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Chapter 104: Lothar

Roderick tapped a few points on the map. "These are the areas where we suspect Korvan's men have set up camp. But like I said, this is based on what little information we've been able to gather from the locals and the occasional scouting mission. It's not definitive, but it's the best we've got."

I leaned in closer, studying the map intently. Each marked location was in a different part of the surrounding wilderness—dense forests, hidden valleys, and even a few near the mountains to the north. They were spread out, which would make it difficult to strike at them all at once.

But it also meant that if I played my cards right, I could take them down individually before they had a chance to regroup.

"This area," Roderick said, pointing to a cluster of markings near the eastern side of the map, "is where Lothar, one of Korvan's lieutenants, is believed to be operating. Shadowbrook village is right here, and from what we've gathered, he's been using it as a base of operations for raids on nearby settlements. We've had reports of increased activity in this area, so it's a good place to start."

He then gestured to a spot further south, closer to the city. "Here's another suspected hideout. It's a bit closer to Rackenshore, which makes it more dangerous for us. They've been attacking supply caravans and traders trying to bring goods into the city. We think this might be where Korvan himself is stationed, but again, we can't be sure."

I nodded, taking in all the information. "It's a start," I said, my mind already working on a plan. "I'll begin with Shadowbrook and see what I can find. If Lothar is there, I'll take him down and disrupt their operations. That should weaken their overall network and make it easier to deal with the others."

I stood up, feeling the weight of the mission ahead settle on my shoulders. "I've got the general gist of things," I said, folding the map carefully and tucking it away. Roderick watched me closely, but I could see a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps a mix of hope and doubt. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he knew I was his best shot at dealing with this mess.

Without another word, I turned and made my way to the door, feeling the cool metal of my estoc at my side. The tension that had filled the room slowly dissipated as I left, but the air outside felt charged with anticipation. The task ahead was daunting, but it was one I was eager to face.

As I walked down the street, my thoughts turned to the mission Harlan had given me: Deal with the bandits without breaking his sword.

I unsheathed my estoc, holding it up to the light. The blade was worn, the edge dull and chipped in places. It had seen better days, and the task of keeping it intact through a series of battles would be anything but easy. But then again, I wasn't one to shy away from challenges.

"This blade," I muttered to myself, feeling the familiar weight in my hand. "It's been through a lot. But I can't afford to let it fail me now."

Vitaliara's voice echoed in my mind, [You're taking this pretty seriously. But aren't you worried? That sword doesn't look like it'll hold up for long.]

I sheathed the estoc, my grip tightening around the hilt. "That's what makes it interesting," I replied with a small grin. "If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth doing."

[Always chasing after the thrill, aren't you?] she replied with a hint of amusement.

"Isn't that what makes life exciting?" I shot back, my mood lightening just a bit. "Besides, this mission isn't just about the sword."

[It is not just about the sword?]

"I mean, making connections with that grumpy old man. Don't you think it will be beneficial?"

[How are you that sure of his talent?]

"That is a secret."

[Humph.]

Vitaliara let out a small, playful huff as she leaped onto my shoulder, her tiny paws finding their place on my head. [You're pretty crafty, you know that? To think you'd negotiate with the captain of the garrison himself, asking for such rewards.]

I couldn't help but smile at her observation. "Crafty, perhaps, but I'm just being practical," I replied, continuing down the path toward Shadowbrook. "What I'm doing here isn't just beneficial for me or Harlan. It benefits almost everyone involved, and that's why I need compensation from all parties. Harlan may be paying for his part, but that's irrelevant to the others.

They each have their own stake in this, and I'm making sure they recognize that."

Vitaliara seemed to mull over my words, her tail swaying gently as she perched comfortably. [You're playing a dangerous game, you know. Balancing so many interests at once… It could backfire.]

"No. It won't."

[Is that so? I will be looking forward to seeing you then.]

"I will be sure to put on a good show for you."

******

In the dimly lit tavern on the outskirts of a village, the air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the low hum of muffled voices. The laughter of men, boisterous and slurred, filled the space, while women in tattered dresses moved between tables, offering drinks and fleeting smiles. The room reeked of decay and indulgence, a den for those who had long abandoned any semblance of honor.

At the center of it all, seated at a table overflowing with half-empty mugs and discarded food, was the man they all looked to—the leader of the bandit gang. His greasy hair clung to his forehead, and his fingers lazily stroked the neck of a wine bottle. His eyes, bloodshot from nights of excess, scanned the room with a look of bored superiority.

"Get me more wine, girl," he slurred, waving a hand dismissively at a young woman who hurried to fetch another bottle. His attention shifted back to the group of men surrounding him, a mixture of fear and admiration in their eyes.

"Tell me again how much we've raked in this week," he ordered, his voice thick with both satisfaction and greed. One of his lieutenants, a scraggly man with a crooked nose, cleared his throat before answering.

"We've collected from three of the villages, boss. The usual protection fees. They've been paying up without much trouble, though there was some resistance from that blacksmith in Oakfield," the man reported, his gaze darting nervously to the leader. "We dealt with him, though. Ain't no one crossing us after that."

A cruel grin spread across the leader's face as he leaned back in his chair, taking a long swig from the wine bottle. "Good. Teach 'em their place. The more they fear us, the easier this gets."

Another man at the table, younger and eager to please, chimed in. "The people here—they'll never stand up to us, boss. You've got them wrapped around your finger."

"Of course I do," the leader scoffed, tossing the empty bottle aside. "Who else would dare challenge me? I've got the whole damn region under control."

His words oozed arrogance, and the men around him nodded in agreement, eager to bask in his reflected power. One of the women leaned in close, draping herself over his shoulders, and he chuckled, clearly enjoying the attention.

As his indulgent laughter faded, one of the men seated beside him leaned in slightly, his voice low but steady. "Uh, Lothar, just a reminder... the meeting time is approaching."

Lothar's expression shifted instantly, the smirk dropping from his face as his eyes narrowed in irritation. He grunted, tossing a half-eaten chunk of bread onto the table. "Don't remind me," he growled, his voice dripping with disdain. "You know how much I hate these damn meetings. Especially when he's involved."

The men around him shifted uncomfortably, well aware of who Lothar was referring to. It was no secret that despite his position as one of Korvan's top lieutenants, Lothar harbored a particular dislike for one of his peers—a man named Alric. Alric was cold, calculating, and always seemed to carry an air of superiority, something Lothar found infuriating.

"Alric thinks he's so damn clever," Lothar muttered, more to himself than to his men, his hands clenching into fists. "Strutting around like he's Korvan's right hand, looking down his nose at the rest of us."

The man beside him wisely remained silent, not daring to add to Lothar's irritation.

Lothar's eyes, now bloodshot from more than just the alcohol, darkened as he took another swig of wine. "I don't know why Korvan keeps that smug bastard around," he continued his voice a bitter rasp. "He's not as tough as he thinks he is. One day, someone's going to teach him a lesson. Might even be me."

"Of course, boss. We all know that you are the best."

Lothar leaned back in his chair, enjoying the playful attention of the woman beside him as his lieutenants continued to praise his strength and cunning. His mood, soured by thoughts of the meeting, had begun to lighten again as the alcohol took hold and his men fed his ego.

"Right. You think so, too, sweetie?" he asked, grinning at the woman leaning over him.

"Mhhmm~" she cooed, running a hand through his greasy hair.

Just as Lothar was settling back into his usual indulgence, one of his subordinates rushed into the room, his face pale and breathless. Lothar's grin faded, his eyes narrowing at the interruption.

"What the hell is it now?" Lothar grumbled, clearly annoyed. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

The man hesitated, glancing nervously at Lothar before speaking, his voice shaking slightly. "S-Sorry, boss. There's... someone outside. He's asking for you."

Lothar raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And why the hell should I care? Who is this guy?"

"I—I don't know, boss," the subordinate stammered, wringing his hands. "But he's young, and he has this scar… over his right eye."

Chapter 105: Lothar (2)

"I—I don't know, boss. But he's young, and he has this scar… over his right eye."

For a moment, the room fell silent. Lothar's expression darkened as he leaned forward, clearly irritated by the vague description. "Why should I give a damn about some punk with a scar?" he growled, his voice rising.

The subordinate swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because, boss… he's already killed Ruckus, Jake, and Ronan."

Lothar froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. The weight of those names hung in the air for a moment as if it were impossible for him to comprehend what he had just heard.

"He... killed my men?" Lothar repeated slowly, his voice barely contained as rage began to bubble beneath the surface.

The subordinate nodded quickly, taking a step back as if expecting Lothar's wrath to erupt at any second. "Yes, boss. Ruckus, Jake, and Ronan—he took them out. We found their bodies outside the village."

Lothar slammed his fist down on the table, sending the mugs and plates clattering. "You're telling me some scarred-up kid just walked in and took out three of my best men?" His voice was a roar now, his face flushed with anger.

Before the subordinate could respond, the door to the tavern suddenly creaked open. All eyes turned to the entrance, where the dim light from outside cast a long shadow across the floor. A figure stood in the doorway, his lean frame silhouetted against the fading daylight.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the figure stepped forward, revealing the cold, calculating gaze of a young man. His right eye was scarred, a jagged line that cut through his face, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips as he locked eyes with Lothar.

"Ohh… You've got quite a setup here," the young man said, his tone light and casual as he took a slow look around the room. His gaze swept over the scattered mugs, the discarded food, and the half-drunken men who were now frozen in shock. He smirked, taking in Lothar's seething expression before his eyes landed on the two women hanging on either side of the bandit leader.

"Not bad," the young man continued, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Looks like you were really enjoying yourself, huh? This place isn't half bad. Nice little den of indulgence you've got going here. Good food, good drink…" His eyes flicked to the women, "and clearly, good company, too."

Lothar's face twisted in anger, his fists clenched on the table, but the young man seemed unfazed. He took a few more steps forward, moving with an unsettling ease, his gaze never leaving Lothar's. The room remained silent, everyone watching the scene unfold as if waiting for the explosion of violence that seemed inevitable.

The young man stopped at the edge of Lothar's table, his fingers brushing casually against a plate of fruit. With a slight lean to the side, he plucked a single grape from the plate and tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if savoring the taste.

"Mmm," he said, his tone still light, almost playful. "Not bad at all. You've really set yourself up nicely here. Shame it's all about to come crashing down." His smirk widened slightly as he locked eyes with Lothar once more, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

Lothar's rage was barely contained, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Who the hell do you think you are, walking in here like you own the place?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face deepening as he chewed thoughtfully on the grape. "Who the hell am I?" he echoed, his tone almost mocking. "Is that really important?"

Lothar's eyes narrowed, his fists tightening on the table. The men around him shifted uneasily, the tension in the room palpable. Lothar's gaze never wavered from the young man's face, his pride and rage mixing into a dangerous cocktail.

"It is important," Lothar growled, his voice thick with menace. "Because if I'm feeling generous, I might just put your name on your grave. That is if you catch me in a good mood."

The young man chuckled softly, shaking his head as if Lothar's threat was more amusing than intimidating. "Your humor's not bad, I'll give you that," he replied, the playful edge never leaving his voice. "But we both know this isn't going to end with you being in a generous mood."

Lothar couldn't make sense of the situation. The arrogance of this kid, strolling in here as if he had no care in the world, throwing out casual insults, eating his food as if this was just a game. But more than that, something was off—Lothar couldn't sense anything from him. No cultivation, no aura, nothing.

As a 3-star Awakened, Lothar was used to being able to size up his opponents to gauge their strength. But this young man? He was a blank slate, a complete void. That could only mean one thing—he was at least a 4-star Awakened, far beyond Lothar's level. But that couldn't be right. Someone with that kind of power and this young?

There was no way someone like that would be here in a backwater den like this.

Lothar's mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening, but the longer he stared at the calm, confident smile on the young man's face, the more unsettled he became.

'There is something…..There is something about this bastard….'

An unsettling feeling.

It was as if there was something dark about this bastard before him, something that he could not quite make sense of.

While he could not see anything or sense, something about this bastard was giving him chills.

Before Lothar could act on his rising rage, one of his men, a burly bandit standing just behind the young man, snarled in frustration and drew his sword. Without hesitation, he swung the blade in a wild arc, aiming for the young man's neck.

But the moment the sword began its descent, the young man moved. His hand flicked to his side, and in one fluid, almost impossibly fast motion, his own blade was drawn. The sound of steel slicing through the air was crisp, followed by the wet, sickening noise of flesh being severed.

SHING!

The bandit's eyes widened in shock as the young man's sword carved cleanly through his neck. Blood sprayed into the air in a violent arc, painting the tavern walls in crimson as the bandit's head tumbled from his shoulders and hit the floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, the tavern fell into absolute silence, the only sound the soft drip of blood hitting the floorboards. The young man stood in the center, his sword still gleaming with fresh blood, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

"Well," he said, his voice calm and unbothered by the carnage. "I think that's enough talk, don't you think the same?"

Lothar stared at the headless body of his man, his mind struggling to process the sheer speed and precision of the kill. Around the room, the rest of his men tensed, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons, but there was hesitation—fear even—after what they had just witnessed.

"FUCK YOU!"

But the tension snapped a moment later as one of the other bandits, driven by rage or panic, let out a battle cry and lunged at the young man, followed by two more of Lothar's men. Their swords flashed as they charged, determined to overpower the stranger.

The young man's smile widened just slightly as he sidestepped the first attack with effortless grace, his sword a blur of motion.

CLANG! CLANG!

Steel met steel, but the strikes were parried with such ease it seemed almost mocking.

SLASH!

In the span of a heartbeat, the young man cut through the first attacker, his blade slicing cleanly across the bandit's chest. Blood sprayed once more as the bandit crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

STAB!

The second attacker barely had time to react before the young man's long sword pierced through his abdomen, skewering him in a precise thrust.

SLASH!

The third bandit hesitated, fear flickering in his eyes, but it was too late. With a swift, almost playful flick of his wrist, the young man brought his sword down in a lethal arc, severing the man's arm.

"AAAAAAARGHK!"

The bandit screamed in agony, but the sound was cut short as the young man's blade found his throat, silencing him forever.

In the span of mere seconds, three more bodies lay lifeless on the floor.

The young man stood still, his expression unchanged, almost as if none of this had required any effort at all. He glanced at the remaining men in the room, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Well?" he asked, his voice casual, almost bored. "Anyone else?"

Chapter 106: Lothar (3)

"Well? Anyone else?"

The silence that followed the young man's casual question was thick and suffocating. Every remaining bandit in the tavern stood frozen in place, their hands hovering over their weapons, eyes wide with fear. No one dared move. No one dared speak. The sight of their comrades' brutal deaths had stripped away any illusion of bravado they once had.

The young man let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. "This is what makes you all such peasants," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "When a weak person stands before you, you bear your teeth, snarl, and pretend you're wolves. But when a stronger one appears…" His eyes swept across the room, his smirk widening. "You cower like frightened sheep."

The room remained silent, not a single man brave enough to answer. The tension was palpable, the atmosphere thick with the weight of impending doom. The young man's words cut through them like a knife, stripping them down to their most primal fear. No one dared meet his gaze.

Satisfied with their silence, the young man shifted his attention to Lothar, whose face had turned a sickly shade of pale. The bandit leader's eyes darted around the room, clearly weighing his options, but it was obvious there was no escape. He was trapped.

"There's no need to think of an escape," the young man said, his tone calm but carrying a terrifying finality. His eyes locked onto Lothar's, cold and unyielding. "Everyone in this room is going to die."

Lothar's throat tightened, and for the first time in years, he felt genuine fear creeping up his spine. His mind raced, but the truth was undeniable. The young man standing before him wasn't just some wandering swordsman; he was something far more dangerous, far beyond anything Lothar had ever encountered.

Lothar swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he finally forced himself to speak. "Who… who are you?"

The young man's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "Does it really matter?"

And with that, the young man's blade gleamed once more, ready to strike. The purple starlight emanated through the air, illuminating everything.

"YOU!"

Lothar realized that he could no longer avoid the fight.

SCHLANK!

He grabbed the axe, which was resting on the ground right, and then channeled his mana into it. Being a 3-star Awakened, he was already able to manifest his mana outside of his body and weapon.

Lothar roared the sound, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. He swung his axe in a wide arc, the blade crackling with mana as it cut through the air. A beam of energy shot forth from the swing, a crescent of raw power aimed directly at the young man.

The force of the blow sent chairs and tables flying, the ground itself seeming to tremble under the weight of the attack. Without hesitation, Lothar leaped from his chair, using the momentum of his swing to propel himself forward. His eyes were wild with desperation, his axe raised high as he charged the young man, determined to crush him before he could make another move.

But the young man… he didn't flinch.

Instead, he watched the incoming strike with a calm, almost amused expression, his smirk never fading. As the beam of energy approached, he spoke, his voice light and teasing. "Ah, finally decided to fight, have you?"

SWOOSH! CRACK!

With a slight shift of his body, the young man tilted just enough to evade the beam, the energy passing harmlessly by him, smashing into the far wall with an explosive crash. Dust and debris filled the air, but the young man remained completely unfazed.

His eyes gleamed with a vibrant purple glow as starlight mana began to swirl around him, the air itself seeming to hum with the sheer power radiating from his body. The long and thin estoc in his hand pulsed with the same starlight energy, its blade shimmering with an ethereal glow.

Lothar swung his axe down with all his might, the heavy weapon descending like a guillotine. But the young man was ready. In one fluid motion, he raised his estoc to meet the strike.

CLANG!

The clash of steel reverberated through the room as the estoc met the axe. Lothar expected the sheer weight of his weapon, combined with his 3-star strength, to overpower the young man. He was certain the boy would stumble or, at the very least, show some sign of strain.

But he didn't budge.

The young man's thin, elegant sword held firm against the brute force of the axe, deflecting the strike with almost insulting ease. Lothar's eyes widened in disbelief. His axe was heavy, forged for crushing blows, and yet… this boy, this slender kid, had deflected it as if it were nothing.

"Is that all?" the young man asked, his tone still light, almost mocking. The glow of starlight around his body intensified, the purple energy swirling faster now as if feeding on Lothar's growing frustration.

The young man's blade shimmered, the black starlight that now coated it pulsing with ominous energy. His eyes gleamed with the same ethereal purple as he grinned at Lothar, his mocking tone cutting deeper than the blows themselves.

"Well, let me show you how you really need to move."

And then, before Lothar could even register the shift, the young man shot forward, a blur of dark energy and speed. It was as if the air itself folded around him, propelling him directly in front of Lothar. The movement was so swift, so precise, that it seemed as though the young man hadn't even moved at all—he had simply appeared.

Lothar's eyes widened in panic as the thin estoc gleamed, now only inches away from his chest. He saw it coming, but there was no time—no chance to block, no space to evade. The speed was beyond anything he had ever encountered.

SCHLUNK!

The estoc pierced cleanly into Lothar's side, slipping between his ribs with sickening precision. He gasped, his breath catching as the blade slid through his flesh like butter. His hand instinctively went to the wound, gripping at the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt, but the damage was done.

"RAAA!"

Lothar roared as his mana surged from his body in a desperate attempt to create distance. The force of the pulse sent a shockwave through the room, scattering loose objects and forcing a momentary gap between him and the young man. Just as Lothar had anticipated, the boy leaped back with ease, avoiding the mana pulse with a grace that only deepened Lothar's dread.

SWOOSH!

The momentary pause gave Lothar's men the opportunity they needed. With battle cries erupting from their throats, they charged at the young man, their weapons raised high. Lothar, gritting his teeth, clutched at his bleeding side and staggered back, his mind racing. We just need to tire him out, he thought, eyeing the potion hidden within his pouch.

If we can push him long enough, I can heal and finish him off.

The bandits swarmed the young man, swinging their blades and axes with all the fury they could muster. But the boy remained unfazed, his eyes cold and calculating as he watched them approach. For a moment, it almost seemed like he was bored by their efforts.

The young man closed his mouth, taking a slow, deliberate breath through his nose. His body remained still as the bandits closed in, and for a split second, time seemed to hang in the air.

Then he moved.

In one swift, fluid motion, his sword traced an elegant arc through the air, and from the blade, a beam of crescent-shaped starlight erupted. The beam rushed forward on a horizontal axis, slicing through the air with a brilliance that filled the room with an ethereal glow.

SLASH!

The crescent of starlight tore through the room like a silent storm. Everything in its path was bisected with terrifying precision—tables, chairs, even the walls crumbled as the energy carved through them. The men who had charged forward were caught in the beam's trajectory, their bodies severed in two before they even had time to realize what had happened.

Blood sprayed through the air, mixing with the starlight in a macabre display.

Five of Lothar's men, however, had managed to cover themselves in mana just in time. The beam struck their shields of energy, sending them skidding backward but leaving them alive—though visibly shaken by the sheer power they had just witnessed.

Lothar watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He could scarcely believe what had just happened. In a matter of seconds, half his men were gone, their bodies lying in pieces on the floor. The few who remained were visibly trembling, their hands shaking as they clung to their weapons.

The young man straightened, his sword still glowing faintly with the remnants of starlight. He glanced at the five men who had survived, his expression still calm, almost indifferent.

"Looks like you have a few left," he remarked, his voice quiet but deadly. "Not that it'll make much difference."

Chapter 107: Lothar (4)

The five remaining men gritted their teeth and wiped the blood from the corners of their mouths. Their bodies trembled with the strain of channeling their mana into their weapons, a clear indication that all of them were 2-star Awakened.

The air around them buzzed with the weight of their combined energy, but despite their wounds and fear, they stood ready.

One by one, the bandits prepared for their final stand. Three of them, wielding heavy axes, growled as their weapons glowed faintly with the essence of their mana, while the other two gripped swords, poison dripping from the edges of their blades.

They knew they couldn't outmatch the young man in pure power. But they were bandits—dirty fighters by nature—and they had their tricks. Poisons that could paralyze, weapons with hidden spikes, and a deep-rooted instinct for survival at any cost.

They attacked all at once, a desperate and chaotic rush meant to overwhelm him. The three axemen swung in wide arcs, their blades heavy and menacing, while the two swordsmen lunged from either side, their poisoned blades gleaming with malice.

The young man, however, remained eerily calm. He moved with the fluidity of a seasoned predator, his eyes cold and focused as the first axeman swung at him.

SWOOSH!

With a single motion, the young man's estoc danced through the air, meeting the heavy axe with terrifying precision.

CLANG!

The axe was cleaved in two as if it were nothing more than paper, and before the bandit could even react, the starlight-coated blade sliced through his torso, bisecting him cleanly.

Blood sprayed, and the first man crumpled to the ground in two lifeless pieces.

The second and third axemen followed quickly, roaring as they tried to use their sheer strength to force the young man back. One of them hurled a vial of poison at his face, hoping to catch him off guard.

"As expected."

But the young man was far too quick. He sidestepped the vial effortlessly, his estoc carving a lethal path through the air once more. A blinding flash of starlight cut through the second axeman's chest, sending his body falling in halves to the blood-soaked floor.

The third axeman tried to bring his weapon down in a powerful overhead strike, but he never had the chance. With a quick thrust, the estoc pierced straight through his throat, ending his life in an instant. His body slumped to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

The two swordsmen, realizing the hopelessness of their situation, tried to retreat, but the young man gave them no such opportunity. He surged forward, his body a blur as he cut through the first with terrifying precision. The poison on the man's blade never even came close to reaching its mark. A clean slice through his abdomen and the bandit was gone.

The final bandit swung wildly in a panic, his poisoned sword barely grazing the young man's shoulder. But the attack lacked any power or conviction, and the young man dispatched him with a quick, decisive strike. The estoc flashed once, and the last man fell to the ground in two pieces.

None of the five had lasted more than two moves.

The tavern was now quiet, save for the sound of blood dripping from the corpses littering the floor. The young man stood amidst the carnage, his blade still gleaming with black starlight, his expression calm as ever.

The young man turned slowly, his eyes locking onto Lothar, who stood frozen amidst the wreckage of his men. Lothar's body was still trembling, his hand gripping his bleeding side as he struggled to comprehend the scene before him. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat filled with the cold realization that death had just swept through his gang like a storm—and now it was his turn.

The young man took a step forward, his expression calm, almost bored. "So?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Are you coming or not?"

Lothar met his gaze, swallowing the lump of fear that had formed in his throat. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, trying to find some meaning in what had just happened. Desperation flickered in his eyes as he finally managed to speak.

"Why?" Lothar asked, his voice trembling, barely more than a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

The young man tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in mild confusion. "What do you mean by 'why?'" he asked, his voice calm and measured as if the question itself were nonsensical.

Lothar coughed, wincing as the pain in his side flared up. "With your talents... you could find a job anywhere," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Why waste your time here, in a backwater like this? Why bother with us?"

The young man's lips curled into a small, almost thoughtful smile. He nodded slightly, acknowledging Lothar's point. "You're not wrong," he said, his tone surprisingly conversational. "With my talents, as you say, I could find something much more... rewarding."

He paused, his gaze shifting briefly to the carnage around them before returning to Lothar. "But you and Korvan... well, you're just unlucky," he continued, his voice carrying a sense of inevitability. "Because the circumstances led me here."

Lothar's breath caught in his throat, the weight of the young man's words sinking in. There was no grand purpose, no deep vendetta. They were simply unfortunate—caught in the path of a force far beyond their understanding or control.

"Unlucky?" Lothar repeated, his voice barely audible.

The young man gave a small nod, his expression unchanging. "That's all there is to it," he said, his voice calm. "If I were to be born as a normal noble or as a normal citizen of Arcanis, I would not be here doing this. At the very least, you would have your life here, and once a team to subjugate you was sent, you could get the intel and leave.

But there was no way you could expect someone like me, isn't that right?"

Lothar nodded weakly, his mind piecing together the grim reality of the situation. "That's... that's how it goes," he muttered, his voice shaking as the weight of it all pressed down on him. "We... we've always known how to play the game. Move before they catch up.

Keep the right people on our side, bribe the officials, and pay off the scouts. It's always worked... until now."

He coughed, blood spilling from his lips as the pain in his side flared once more. His grip on his axe weakened, and he leaned heavily against the wall to stay upright. "But we never heard about anyone like you," he continued, his voice bitter. "No warnings, no rumors. That means... you're not affiliated with anyone, are you?

Not part of the usual system."

The young man's gaze didn't waver. His calm expression remained unchanged, though a flicker of acknowledgment passed through his eyes. "That's correct," he replied softly. "I'm not bound to any of the corrupt officials you've bribed, nor am I part of the regular forces you've been dodging."

Lothar let out a weak laugh, filled with disbelief and resignation. "So that's it. We were playing our usual game, and... you weren't even on the board. We were just unlucky."

The young man raised his blade, its surface still shimmering with the remnants of the dark starlight that had left nothing but destruction in its wake. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Lothar's with an almost unsettling calmness.

No, they were not calm.

They were different. There was a slight sense of greed in those eyes. A sense of happiness?

'This guy…..He is a demon…..'

Indeed, the guy's eyes were smiling as if he was enjoying the situation himself.

Lothar could feel the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him as he stared back, the bitterness of his defeat sinking in deeper with every passing second. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body failing him as the wound in his side continued to drain his strength.

The young man's voice cut through the stillness, soft but firm. "Indeed. But don't worry…" He paused, the tip of his estoc gleaming in the faint light as he raised it slightly. "You won't be alone."

Lothar's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in a mix of fear and understanding. The young man's gaze didn't falter as he continued, his tone as calm as ever. "All of your friends... every one of them... they'll follow you. Just like you, they'll meet the same end.

One by one. Even the one you dislike, his name…..What was it? Ah, Alric. Everyone."

And then his smirk widened.

"Ah, just to inform you. The people that you think escaped to inform Korvan...They are all dead. So, you don't need to buy time."

At that exact moment, Lothar's fading hope was crushed entirely. From the entrance of the tavern came a soft, dragging sound. His head snapped toward it, and what he saw made his blood turn cold.

A small cat padded into the room, its sleek, midnight-black fur glistening in the dim light. But what caught Lothar's attention was the bundle behind it—a group of men bound in thick ropes made of glowing mana, their bodies dragged effortlessly along the floor. Every one of the bound figures was a familiar face.

These were the bandits who had escaped just moments before, now tied and gagged, their eyes wide with fear and defeat.

Lothar's breath hitched as the cat, seemingly indifferent to the weight it was pulling, stopped in front of the young man. The cat glanced up at him, its eyes shimmering with a sharp intelligence far beyond any ordinary animal.

The young man looked down at the cat with an almost playful smile. "Ah, Vitaliara. Good work, as always."

Chapter 108: Lothar (5)

"Ah, Vitaliara. Good work, as always."

The cat let out a soft purr in response, its tail swishing back and forth lazily as it sat beside the bound bandits, who were now squirming in their restraints, their muffled cries of panic filling the air.

Lothar's heart sank. This was it. The last hope of escape, of survival, had been dashed. The very men he had relied on to escape and warn Korvan had been caught—no, hunted down—and dragged back like prey.

The young man turned his gaze back to Lothar, his expression unchanging. "Now," he said, taking a step forward and raising his estoc once more. "I believe we can now start talking with our blades, no?"

Lothar's eyes flickered with renewed determination, the fear and desperation momentarily replaced by a savage resolve.

He would not go down without a fight. His pride, his strength, his reputation—none of it would allow him to simply lie down and die.

With a guttural roar, Lothar surged forward, his body suddenly invigorated. The wound in his side that had drained his strength moments ago began to seal itself, his internal mana surging to accelerate his healing. His body mended with unnatural speed, and he knew this moment of surprise would be his best—and perhaps last—chance.

Most people wouldn't expect such rapid recovery. Most would think him too weak, too wounded, to launch a full attack. But Lothar was going to show this bastard his true strength. His axe, heavy and menacing, flared to life as it became engulfed in flames, the bright red-orange mana coating the blade with a crackling intensity.

The [Art] he had trained for years, the Flame Cleaver, roared to life, his fiery mana spiraling around him in a blazing aura. Heat radiated from his body as he channeled everything into his next strike. The flames danced along the length of his axe, growing brighter and fiercer with each step he took toward the young man.

"I'LL BURN YOU ALIVE!" Lothar bellowed, his voice filled with both rage and determination. His muscles tensed, and with all his strength, he swung the blazing axe toward the young man, the air sizzling from the sheer heat and force of the strike.

The flames leaped from the blade in an arc, a wave of fiery mana streaking toward the young man, intent on consuming him.

But the young man… merely watched.

With a calm, almost amused expression, he observed Lothar's desperate attack, the fire closing in fast. At the very last second, the young man's body moved. In a single fluid motion, his estoc glinted with that ominous black starlight once more. His eyes, glowing with purple energy, tracked every movement of the incoming flames.

"Void Starfall Blade. Starline."

CLANG!

The estoc met the flaming axe, but instead of being consumed by the fire, it cut through the blazing energy with terrifying ease.

The force of Lothar's strike was deflected, the flames dispersing harmlessly as the young man's sword cut through the wave of heat like it was nothing more than air.

Lothar's eyes widened in disbelief as his full-powered attack was rendered meaningless. But before he could even process it, the young man struck back.

SWISH!

With a lightning-fast strike, the young man's estoc slashed through the air, meeting Lothar's body with such precision and speed that the bandit leader had no time to react. The blade cut through his flesh, piercing deep into his chest.

「Void Starfall Blade. Eclipse Star Trail」

Lothar gasped as the young man's estoc pierced through his chest with unnerving precision, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. For a brief moment, pain surged through his body, but his instincts kicked in, and he forced himself to keep moving.

'This won't be enough to take me down,' Lothar thought grimly, gritting his teeth as he mustered his strength. As a 3-star Awakened, his body had been tempered through countless battles. His physical resilience was something he prided himself on, capable of enduring hits like this multiple times.

A twisted grin spread across his face as he felt the fire still surging through his veins, his axe glowing with the mana that fed his flames. "You think this is enough to stop me?" he growled, his eyes wild with desperation. He raised his hand, preparing to unleash the hidden spell he had kept up his sleeve for moments like this—his final gambit.

BOOM!

An explosion of fire erupted around him, flames scorching the air in a violent burst. The heat roared outward, consuming the space between him and the young man, creating a wall of destruction.

But something was wrong.

Lothar's grin faltered as he felt a sudden, unnatural pull from within. The mana in his body—his own energy—wasn't responding as it should. His flames flickered erratically, and instead of surging with power, his mana began to churn, spinning out of control. He coughed, his body shaking as his mana refused to follow his commands. Panic set in as he realized that something was horribly wrong.

His core—his mana core—was going berserk.

The flames he had summoned sputtered and died out, leaving him standing in a pool of failure and agony. He stumbled, his hand clutching at his chest as the sensation of his mana spiraling out of control grew stronger. It was as if the very core of his being was tearing itself apart.

The young man watched with an eerie calm, his eyes glowing with that same purple energy. He took a step closer, his blade still glistening with the ominous black starlight, and met Lothar's gaze, his expression unreadable.

"You can feel it, can't you?" the young man said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "The instability. Your core is about to explode."

Lothar's eyes widened in horror as he gasped for breath, his body trembling. His mana was spiraling, going wild inside him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The young man's voice was cold and precise as he continued, his gaze unwavering. "If you want to stop this, there's only one way."

Lothar tried to speak, but his voice came out in a ragged, desperate croak. He could feel the pressure building inside him, his core on the verge of shattering.

"Tell me the location of your main base," the young man said, his words sharp and cutting. "Though I can find it myself, I'd rather save the trouble. Do that, and I'll stop your core from going berserk."

Lothar's face contorted into a smirk, his lips twitching with bitter amusement despite the agony coursing through his body. He coughed, blood spilling from his mouth as he struggled to speak. "Do you... think I'm a fool?" he rasped, his voice weak but laced with defiance. "You're not... promising to save me.

Just to stop my core from exploding. Which means... you'll kill me the moment I tell you... where the base is."

The young man's expression didn't change, but there was a slight flicker of amusement in his eyes. He nodded calmly, acknowledging the truth in Lothar's words. "Of course," he replied with a smile. "Isn't that the sort of strategy you bandits often employ? I figured I'd try it once, see how it felt."

Lothar let out a weak, gurgling laugh, the sound hollow and strained as blood dripped from his lips. He spat on the ground, his smirk still intact despite the growing horror of his situation. "Go to hell... you bastard," he spat, his voice defiant even in his last moments.

The young man tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost disappointed sigh escaping his lips. "I suppose that's your answer then," he said quietly, shaking his head as he took a step back.

Without another word, the pressure inside Lothar's body reached its breaking point. His core, unable to contain the wildly spiraling mana, gave way.

BOOM!

Lothar's insides exploded in a violent eruption of energy, his body convulsing as the force tore through him from the inside out. Blood sprayed from his mouth and nose as his limbs jerked uncontrollably, the violent release of mana sending shockwaves through his body. His eyes widened in one final, silent scream before everything went dark.

His body collapsed to the ground, lifeless, the remnants of the explosion still shimmering faintly around him.

The young man stood over the corpse, his expression calm and indifferent. He sheathed his estoc, his gaze lingering on Lothar's remains for only a moment before turning away. "Such a waste," he muttered under his breath. Vitaliara padded up beside him, her eyes glinting in the dim light as she let out a soft purr.

"Looks like I'll have to work a little bit more." With that, the young man turned to face the remaining bandits, who were now staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. Their faces were pale, and they stood frozen in place, trembling as they processed what had just happened to Lothar. The room was thick with the stench of blood and death, and the weight of their impending doom pressed down on them.

The young man's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, cold amusement. He crossed his arms casually as if completely unbothered by the carnage around him.

"Well then," he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace, "it seems we've come to a bit of a crossroads, haven't we?"

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over the terrified faces of the bandits. "I'll make this simple," he continued, his tone almost conversational. "Those who choose to speak and tell me what I want to know—well, at least you'll have the dignity of a proper burial."

His smirk widened, and he gestured casually toward Lothar's lifeless body, still twitching from the aftermath of the explosion. "As for those who choose to stay silent… well, you'll end up just like him."

The bandits' eyes darted toward Lothar's remains, a collective shudder running through them. The sight of their leader's twisted, blood-soaked corpse sent chills down their spines. They had seen death before—caused it, even—but nothing like this. The silence stretched, and the young man let it linger, savoring their fear.

"So," he said, his voice sharp and cutting, "who's going to speak first? You have ten seconds."