managed to parry the attack, but his strength lagged far behind. The force sent him flying, his body bursting through the wooden walls of the inn, splinters scattering as the structure groaned under the impact.
Hamizz turned aside, not waiting to see if his opponent would rise again. He immediately engaged the other guards, while his four companions were already locked in fierce combat.
Heavy sounds rang out continuously as metal clashed against metal, the echoes thundering across the fragile space. The impact reverberated through the wooden structure of the King‑Sea Inn.
Disturbed by the chaos outside, the second guard rushed through the door—only to witness one of his men being stabbed and Arker nowhere to be seen. He frowned, and rage overcame him. In an instant, he dashed forward with his spear, closing the distance to one of the black-clad men.
Without warning, the spear pierced deeply into the man's chest as his other hand twisted into a claw, swiping viciously across the man's neck.
The mercenary, unwilling to fall so easily, used his face to absorb the blows as he struggled desperately to free himself from the spear's grip, but his efforts proved futile as the spear dug even deaper.
Mandar—the man who had rushed out with the spear—slashed his claws repeatedly across his opponent's face, each strike painting it crimson. Then, with a surge of strength, he lifted the man high upon his spear and swung him aside, hurling him through room after room.
The inn shook as walls splintered and collapsed, destroying the whole place.
Outside, chatter erupted as the crowd thickened, drawn by the noise and destruction.
The residents who had lodged at the King-Sea Inn had already fled before the battle escalated to that stage, leaving the place abandoned to complete destruction.
Hamizz turned sharply, his gaze falling upon his right-hand man who had been sent crashing through the inn as anger quickly enveloped him. He locked eyes with Mandar, the spear-wielder. Their gazes clashed, and hatred flared between them.
Without hesitation, they exchanged technique after technique, weapon against weapon, each collision bursting with raw energy. In less than half a minute, Hamizz was suddenly driven downward by a heavy kick to his shoulder, followed by another to his chest. He staggered back several steps, his body trembling from the impact.
It appeared his new opponent was far tougher than expected.
Suddenly, dark mist gushed from Hamizz's body, enveloping him entirely. It seeped into his sword until it pulsed with sinister power. With a sharp kick against the broken flooring, he burst forward with a thunderous boom, moving at a blinding speed that anyone would suppose him for a peak Bronze Realm expert.
A flicker of light erupted from his blade, moving faster than Mandar could comprehend as he crossed his arms over his chest, bracing with his spear.
The dark light struck him in an instant, making him wished he had evaded, though it was nearly impossible. The force sent him crashing through the wooden inn, shattering walls as he was hurled all the way to the front.
He landed heavily and skidded across the ground.
Pain assaulted him without mercy as he clutched his chest, forcing back the liquid rising in his throat. His spear was dented, its tip twisted out of shape. His groan could be heard, but his eyes were instantly drawn to the figure standing just before the inn's shattered doorway.
It was Hamizz. He stood tall, as though he could continue fighting a thousand battles more—but the experienced experts in the crowd knew better.
He was worn out. That last strike had drained him completely.
Mandar quickly forced himself to his feet, unwilling to endure mockery or the pitiful gazes of the onlookers. Unlike Hamizz, he still had enough energy left to unleash two or three more attacks—or to concentrate everything into one final strike, as Hamizz had done.
He was rooting for the latter.
Hamizz's expression twisted into ugliness when Mandar rose and began gathering his energy. He had nothing left. If any attack came his way, his only defense would be his sword—and even that would do little.
Spprrreeeee…
A sharp, piercing sound split the atmosphere as bright light abruptly filled the sky. It spread out, clashing against the crowd and everyone within its reach. The instant it descended, the attack Mandar had been about to unleash was turned to air.
The shrill resonance forced them all to clutch their ears, channeling their energy desperately to shield themselves from the noise which seem to affect their whole body.
Cultivators of lower realms were the first to collapse, one after another. But before that…
Thud…