Marc now held a soldier in his hands, the man half-unconscious on the ground. Blood already covered his face, and his arm was clearly broken.
His companions were in no better shape. More than a hundred men lay sprawled across the ground as the rain poured down on them. They looked like corpses scattered across the gray, flooded grounds of the military base. Each one had taken brutal blows, their limbs likely broken.
The reporters present, filming every possible angle, described Marc as an inhuman, invincible monster. The destruction he left in his wake was everywhere across Garida. Every military base was reduced to ruins. Bunkers unearthed. Towers collapsed. Soldiers deserted. The Death of War left behind nothing but chaos and devastation.
His reputation only grew within the ranks of Garid's crumbling empire, some comparing him to the Red Emperor who had terrorized these lands centuries before.
Yet everyone knew that the feats of the Death of War far outshone those of that ancient conqueror. If the black-armored figure with the white mask chose to destroy everything, no one knew what would happen.
And on that day, it was a simple soldier who tasted the wrath of the Black Knight.
The knight's terrifying voice, magnified by the crushing pressure and fear he radiated, echoed inside the soldier's already throbbing head, battered from the fight.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
As an answer, Marc slammed the soldier violently into the ground. Around him, other soldiers were already embedded in the dirt. Neilim's base had fallen beneath his blows.
Suddenly, he felt a faint presence behind him, and a cold voice spoke while he was still deep in thought.
"They're going to start calling you the Destroyer if this keeps up."
Lori had appeared silently behind Marc. The rain masked his steps, but the assassin was naturally quiet.
Dressed in his signature suit, which fit him like a glove, he held a black combat staff, forged from a rare, ultra-resistant material known as richell.
"I'd rather not cross you too much, Lori."
Rachel was there too. In her black dress and eternal umbrella hiding more than a dozen weapons—her impassive eyes and doll-like expression darkened the atmosphere like a bad omen.
"At least we'll be rich after this."
Arthur also entered, wielding his double-edged sword and dressed in a suit similar to his brother's. His arrogant smile seemed to falter before the suffocating presence of the Black Knight. His massive blade hung at his side, tip pointed downward, ready for combat. He looked every bit the knight himself. But tonight, he would have to prove which of them was truly the better.
Marc, however, didn't even look at them.
"Where is he?"
Lori calmly answered.
"Beating up everyone won't help. Nobody knows where he is. The emperor left with his personal guard and locked himself away somewhere no one can find. Probably because he's scared of you. Honestly, who could blame him?"
Then Rachel and Arthur voiced their doubts.
"Are you even human?"
"Careful, Lori. This man is the Death of War."
The three of them surrounded Marc, yet he didn't even spare them a glance. He simply kept walking toward his next destination.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, baffled.
"Has he lost his mind or what?"
Rachel even seemed a little hurt. The three strongest assassins in the world stood before the monster that was the Black Knight, yet he hadn't even bothered to acknowledge them.
"Not impressed by us anymore, huh?"
The trio circled around Marc, their light, nimble steps adjusting to his pace. They moved slower and slower, giving the illusion of being almost still. Their eyes scanned their adversary from head to toe, unblinking. Only the rain blurred their vision now and then.
They were so focused that even the drops running into their eyes did not affect them. As Marc walked on, his gaze slowly locked with those of his opponents.
But they kept circling…
Slowly…
Slower and slower…
And then, suddenly, all three vanished. Time itself seemed to slow slightly. The rain now fell with such softness it seemed like water simply flowing gently.
At least, that's what it felt like to them. For as they closed in on this lifeless monster, one of their worst nightmares resurfaced. A nightmare Christina Leya had reminded them of when the IGA was destroyed. A nightmare Malvin had inflicted on Lori in place of the other two. A suffocating superiority so overwhelming that even the sound of her heels still echoed in their heads.
Rachel was the first to move, launching herself forward at a speed beyond human limits. Yet Marc finally turned his head toward her, noticing her immediately.
Rachel felt the crushing weight of his power bearing down on her, even though he hadn't moved. Just like the day her mother had stepped into the room. For a split second, she saw Mathilde Royal's face overlapping with Marc's.
That cold, impassive, murderous expression sent a chill down her spine.
Marc dodged the umbrella with ease.
Lori leaned on his staff, trying to land a kick, but Marc dodged effortlessly once again. Their eyes met, and a faint shiver ran through the IGA boss's body.
Lori was determined, yet Marc's face remained unreadable.
Arthur then swung his blade in a vertical strike, but it was useless. Marc was untouchable now.
The blows rained down faster than the storm itself, yet Marc evaded them with ease. His indifferent gaze was a clear sign of disrespect toward the three assassins.
Arthur had had enough. In frustration, he drew a gun from his belt and fired three bullets directly at Marc's head. Strangely, Marc didn't dodge this time. The bullets struck his forehead—
—but had no effect. Arthur froze in disbelief.
"This can't be real..."
Not a single round had pierced his skull. His mask was completely intact, only a faint wisp of white smoke rising from the friction. Marc's indifferent gaze didn't waver.
"Duck, Arthur."
Rachel seized the opportunity, using Arthur's back as a springboard with her left hand. She spun and aimed a lethal kick at Marc's neck—her right heel, in truth, a concealed dagger. But Marc caught her leg midair and, with his free foot, kicked Arthur square in the head.
The poor man didn't saw it coming—and saw nothing after.
Rachel's foot pressed against Marc's head as she drew her second blade and drove it toward his throat. She pushed off to free herself from his grip.
"There. That should.."
Unfortunately for her, Marc clenched the dagger tightly between his teeth.
"Tch."
Lori attempted yet another strike with his staff, slamming it down on Marc's head. But nothing happened. Marc didn't even flinch. Instead, he seized the staff and smashed it into the ground in front of him. Lori collapsed instantly, unconscious.
Rachel watched in silence. She retrieved two daggers hidden within her umbrella and launched into close combat. But Marc parried every strike with ease.
He could feel her aura trying to aid her, but he crushed it effortlessly beneath his own.
Rachel felt his gaze upon her—and then realized he wasn't looking at her. He was looking inside her.
And then, something shifted. All hope drained from her as if her energy had been stolen in an instant.
The reason was simple: Marc's aura was devouring hers.
"Ha..."
Rachel collapsed to her knees, drained of all strength like a lifeless doll. She raised her head toward Marc one last time as he walked calmly past her, continuing on his way.
"I think... I'm..."
Marc moved on, indifferent.
Marc continued on his indifferent way. This fight wasn't even worth it. He had noticed that his assassins strangely had the ability to sense auras. But their level of mastery was so vain that it was impossible for them to inflict any damage on him.
It had been hopeless from the start, and they knew it.
Even though they were technical monsters, clever, precise and deadly, Marc was simply too powerful. His mere presence erased all of their skills, rendering them useless.
He felt no pity for them anymore cause he had to find that arrogant emperor and his cursed books before the situation spiraled further out of control.
He was about to speed up toward his next target when suddenly, a powerful aura surged behind him.
He knew this aura very well, but something about it had changed.
It was far stronger than the last time...
Marc turned, his gaze so dark it could make any mortal tremble. But the figure before him was no ordinary enemy.
Marc actually grumbled his name..
"Aeros."
The blood-red aura manifested into a humanoid silhouette, a cruel smile etched on its face. Its powerful, arrogant voice boomed like a cannon shot.
"In the flesh."
The aura took human form, unleashing a violent storm around it. Winds tore through the area in every direction, and even Marc struggled to remain standing.
A young woman appeared, her chestnut hair shifting into a blood-red hue. She wore gleaming armor covering her arms, upper body, and the sides of her flowing white dress. Her hair was tied in a bun, while the rest of her garments burned crimson. In her eyes, two swords clashed within the pupils, crossing like steel in eternal combat.
The appearance of the entity shook the area, causing the collapse of the base that Marc had already weakened significantly.
Aeros smiled, lifting her head proudly, savoring her grand entrance, while Marc shielded his face from the force of the raging winds.
Then, as she fixed her red eyes on him, they glowed faintly. The clash of their auras was monstrous, a murderous pressure tearing the world between them.
And Marc was losing...
One was frustrated and seething with rage.
The other, delighted, devilishly wicked.
"I am Aeros," she declared, her voice ringing with cruel authority. "The second horseman of the apocalypse, The War."