The Guild Master's boots carved deep trenches through the steel platform as he was driven backward by the force of the collision.
Yet—
he never released his weapon.
Instead, the wind rune engraved across his body blazed brighter.
**WHOOOOOSH!!**
Violent currents erupted around him.
The retreat stopped instantly.
The momentum that had forced him back was violently reversed.
His body surged forward once more.
The massive axe swung around in a brutal horizontal arc aimed directly at Draven's neck.
At the same time—
**CLINK!**
**CLINK!**
**CLINK!**
Sybil's chains twisted through the air from every direction.
Not randomly.
Not recklessly.
They moved with terrifying precision.
One shot toward his wrist.
Another targeted his ankle.
Three more lunged for his torso.
The chains moved like living serpents.
Predicting.
Adjusting.
Hunting.
Draven's crimson eyes flickered.
Deep within his body, the folding mass rotated faster.
Mana surged through his muscles.
His bones.
His tendons.
Every fiber of his being strengthened.
His sword moved.
**SHIIIIING!!**
One chain shattered.
Then another.
Then another.
Sparks exploded across the battlefield.
Fragments of burning metal scattered through the air.
Yet the remaining chains instantly changed direction.
Wrapping around the broken pieces.
Reforming.
Repairing themselves.
Returning.
"...Annoying."
The word left his mouth coldly.
Howard grinned.
"Glad you noticed."
**BOOOOOOM!!**
The axe descended.
Draven stepped sideways.
The massive weapon missed him by mere centimeters.
The platform beneath him exploded.
Several tons of reinforced steel were pulverized instantly.
Before Howard could recover—
Draven's blade flashed.
A black arc sliced through the air toward the Guild Master's throat.
Howard's eyes widened.
Too fast.
Far too fast.
He barely managed to twist aside.
**SHHHHK!!**
Blood sprayed.
A deep gash opened across his chest.
The Guild Master staggered backward.
His grin disappeared.
The battlefield fell silent for a heartbeat.
A Fifth-Star.
Injured.
In a single exchange.
Far away, many bounty hunters felt their confidence evaporate.
Yet before Draven could press the advantage—
a wave of scorching heat exploded behind him.
Sybil.
The Third-Star Flame Rune engraved into her body blazed brilliantly.
Orange-red fire wrapped around every chain she controlled.
The metal glowed.
Then softened.
Then melted.
Then transformed.
The chains became streams of burning liquid steel.
They shot toward Draven from every direction.
The temperature of the battlefield spiked instantly.
The air itself seemed to distort from the heat.
Sybil smiled.
"You're strong."
The molten chains accelerated.
"But not strong enough to fight everyone here."
The burning steel closed in from all sides.
Howard surged forward once more.
Aurelia watched silently from the distance.
Golden lightning crackled around her body.
More bounty hunters arrived.
More mercenaries emerged.
More killers stepped from the shadows.
And standing at the center of it all—
Draven finally lifted his gaze.
Not toward Sybil.
Not toward Howard.
Not toward Aurelia.
But toward the growing crowd itself.
His crimson eyes grew colder.
Far colder.
Then—
a smile appeared.
Not warm.
Not amused.
A predator's smile.
A smile that caused dozens of people to instinctively step backward.
The folding mass within him rotated faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Dark crimson mana leaked from beneath his skin.
The air grew heavy.
Oppressive.
Violent.
Even Sybil's smile faltered.
Howard's grip tightened unconsciously around his weapon.
Because for the first time since joining the battle—
they felt it.
Draven had been holding back.
And whatever was about to happen next—
would be far worse than anything they had witnessed so far.
---
Draven's crimson eyes remained fixed on Sybil.
Cold.
Unmoving.
The burning chains raced toward him from every direction.
Howard charged from the flank.
More bounty hunters closed in.
Yet Draven simply raised his sword.
Then—
he placed the blade between his teeth.
The battlefield froze.
Confusion spread across countless faces.
Slowly—
he removed one glove.
Then the other.
The black gloves disappeared into his pocket.
For the first time—
his bare hands were visible.
An unsettling silence settled across the battlefield.
Then—
Draven took the sword back into his hand.
And walked forward.
One step.
Then another.
Then—
**BOOOOOOM!!**
He exploded into motion.
The chains arrived instantly.
**SHHHHK!!**
One burning chain pierced straight through his shoulder.
Another tore through his side.
A third ripped through his thigh.
Blood erupted into the air.
Flesh tore apart.
Yet—
Draven never slowed.
Never hesitated.
Never even glanced at the wounds.
Sybil's confident smile began to falter.
Because the injuries were already healing.
Muscle twisted.
Flesh crawled.
Blood reversed its flow.
The wounds regenerated before her eyes.
"...What?"
Another chain pierced his arm.
The limb split open.
White bone became visible.
Then regenerated.
Immediately.
The damage vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Sybil's eyes widened.
For the first time—
fear surfaced within them.
Draven continued forward.
Relentless.
Unstoppable.
Like a nightmare that refused to die.
"STOP HIM!"
Howard roared.
The Guild Master lunged forward.
Too late.
Draven was already there.
Standing directly in front of Sybil.
Her instincts screamed.
Every warning sense she possessed erupted at once.
The protective barrier surrounding her exploded to full power.
**BOOOOOOM!!**
The defensive artifact activated.
A translucent shield of condensed mana enveloped her body.
Strong enough to withstand attacks from Fifth-Star opponents.
Strong enough to save her life countless times before.
Draven didn't care.
His left hand shot forward.
The barrier trembled violently.
Cracks exploded across its surface.
**CRACK!**
**CRACK!**
**CRACK!**
Then—
his fingers punched straight through.
Sybil's face turned deathly pale.
Disbelief filled her eyes.
And then—
**SHHHHK!!**
The black shortsword pierced through her abdomen.
Blood sprayed.
The blade emerged from her back.
Sybil choked.
Her eyes widened further.
Unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Draven stepped closer.
Expression unchanged.
The sword remained buried inside her body.
Then—
his right arm was severed.
A flaming chain sliced cleanly through it during the struggle.
The arm spun through the air trailing blood.
Several nearby hunters gasped.
Others stumbled backward in shock.
Yet—
Draven didn't react.
Didn't even glance at it.
Because the severed stump was already moving.
Muscle twisted.
Bone extended.
Veins spread.
Flesh grew.
A brand-new arm regenerated before everyone's eyes.
The process was grotesque.
Wrong.
Impossible.
Horror spread across the battlefield.
"What the hell..."
"Impossible..."
"Monster..."
Sybil stared at the regrowing limb.
Her thoughts completely blanking.
Her control faltered for a single second.
One second was enough.
Draven tightened his grip on the sword buried inside her.
Then swung.
**SHHHHHK!!**
The blade ripped sideways through her torso.
Blood erupted outward.
Armor shattered.
Fragments scattered through the air.
Sybil screamed.
The protective artifact finally collapsed completely.
Draven stepped through the spray of blood.
Then—
his fist moved.
**BOOOOOOOOOOM!!**
The punch connected with Sybil's head.
The impact detonated like artillery.
Blood.
Bone.
Flesh.
Everything above her neck vanished instantly.
A violent shockwave rippled outward from the point of impact.
Her headless body remained standing for half a second.
Then collapsed.
**THUD.**
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The Captain of the Black Hawks.
A Fifth-Star Mana Master.
Dead.
Killed in seconds.
Draven stood over the corpse.
Blood dripped from his fist.
Fresh flesh still finished regenerating across his newly formed arm.
Around him—
the battlefield had become completely still.
Even Howard stopped moving.
Even Aurelia froze.
Even the bounty hunters forgot to breathe.
Because every single one of them had witnessed the same thing.
Draven had willingly ignored mortal wounds.
Allowed himself to be pierced.
Allowed himself to be mutilated.
Allowed himself to lose an arm.
And simply regenerated through everything.
No hesitation.
No concern.
No fear.
As though his own body meant nothing.
As though pain meant nothing.
As though death itself no longer applied to him.
Slowly—
Draven lifted his gaze.
His crimson eyes swept across the crowd.
The temperature seemed to drop.
An invisible pressure settled over the battlefield.