Lord Evolution: Starting With Overpowered Sacrifice System

Noah walked toward the last struggling monsterborn. It was one of the two that had been fighting the undead creature. It had managed to survive the fight, but barely.

Its body was covered in deep gashes from the undead's beak, and its wings were torn. It was trying to stand, but its legs shook with every attempt. It let out a weak growl, its head bowed.

Noah's face was calm, his eyes fixed on the wounded creature. The static strike on his blade was still active, a faint blue glow illuminating the dark surroundings.

The monsterborn's growl was an act of defiance, a final attempt to show its strength before its imminent death. Noah didn't say a word. He raised his blade, and with a quick, fluid motion, he drove it down into the creature's neck, severing its spine.

A muffled cry was heard, and then the monsterborn went limp, its large body falling to the ground with a soft thud.

Ragnar watched from afar. He was still standing over the corpse of Zane. His stomach still ached a little, and his clothes were tattered and stained with his blood. He had used a healing potion, and although it had covered the wounds, he still felt a stinging pain from them.

He waited for Noah to finish off the last monsterborn. When he did, Ragnar walked over to him, a slight limp in his steps.

He reached into his inventory and pulled out a healing potion. "Here," he said, handing the potion to Noah. "This will help with the pain from the crash."

Noah took the potion, his eyes widening with surprise and joy. He quickly gulped the potion, and a sudden warmth spread through his body, washing away the ache he felt from crashing into the hut. A wide smile spread across his face.

"Thanks, Ragnar," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I feel much better now."

Meanwhile, the people of the Hamlet had gathered in a different location. They were huddled together, whispering, their faces etched with fear. Old man James, Kendrick, and Roger were with them. The three wounded men looked on, their faces filled with worry.

"What were those things?" a young woman whispered, her voice trembling. "They looked like demons."

"Are they still alive?" another person asked. "I heard a loud explosion. It sounded like a house collapsing."

"They won't survive," a woman cried, tears streaming down her face. "Our Hamlet is cursed."

"We shouldn't lose hope, they are strong. I am sure they will come back," Old Man James muttered.

Merlina stood at the back of the crowd with a worried expression on her face. She was a little bit frightened at the sight of the monsterborn and also worried that her loved ones might not survive.

Everyone felt the same — the sheer size of those things made it impossible for them to believe Ragnar and Noah could survive.

Some of them even wished that Ragnar and Noah would escape so those things wouldn't kill them.

If they did escape, they would understand the reason.

Nevertheless, at that moment, a voice thundered.

"Everyone, be at peace! You are safe!" The voice was loud and clear.

It was familiar. It was the voice they prayed to hear at this moment.

They erupted forward.

"They're back! They're alive!" a woman cried.

"Ragnar! Noah!" a man screamed, and a roar of joy erupted from the crowd. Tears streamed down the faces of many. They ran toward the two, their hearts filled with gratitude.

They thanked their ancestors, their gods, and anyone else who would listen. They surrounded Ragnar and Noah, chanting their names, their voices a testament to their love and respect for the two men who had just saved them. Some of them hugged them, some knelt before them, their eyes filled with reverence.

Ragnar and Noah received the welcome with smiles on their faces.

Nevertheless, at the first Hamlet, someone could not smile anymore.

"NOOO!" A voice filled with so much rage thundered inside a single hut.

Tico could be seen tossing the furniture inside his room around angrily. He grabbed a chair and angrily threw it at the wall, causing it to break. He placed his hand under the bed and turned it upside down.

His face was filled with so much rage at this moment, as though his loved one had just been slaughtered. Well, he really did lose a loved one.

"Master Tico!"

"Master Tico, what is wrong?"

A few young ladies who were waiting in his hut, hoping he would call them for some intimate session, opened the door and rushed inside the room. Their worried voices trailed off. But they were too low to be heard in the current chaotic state of the room.

Tico's rageful eyes turned to the women, and in a cold voice that lacked emotions, he ordered, "Get the fuck out of my room!"

The young ladies didn't listen. They were more worried about the man they adored. They wanted to know what had caused him so much pain. "Master Tico, what's wrong?" one asked, stepping closer. "Tell us what happened. We can help you."

Another woman, emboldened by her friend, stepped closer. She placed a hand on his arm, a seductive look in her eyes. "We can comfort you, master. Just tell us."

But their words and gestures were met with a chilling silence. Tico's cold eyes fixed on the woman who had just touched him.

Without a word, he moved. His hand shot out like a viper and wrapped around her neck. The woman's eyes widened in shock, her breath catching in her throat. She struggled, her hands clawing at his forearm, but Tico's grip was like iron. He didn't tighten it immediately.

He simply held her there, staring into her eyes with a frighteningly blank expression.

The other ladies watched in horror. They saw their friend's face slowly turn red, her hands weakly slapping Tico's arm as she struggled to breathe.

Tico began to apply pressure, his grip tightening slowly, and a few seconds after, the lady's body went limp and he tossed her to the ground like a smelly rag.

His gaze turned to the other young ladies.

This time, the ladies kept their lust behind and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

After they left, Tico fell on his knees and grabbed his head, as a tear streamed down his face. "Brother. Who did that to you?"

Noah walked toward the last struggling monsterborn. It was one of the two that had been fighting the undead creature. It had managed to survive the fight, but barely.

Its body was covered in deep gashes from the undead's beak, and its wings were torn. It was trying to stand, but its legs shook with every attempt. It let out a weak growl, its head bowed.

Noah's face was calm, his eyes fixed on the wounded creature. The static strike on his blade was still active, a faint blue glow illuminating the dark surroundings.

The monsterborn's growl was an act of defiance, a final attempt to show its strength before its imminent death. Noah didn't say a word. He raised his blade, and with a quick, fluid motion, he drove it down into the creature's neck, severing its spine.

A muffled cry was heard, and then the monsterborn went limp, its large body falling to the ground with a soft thud.

Ragnar watched from afar. He was still standing over the corpse of Zane. His stomach still ached a little, and his clothes were tattered and stained with his blood. He had used a healing potion, and although it had covered the wounds, he still felt a stinging pain from them.

He waited for Noah to finish off the last monsterborn. When he did, Ragnar walked over to him, a slight limp in his steps.

He reached into his inventory and pulled out a healing potion. "Here," he said, handing the potion to Noah. "This will help with the pain from the crash."

Noah took the potion, his eyes widening with surprise and joy. He quickly gulped the potion, and a sudden warmth spread through his body, washing away the ache he felt from crashing into the hut. A wide smile spread across his face.

"Thanks, Ragnar," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I feel much better now."

Meanwhile, the people of the Hamlet had gathered in a different location. They were huddled together, whispering, their faces etched with fear. Old man James, Kendrick, and Roger were with them. The three wounded men looked on, their faces filled with worry.

"What were those things?" a young woman whispered, her voice trembling. "They looked like demons."

"Are they still alive?" another person asked. "I heard a loud explosion. It sounded like a house collapsing."

"They won't survive," a woman cried, tears streaming down her face. "Our Hamlet is cursed."

"We shouldn't lose hope, they are strong. I am sure they will come back," Old Man James muttered.