Four Rank 2 Super Soldiers, their Astra Souls erupting, surrounded a single person.
At the edge of the storm, Klein Reddington folded his arms, a predator watching his hounds corner their prey. He didn't need to lift a finger.
The combined power of his subordinates was more than enough to crush a dozen Dravins.
He would simply stand back and savor the symphony of snapping bones and pathetic screams.
The first to move was the lackey with the butterfly projection.
The crackling green energy was not for defense but for speed. His Astra Soul was agility-based, and in the confines of the alley, his acceleration was terrifying.
"Boom!"
He exploded from his position, crossing the twenty-meter distance in under two seconds, appearing before Dravin like a green phantom. The air itself seemed to bend around his form.
His dagger, wreathed in the same chaotic energy, moved quickly.
He aimed for Dravin's right shoulder, intending to sever the tendons and ligaments, rendering his dominant arm useless. It seemed routine to him as though he had done it tens of times before.
The dagger's tip was a mere inch from its target. The lackey's face was already twisting into a triumphant, sadistic grin.
Then, a blur of dark light.
"Parry!"
"CLANG!"
An impossibly loud, metallic ring echoed off the stone walls. The dagger, instead of sinking into flesh, slammed into a wide, immovable wall of alloy.
The lackey's eyes widened in shock as he saw the flat side of a massive cleaver effortlessly blocking his path. It hadn't even been there a moment ago.
Before he could process the speed of the block, an indomitable, overwhelming force erupted from the point of contact.
The kinetic energy traveled up the dagger, through his arm, and slammed into his entire body. He was sent staggering backwards, his wrist screaming in agony, his feet struggling to find purchase on the ground.
He didn't get the chance to recover.
Before his backward momentum had even ceased, another flash of silver sliced through the air. It moved with a speed that defied logic, a speed that his agility-focused Astra Soul couldn't even track. It was not the sharp edge of the blade that came for him, but the wide, flat side, wielded like a brutal, sledge hammer.
"BAM!"
The first impact struck his right shoulder, the same one he had targeted. The sound of bone crunching was sickeningly loud, and a wave of pure, white-hot agony shot through him.
"BAM!"
The cleaver reappeared on the other side, slamming into his left shoulder with equal force.
"BAM! BAM!"
The silver blur dropped lower, striking both of his kneecaps in a rapid, two-hit combo that shattered them completely.
The entire sequence, from the parry to the final crippling blow, had taken less than a single second.
"Ahhhh!"
A horrific, pig-like squeal of absolute agony tore from the lackey's throat. His body crumpled to the ground.
His arms hung uselessly, his legs bent at unnatural angles. He could do nothing but writhe on the dirty alley floor, as insane pain flooded his brain.
The entire alley fell silent for a heartbeat. The remaining three lackeys, who had been charging forward, froze in their tracks. Even Klein's smug expression had vanished, replaced by a mask of stunned disbelief.
The next closest attacker was the one with the bony spurs growing from his forearms. His mind was still trying to process what just happened when his survival instincts screamed at him. But it was too late.
Dravin stomped his right foot on the ground. A dull*thump echoed, and the stone beneath his boot cracked. He launched himself forward with the explosive, unstoppable force of a cannonball. He was a blur of motion, arriving in front of the bone-spur lackey in an instant.
The young man's eyes were wide with terror. He barely had time to raise his spurred forearms in a desperate, clumsy block.
Dravin's cleaver, still sheathed in its punishing silver light, descended in a horizontal arc.
"BAM!"
The cleaver slammed against the bone spurs, shattering them into chalky fragments and continuing its trajectory into the man's forearms.
"BAM! BAM!"
Shoulders. Knees. Dravin repeated the devastating sequence with efficiency.
Another agonized scream joined the first. The second lackey collapsed, his primary weapons and his mobility utterly destroyed. He fell beside his comrade, their cries of pain creating a horrific duet.
At that moment, the remaining two lackeys, the one with the golden gauntlets and the one with the glowing sledgehammer, finally snapped out of their shock. The confidence on their faces had evaporated, replaced by the pale, stark terror.
Without a word, they turned to flee.
But Dravin was already moving. A flash of dark light—the sheathed cleaver moving so fast it seemed to absorb the light around it—slammed heavily and repeatedly into their bodies.
They didn't even have a chance to scream before they were on the ground, joining their friends in a chorus of broken moans and desperate, pain-filled begging.
"Ahhhh! You fu—fucker! You actually crippled us!" one of them managed to sob out.
"Boss Klein! Kill him! Kill this bastard and avenge us!" another shrieked, his voice cracking with hysteria.
Their futures were over. Even if they recovered from their shattered limbs, it wouldn't be today. They had failed the entrance examination before it had even begun, their dreams of becoming Super Soldiers.
Klein's face, which had been pale with shock, slowly turned a dark, furious crimson.
He stared at the four subordinates writhing on the floor, then at Dravin, who stood calmly amidst them, his cleaver resting on his shoulder as if he had just completed a simple warm-up exercise.
His intuition had been right. Dravin wasn't just hiding something. He was a completely different person.
The speed he had just unleashed, the sheer, overwhelming physical power—it was undeniably at the level of a Rank 3 Super Soldier, perhaps even higher.
"No wonder," Klein hissed, his voice dangerously low. "No wonder you were so indifferent. So confident. You must have found some kind of priceless treasure, something that boosted your cultivation from Rank 1 all the way to Rank 3 in a single day."
It was the only explanation that made sense. A miracle herb, a dimensional artifact—something had fallen into this worthless piece of trash's lap.
"Hand over the treasure," Klein demanded, his eyes burning with greed and fury. "Give it to me, and I will consider letting you leave this alley intact."
"Boss! Kill that bastard!" one of the crippled lackeys cried out. "You can't just let him go!"
"SHUT UP!" Klein roared, his frustration boiling over. He glared at the whimpering idiots on the ground before turning his serious, calculating gaze back to Dravin.
Dravin tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. 'He's not as dumb as he looks,' he mused. 'Instead of assuming I was hiding my strength, he jumped straight to the conclusion of a lucky encounter.'
He let out a soft sigh, his patience wearing thin. "If you want to fight, then fight. If not, get the hell out of my way."
The casual, dismissive tone was the final insult. Klein's face twisted into a mask of pure rage. The air around him began to shimmer with intense heat.
"I gave you a chance," he snarled, "and you spat on it. Fine. It doesn't matter. Once I've broken every bone in your body, I'll find out what that treasure is for myself."
Slowly, deliberately, Klein reached behind his back and drew his weapon. The blade of the saber was a deep, polished crimson. As it cleared the scabbard, the ethereal projection of the massive, fiery saber that had appeared during his awakening descended from the air, merging with the physical blade in his hands.
"Whoosh!"
Flames erupted from the steel, engulfing the saber in a roaring inferno. The temperature in the alley skyrocketed, and the stone walls around them began to glow a faint red from the sheer ambient heat. This was the true power of a D-rank Astra Soul.
"Now," Klein said, his voice a low growl that vibrated with power, "let me show you the difference between a real genius and a piece of trash who got lucky."