Facing roughly two hundred attackers charging at him simultaneously, Charlie remained calm.
"Die, you filthy brat!"
The first attack came from a muscular man wielding a massive warhammer. His swing was powerful enough to crush a bull's skull.
Charlie didn't even shift his gaze. His body moved a few centimeters—just enough for the hammer to miss his shoulder by mere millimeters and slam into the ground with a thunderous crash.
*BAM!*
Before the man could retract his weapon, Charlie's empty hand shot out like a snake. It wasn't a dramatic punch, just a short, precise palm strike to the man's solar plexus.
"Gugh!"
The sound was like air being forced out of a balloon. The large man's eyes bulged in disbelief—not from pain, but from the sheer, unexpected force behind the strike. His massive body was flung backward like a ragdoll, crashing into a group of five others preparing to attack.
There was no time for them to recover. Charlie's movements continued seamlessly. Eleven others had already surrounded him, forming a devilish circle with weapons drawn.
One among them, with wild eyes and a feral grin, swung a low-quality katana.
*SWISH!*
As fast as lightning, Charlie's hand moved. He neither blocked nor dodged. His hand seized the katana-wielder's wrist, twisting it forcefully until the bones snapped with a sickening crunch.
"ARGHHHH!!!"
The man's scream of agony choked in his throat as Charlie, in one fluid motion, snatched the katana from his limp grasp and, with the same spinning movement, swung the blade.
*PU-CHI!*
The sharp sound of flesh and bone being sliced. The man's head was severed from his shoulders, his face frozen in shock. Blood sprayed from severed arteries, soaking the sand and nearby attackers in warm red splashes.
And so, the dance of death began.
*SWOOSH!* *SWOOSH!* *SWOOSH!*
*PU-CHI!* *PU-CHI!* *PU-CHI!*
With the katana now an extension of his arm, Charlie darted into the crowd. He didn't run—he glided.
He didn't dodge attacks.
A poisoned arrow shot from the darkness and struck his back. He didn't even flinch. The arrow fell on its own, its tip blunted, unable to pierce his skin protected by the Armor of Fafnir.
A dagger stabbed from the side, aiming for his kidney. The blade snapped at the tip, as if striking steel.
A sledgehammer blow landed on his shoulder from behind. Charlie merely bent his knees slightly to absorb the momentum, then continued his katana's swing, cleaving an attacker in front of him from shoulder to waist.
*SWOOSH!* *PU-CHI!* *SWISH!* *PU-CHI!*
Each swing of the katana claimed a life. Each movement was a death sentence.
*PU-CHI!* *PU-CHI!* *PU-CHI!*
Charlie spun, his body a deadly whirlwind of steel. Blood splattered, soaking the dry sand, forming widening pools that merged into a small lake of death.
Bodies fell one by one, with precise, lethal wounds: throats nearly severed, chests pierced through the heart, stomachs spilling their contents, bodies split vertically in two.
"He can't be hurt!" A woman with a spear shouted, her voice tinged with panic.
"Attack from all sides! Don't give him a chance to breathe!" Another yelled.
But Charlie didn't need to breathe—or at least, that was the impression he gave. His rhythm was perfect, wasting no energy. His Six Eyes granted him 360-degree awareness.
An attacker tried sneaking up from behind, hoping to stab his spine. Without glancing back, Charlie thrust his katana backward through the gap between his armpit and chest, piercing the sneak's heart. He withdrew the blade and moved forward, leaving the man to collapse with wide, lifeless eyes.
The chaos continued. Five attackers struck at once: one with an axe, one with a sword, two with spears, and another throwing poisoned needles.
Charlie let the needles rain down on him—they fell harmlessly. He blocked the axe with his katana's hilt, snapping the axe's wooden handle with a flick of his wrist. His free hand deflected the sword strike, seizing the swordsman's wrist and twisting it until it broke.
"ARGHH—"
The man's scream was cut short as Charlie used his writhing body as a living shield to block the two incoming spear thrusts.
"What?!"
The spearmen's eyes widened as they stabbed their own ally instead. Charlie hurled the dying body at them, and before they could react, his katana swung horizontally, decapitating both in one stroke.
"IT'S A MONSTER! NOT HUMAN!" Someone screamed, their voice hoarse with fear.
"MAGIC! USE MAGIC!" Another shouted.
Several mages in the back began chanting.
*SWISH!* *SWISH!* *SWISH!*
Firebolt, Wind Cutter, Stone Blast—various elemental spells shot toward Charlie.
*BOOM!* *BANG!* *TING!*
A fireball struck his chest and shattered into sparks. Wind blades touched his skin and dissipated. Stone pellets rained on him, falling like gravel.
*WHOOSH!*
Charlie didn't even slow down. He walked through the magical storm as if it were morning dew. His cloak began to tear and scorch, but the skin beneath remained flawless, unscratched.
The fear that had been creeping in now turned to pure panic. The Evilus weren't fighting a war—they were being slaughtered.
*WHOOSH!*
Suddenly, two figures lunged forward with auras distinct from the rest. Gojek, a Level 3 executive, his face brimming with bloodlust. His longsword gleamed under the moonlight, swung with far greater skill than the others.
"DIE, YOU BASTARD!"
His sword slashed swiftly toward Charlie's neck.
*WHOOSH!*
Almost simultaneously, from the opposite side, Grab appeared. In his hands, a pair of glowing, poisoned iron claws.
They were the strongest among those still standing, their coordinated attack closing off all escape routes. For anyone else, this would be an impossible situation.
Unfortunately for them, for Charlie, it only required a slight adjustment.
*CLANG!*
He blocked Gojek's sword with his katana. Sparks flew. The force behind Gojek's swing could numb an ordinary person's arm, but Charlie merely flicked his wrist.
At the same time, with his empty left hand, he reached for Grab. Not to block, but to seize.
*CRACK!*
His unarmed hand clamped onto Grab's claw-wielding wrist. His grip was like living iron, mercilessly crushing bone and muscle beneath.
"GUARHHHHH!!!"
Grab screamed, the excruciating pain nearly causing him to faint.
Charlie didn't let go. He spun, using Grab's writhing, locked body as a living pendulum, and swung it with unimaginable force toward Gojek.
*THWACK!*
Grab's heavy body crashed into Gojek with a brutal impact. Both tumbled in a heap, their weapons slipping from their grasp.
Gojek, recovering slightly faster, scrambled to his feet and reached for his sword. But a shadow loomed over him.
Charlie stood above them, his face expressionless, exuding a terrifying calm. The katana in his hand still dripped with others' blood.
"…!!!"
Gojek looked up, meeting a pair of cold blue eyes. For the first time, true fear gripped him.
"Wait—!"
Those were his last words.
*PU-CHI!*
The katana stabbed downward, piercing his light armor, ribs, and heart with absolute precision. Gojek's eyes widened, blood trickling from his mouth before his body went limp.
Grab, still groaning in agony, witnessed his comrade's death. He tried to crawl away, fear finally overpowering his hatred.
"Please… don't…"
Charlie looked at him. No mercy. He raised the katana again.
*PU-CHI!*
The second thrust was just as swift, just as deadly. Grab convulsed, then went still.
Two Level 3 adventurers had become corpses in seconds.
"…"
Their deaths were a morale-crushing blow to the others. After all, they were only Level 1. If Level 3s were slaughtered like pigs, what chance did they have?
Shouts of anger and bravado had long turned to cries of fear, now morphing into screams of despair.
"IT'S A DEMON! HE'S FROM HELL!"
"WE CAN'T WIN! RUN! SAVE YOURSELF!"
"CAPTAIN! HELP US!"
Survival instincts took over. Their fanaticism shattered. They threw down their weapons, turned, and fled in all directions into the cold desert darkness, hoping to escape the mysterious assailant.
"Trying to run? Not a chance!"
Charlie didn't let a single one escape.
*WHOOSH!*
He moved like a phantom. A white-haired silhouette faster than the desert wind.
*PU-CHI!*
*PU-CHI!*
*PU-CHI!*
Each step brought him closer to a fugitive. Each swing of his now-dull, chipped katana ended a life.
Charlie cut off their escape routes, locking every angle of retreat.
"I'm far enough. I should be safe—"
*PU-CHI!*
A young man who had quickly reached the edge of the settlement and felt relief suddenly felt something pierce his chest. He saw the red tip of a katana emerge from his heart before darkness engulfed him.
"Huuh… Huuh… Huuh…"
A woman hiding behind a cart, holding her breath, heard footsteps approaching. She prayed to any god who would listen. But the god that came was the god of death. The cart was cleaved in two, and so was she.
"PLEASE! I SURRENDER! I—"
A scream cut short.
"SPARE ME! I'M JUST—"
A plea left unanswered.
*PU-CHI!*
"Not all sins can be forgiven. Not everyone can forgive. Thinking we can fix everything with a sincere apology isn't just unrealistic—it's utterly naive."
Flicking the blood from his katana, leaving those words behind, Charlie continued his massacre.
*SWOOSH!* *SWOOSH!* *SWOOSH!*
*PU-CHI!* *PU-CHI!* *PU-CHI!*
The process was terrifyingly swift and efficient.
Screams and roars gradually faded, one by one, replaced by a deepening silence, broken only by the final groans of the dying and the thud of falling bodies.
Blood had turned the entire area into a sticky, iron-scented red mire. The thick stench of death hung in the air, almost tangible.