Morgan glanced at Jack before him, eyes gleaming with eagerness and arrogance, as if daring him to a challenge.
He exhaled softly, muscles twitching, slender fingers tightening into a fist. The body of a so-called loser, once filled with useless weakness, now radiated a dangerous aura.
'Just a blond brat, leaning on a bit of strength, yet bold enough to provoke me.' Morgan's lips curved in a cold smirk, ready to strike.
"I had no intention of bothering with you, but it seems I'll have to teach you a lesson." His cold gaze locked on Jack.
Jack froze, heart pounding wildly. In that instant, the memory of a feeble, pathetic Morgan shattered.
He could feel an overwhelming force pressing down on him, chilling his whole body, as if he were standing before a dungeon beast.
"Hmph, what's with the attitude? A hunter barely recognized as the weakest trash among hunters dares to act tough? Fine, if you're begging for a beating, I'll grant it." Jack sneered, swinging his fist with a speed and killing intent Morgan could clearly feel.
'So this world really favors hunters, huh? They can casually kill and still walk free. If that's the case, then just how much of a pathetic loser was this Morgan to begin with?'
The more he witnessed hunters firsthand, the more certain he became: the body's former owner had been the lowest of the low, trash among trash.
The pain, the bruises, and the torment this body had endured all flashed in his mind.
But from this day on, that weakness was no more—because Mr. Morgan had awakened.
Morgan smirked. A fleeting glance was all it took to make the blond youth flinch.
Jack could feel the contempt hidden in those eyes, as if his entire being was insignificant before this opponent.
As Jack's fist drew close to his face, Morgan needed only a glance to see through it all.
His left hand shot up like lightning, clamping onto Jack's wrist and yanking it.
Jack lost his balance, stiffening for a split second, then felt a crushing blow to his stomach. His face went pale, spitting foam from his mouth.
His head rang, vision spinning. Before he could even recover, Morgan's next punch crashed into him, slamming him down to the floor.
His body convulsed, muscles trembling violently, as though his nervous system had been shattered.
[Ding! Target defeated. Exp gained. Level up!]
The notification echoed. Morgan lowered his fist, glancing at the others.
The three lackeys froze in place, eyes wide, backs trembling, their bodies shrinking in fear as Morgan's movements replayed in their minds—fluid as flowing water, every strike and block precise to a terrifying degree.
"Should we… charge?" One of them stammered, hands fumbling in hesitation.
If they didn't step in to save Jack now, they'd definitely be blamed later. But if they did… they'd be beaten miserably.
"Your boss is this weak. Don't you think it's time to replace him with someone else to follow?" Morgan smirked, his voice calm and indifferent.
The three youths froze, their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of awe and fear. Every gesture of Morgan radiated the presence of a ruler, magnetic and commanding.
"I'll follow you, boss," one finally declared with certainty.
The other two, pulled along by his voice, also pledged their allegiance. Switching to a stronger leader was the smarter choice.
Morgan turned back to the one sprawled on the ground. His eyes sharpened, gleaming with cold light.
Smack. Smack. Smack…
A flurry of slaps rained across Jack's face, jolting him awake, eyes wide, body trembling. The sight of Morgan's face made him shrink back, almost pissing himself from sheer terror.
Yet when he caught sight of his underlings nearby, Jack forced a twisted smirk, shoulders squaring, trying to draw strength from them. His body radiated false confidence.
"Go together! He's just a loser who barely got recognized as a hunter—the weakest trash in all of rank F. There's no way he can beat three of you!" Jack roared, spitting blood and saliva, his voice garbled.
The three former lackeys paused, glancing at each other. A flicker of doubt and then hope flashed in their eyes.
They tightened their grips on their weapons, their breathing grew heavier, clearly pondering the possibility of Jack's words.
Then, all at once, their eyes widened, mouths gaped, and hearts pounded as the realization struck.
'No… what the hell are we thinking? If Morgan is trash, then what does that make Jack? He couldn't even measure up to trash.'
"Jack, from now on, I won't call you boss."
"Me too."
"Same here."
Blood burst from Jack's mouth—not from his injuries, but from sheer rage, enough to make him vomit it out.
He collapsed, hands trembling, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted as if about to tear apart.
Memories of shouting brotherhood slogans, sharing life and death, and promising to bask in glory together—now shattered.
Faced with Morgan, someone stronger, they hadn't hesitated to betray him.
Pain. Crushing pain.
For a hot-blooded youth like Jack, it was enough to deal a devastating blow to his spirit.
"Now that you're awake, why not speak properly? Or better yet, why don't you join them? Honestly, it's still better than being left all alone." Morgan smirked, his voice steady, his tone untainted by malice, and his eyes calm.
It wasn't by chance that he had once commanded a legion of devoted followers.
The way he dealt with those who bore ill will toward him left no choice but for others to respect him.
Jack froze, eyes wide, his body locked in place for several seconds. His cheeks twitched, fists clenched, and lips pressed into a tight line, while a subtle tremor ran through him—a mixture of shame and fear.
"I… I've done a lot of bad things to you, even nearly killed you. You really won't take revenge?" Jack stammered.
His heart raced, his chest burned, and his limbs were icy cold. The image of himself beaten into a cripple, condemned to a lifetime in a wheelchair, flashed before his eyes.
But Morgan only curled his lips in a smirk. His eyes remained bright and smile contained no malice.
Jack flinched, breath coming unevenly, chest aching, face flushed.
He muttered in his mind, 'I… I actually think he's so cool.'
His hands trembled, heart pounding. The whole body was both tense and in turmoil.
"Those I defeat—no matter how hard they try—end up powerless to stop me as I leave them far behind. Why would I take revenge on someone who will never again have the standing to be my equal?" Morgan said, his voice deep, steady, and unwavering as a mountain.
The three newly recruited underlings lit up, wrists twitching, eyes fixed on him. Their hearts raced as if they wanted to shout from excitement.
'Boss is too cool!'
Jack took a deep breath. His body still shook, veins pulsing on his face. He forced himself up, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head to the ground.
"I sincerely apologize. Please let me become one of your followers."
"Good attitude. All past matters are forgiven. From now on you and those three will help me with work." Morgan smirked, patting Jack's shoulder lightly.
Suddenly he thought of his current state and need of support.
"I don't have a weapon. Can you help me get a spear? Of course I'll repay you properly later." Morgan asked.
His words sounded nothing but sincere, without a hint of threat.
Hearing that, Jack felt he finally had a chance to atone.
Just now, when Morgan said he'd spare him—could he believe it? No. Even if it were true, he absolutely wouldn't trust it.
Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, looked around with a flash of determination, stepped forward, raised his hand high, placed the other hand on his chest, and swore:
"Boss, I swear I'll get the best weapon I can for you."
"We'll help too!" The others chimed in enthusiastically, as if unwilling to let Jack take all the credit.