**Outside the Auction Hall, with the support unit and the government soldiers**
Luca and Malikar clashed in a series of parries, strikes, and slashes, their blades making the air vibrate with force. As he jumped back, Luca's eyes focused on Malikar's weapon—a strange sword with microchips and advanced tech inscriptions on the blade, an iron hilt, and a golden handle with a chain at the end.
"I see. So you wield one of the twenty supreme scientific weapons from the Age of Discovery. There were rumors that seven of them were in the possession of the Cryoharan government. It seems they may have been more than rumors," Luca said, clutching his own sword tighter.
Malikar smirked. He momentarily lifted his lit cigarette to exhale a plume of smoke. "I'm impressed you deduced it so easily, but then again, the mechanical structure gives it away. Yeah, it's one of those things. Mine is called the *Gladius qui Serpit*," he said, raising the blade to point its tip at Luca. "Now tell me something: what is a distinguished figure like you doing serving as the leader of a mere support unit for the Marked Mercenaries?"
Luca's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his grip firm on his saber. "What I do is my business alone. Now, use your blade's function. I want to see the power of Malikar, the wielder of the *Gladius qui Serpit*," he replied, refusing the question but welcoming the fight.
Malikar's grin widened. He raised his blade vertically, its tip pointing toward the sky. "Fine then. Remember, you asked for it. Just don't shit yourself."
The blade began to glow, then slowly split and spread apart into dozens of tiny, shimmering pieces. They swarmed around Malikar like a cloud of lethal insects, rotating at high speed. The force bent the air, cracking the ground and making nearby trees flail violently.
One of the young soldiers behind Malikar backed up in fear until an older authority figure rested a hand on his shoulder. "Do not be alarmed. It is natural to fear what you do not understand, but have faith in Malikar. His blade, the *Gladius qui Serpit*, can split into over a thousand sharp fragments, each propelled and controlled remotely. It leaves only the handle in his grip."
Luca's visible eyes widened for a moment before hardening. "I see. What a dangerous—"
He was cut off as the swarm of blades lunged at him. Luca jumped and flipped through the air. The swarm shredded through a thick tree behind him, reducing it to splinters and dust in an instant. The Marked Mercenary support unit retreated further, their fear growing.
Malikar advanced, pointing the handle toward Luca as the swarm charged again, forcing Luca into a desperate dance of evasion. *It seems we made a large miscalculation. Mr. Kran predicted the government would interfere, but no one guessed they'd send such a heavy hitter,* he thought, narrowly avoiding the swarm as it shredded part of his cloak and cut into his attire.
"You can't avoid it forever, jackass," Malikar claimed, his smirk a mix of intrigue and arrogance.
As the swarm closed in once more, Luca clutched his blade and slashed. A giant shockwave of compressed air erupted from the strike, colliding with the swarm and pushing it back.
Malikar's smile faded, his eyes narrowing. "You ain't a Marked One, as far as I know. So how did you manage that?"
Luca landed softly. "You'll have to beat the information out of me, unfortunately," he said before lunging forward, sword leading.
**In the Lower Eastern part of the underground fortress**
Maddeline and Clara paced quickly through the halls, leaving a trail of Laticia's fallen henchmen in their wake. "That wretch tricked us. How could we be so foolish to fall into such an obvious trap? Her goal was to separate us so she could have Mr. Kran to herself," Clara said, her speed impressive despite the flowing sleeves of her kimono.
"Relax, girl. Erenor can handle himself. He's a Crimson Stain, ya know? You of all people should have faith in him," Maddeline commented, sprinting close behind.
"I'm aware. However, Mr. Kran and the Witch of Chains have a history that binds them. I believe Laticia holds a grudge—" Clara's words cut off as the pair came to an abrupt halt.
A new group approached—three men and five women. Each wore a strange metal collar formed from shimmering energy, a clear sign of Laticia's control. Their expressions were neutral yet pained, their eyes devoid of light, their skin unnaturally pale. Though alive, their state was no better than that of mindless zombies.
The sight turned Maddeline's stomach. She stepped back, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh… God. How could anyone do this? That bitch Laticia can't get away with this!" she shouted, her frustration boiling over at the thought of innocent lives being used as cattle.
As the enslaved people rushed forward to capture them, Clara flashed into action. She incapacitated three with precise punches to their stomachs, then glared at the others. "Indeed. This isn't just a fight for liberation, but also one to make Laticia suffer for her actions. That is why we Marked Mercenaries exist: to deliver righteous judgment on criminals. Death," she stated sternly, assuming a battle stance before lunging forward and cleanly dispatching the rest.
Suddenly, the sound of slow, mocking clapping echoed in the chamber. A man in a black formal suit stepped into the clearing, followed by a group of presumed bodyguards—some also wearing the telltale collars.
"Well, well. I should have known better. You impressive ladies managed to get past our front-line men and several slaves with scary ease. As expected from 'Diamond Fist' Clara," the man said.
Clara's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward. "Do you really think you and your worthless men have any chance of beating me?" she asked, her voice a blend of cold confidence and condescension.
Maddeline smiled. *There it is. Her true nature, the one that only leaks out when she's not playing the obedient good girl for Kran. Yeah, you guys are in for it. Clara's one of the strongest people I know.*
In an instant, Clara dashed into the group of armed henchmen. She dodged bullets with terrifying ease, delivered a smooth, disabling kick to one assailant, then unleashed a devastating flurry of punches and kicks aimed to shatter specific bones. It was an incredible display of martial artistry.
She stood calmly amidst the downed foes, her glare fixed on the presumed leader. "Do you not understand? Whether you are under her ability or not, you are mere slaves to Laticia."
The man gritted his teeth before smirking. "Maybe so. But at least the money we get is worth it! And besides, we have a special weapon for this fight." He looked upward and shouted, "Zygrok! You have a visitor!"
Clara immediately assumed a defensive stance. A large figure dropped from the shadows above, landing between her and the man with a heavy thud.
It was a monstrous man, standing seven or eight feet tall, with unnaturally inflated muscles covered in operation scars and stitches. Beastly scales and a sharp talon covered his left arm. A second pair of arms protruded from beneath his top set. He had several horns on his head, silvery hair, prominent fangs, and a crazed expression, dressed only in tattered undergarments. "Gragahhh?!!!" he grumbled mindlessly.
Maddeline stepped back with a gasp. "W-what the hell is that thing?" she asked, visibly disturbed. Even Clara seemed momentarily unsettled.
"HAHAHA! 'Thing'?! Oh, don't be so rude! This is Zygrok—a living, bio-engineered monster crafted from the remains of a talented fighter. As you can see, he has two extra transplanted arms, a mutated body fused with genes from various creatures, and genetically modified skin as strong as steel. A true masterpiece, created through a collaboration between a brilliant surgeon and a biologist from the Shadow Wounds. Our mistress paid a heavy price for him," the man explained excitedly.
Maddeline's eyebrows twitched in disgust. "Of course it's that bitch Boronso's doing. He's a disgrace to the medical community. That sick bastard probably thinks we should be praising him, but he's made a mockery of natural life."
Without warning, Clara flashed toward Zygrok, delivering a swift, powerful punch to his stomach. To her shock, he merely stumbled back a step, showing no substantial damage. She jerked her fist back, examining the fresh bruise on her knuckles. "I see. Perhaps this will feel rewarding," she said, a devious smirk spreading across her face.
Just then, several henchmen opened fire on Maddeline.
"Don't worry about it. I can fight too, ya know!" Maddeline called out. She cartwheeled away from the gunfire, wrapped her legs around one assailant's neck, and broke it with a sharp twist.
"So that woman can fight, too? You'd make a fine item for the mistress to sell if you came quietly," the leader said, aiming his pistol.
"Nah, not interested, sorry. But I'll happily take you and your dumbass friends on," she mocked, placing a hand on her waist.
Maddeline took down guard after guard with a series of kicks, spins, and acrobatic jabs from her boots.
As Laticia's forces focused on Maddeline, Clara clashed with Zygrok. They exchanged blows in a furious hand-to-hand struggle. Clara flipped back, dodged a fist that cratered the ground, then twisted to deliver a powerful uppercut to his jaw. "*Ten o Tsuranuku Ken!* (Heaven-Piercing Fist)!" she shouted.
The blow connected, making Zygrok cough blood and stumble. Yet his jaw remained intact. "Ouchiee! Meanieee! GRAHHH!!!" he roared like a enraged child. His muscles tensed and seemed to swell. He smashed the ground with both fists, destroying a section of the floor as Clara leaped back.
*Interesting. His body has extreme durability. That punch should have broken his jaw,* she thought, her exhilaration growing. "Fine then. I'll show you my strength," she declared.
She rushed in with a sweeping kick, but to her surprise, Zygrok shouted and caught her ankle, hurling her toward the ground. She flipped in mid-air, landing gracefully just before his two fists smashed the spot where she had been.
"GRAHHHH!!!!" Zygrok roared, charging again. He ripped a marble pillar from its base with his bulging muscles and swung it like a club. Clara jumped over it, twisting in the air to deliver a sharp kick to his neck in an attempt to snap it.
*Tch. So hard. The poor bastard's been genetically enhanced to an extreme degree,* she thought, jerking back from the impact.
The man leading the assailants watched Clara with a smirk, all while Maddeline fought off guards and armed slaves. *Diamond Fist Clara, huh? Her martial arts are certainly impressive. Being able to clash with Zygrok like this is a sight to behold. That combat style—she's aiming for weak spots. And those foreign robes… Could she be…?*
His eyes widened. "Are you from the distant country of Tsuyohara? Your aesthetics and combat style match that culture."
The question made Clara tense. She delivered another swift blow to Zygrok's face, her kimono flowing gracefully yet fiercely around her. "My father was. He passed his teachings on to me. It is my dream to one day set foot on my ancestral homeland," she admitted, then glared at the man as Zygrok began bashing his own head against the ground in frustration.
"And I recognize you now. You're Starken Lameroser—a criminal with a bounty of fifteen million Denaris, wanted for countless underground operations. It seems you've joined Laticia's ranks of your own free will, given you lack a collar." Her eyes narrowed. "Talk. What is your goal? You wouldn't pretend to be a lackey without one."
Starken smirked. "My, my. Sounds like my white streaks and long bangs gave me away. It's simple, really. Wherever there is money, I am. And Laticia's human trafficking business brings in a huge load of it."
*We really walked into trouble, huh?* Maddeline thought as she dislocated an assailant's arm and dodged another volley of bullets.
Before Clara could reply, Zygrok roared and charged, cracking the floor with each step, his arms flailing wildly. Clara's eyes glowed with intense focus. She jumped upward, and a red mark depicting multiple clenched fists illuminated the knuckles of her right hand—the Mark of the Martial Artist.
She drove a focused punch into Zygrok's throat, making him gag and reel back. He tried to pierce her with his scaled, claw-like arm, but she blocked and shoved it aside. She swept his legs, kicked his face, then unleashed a furious barrage of straight punches into his stomach.
The force of the blows caused the surrounding walls and pillars to crack. Slaves and henchmen watched in shock, but Maddeline smirked with pride. "That's Clara's Mark. It not only increases the force of her attacks but allows hyper-focus on her surroundings. She's a talented fighter whose passion for combat is usually concealed beneath her obedient assistant act. As long as she maintains focus and chains her attacks, each blow becomes stronger than the last. Her damage output escalates with the frequency of her strikes."
Starken watched, stunned, as Zygrok coughed up more blood with each connected fist. His genetically modified body began to crack and bleed under the relentless assault.
"NO! YOU CAN'T! You're supposed to be a bio-engineered super-weapon! Made from the cells of powerful creatures! Born from a worthless human corpse! SHOW THEM YOUR POWER!" Starken shouted, pulling out a remote and pressing a button.
Clara sensed danger and jumped back. "ARAHHHHGHHHAAAAAAA!!!!!" Zygrok screamed in agony as electricity coursed through his body.
"That's right! You shitty thing! Follow your orders and show them your fucking power!" Starken shrieked.
Zygrok's screech became so loud it shattered glass and ruptured the eardrums of several nearby henchmen. He stood, his wounds rapidly regenerating, his size doubling. Saliva dripped from his razor-sharp fangs as he threw a wild, devastating punch.
Clara's Passion Mark glowed with adrenaline as she met the punch with her own. The force was overwhelming; it pushed her back, making her knuckles bleed. Before she could recover, Zygrok grabbed her and began slamming her repeatedly into the floor.
"CLARA!!!" Maddeline screamed. She tried to rush forward but was shot in the leg, crying out as she fell.
Starken looked down at Maddeline with a mischievous smirk. "You ladies got too overconfident, I'm afraid. And it's backfired." He gestured to the guns. "We use special chromium bullets accelerated by uniquely engineered firearms. Normal rounds have little effect on Marked Ones with enhanced resistance."
Zygrok continued his mindless assault, bashing Clara's head against the hard floor. Blood streamed from her nose and forehead, her vision blurring. *Tck… at this rate… I'll pass out. I can't afford to… I'm sorry, Mr. Kran… I'm weak…*
A memory surfaced, cutting through the pain.
**Flashback: One year ago, on a hill overlooking the Cryoharan coast**
"A martial artist using the Taijutsu style of Tsuyohara, huh? You'd fit in perfectly there," a shrouded figure said. His hair was tied back, the tail flowing in the wind. He wore a black kimono with bandages wrapped around his wrists.
Clara stood before him, respectful yet focused. "You're from there, aren't you? Tell me, do you think fate would ever let me step foot in Tsuyohara? The land of ink and steel?"
The figure let out a soft chuckle, his hand resting on the sheathed sword at his side. "Fate, huh? I don't believe in that stuff. And I've little right to answer your questions. But if you want to know—don't worry about fate. Just keep going. Carve your own path with those fists of yours, and you'll find your way. Tsuyohara stands somewhere to the east, a land of pink petals, texts of ink, blades of steel, and eternal tradition. You'll find it… unless you give up like a coward." With that, he turned and walked away.
**Back to the present**
Clara gritted her teeth. *That's right. A true warrior never falters just because they've been overwhelmed. A true warrior refuses fate and carves their own path.*
With a surge of will, she gripped Zygrok's massive arm and, using his own momentum, flipped him over her shoulder. He crashed into the ground with a thunderous impact.
Starken stumbled back in hysterical surprise. "How?! HOW?! Can a skinny, frail-looking woman have that much power?!"
Clara stood, lowering the upper part of her kimono to free her movement. Her chest was wrapped in bandages. She spat blood to the side, her furious determination accelerating her Mark's potency. Her wounds began to close rapidly.
"You are barely life—a mere imitation, engineered to be unstoppable? Allow me to show you true supernatural power from a human martial artist!" she shouted.
She blitzed toward Zygrok, grabbing his extra arms and launching a kick into his chest that cracked bone. "*Moretsuna Ikari!* (Rage of the Fierce)!" she roared.
Clara became a blur of motion, striking his jaw, neck, stomach, heels, and elbows in rapid succession. Her intensity skyrocketed with each hit. A final, crushing punch to his face broke his jaw and sent him flying through a wall.
Zygrok charged again, spikes and venomous tentacles erupting from his arms. Clara focused, sensing every movement. She dodged sideways and countered with a spinning kick to his chest, the impact sending him reeling. His bones audibly cracked, wounds reopening faster than they could heal.
Nearby, Maddeline's own Mark glowed a dim green as she ejected the bullet and repaired her leg. *I've never seen her in this state. She's so much stronger.*
Clara's focus peaked. A fiery red aura enveloped her as her Passion Mark blazed. She blitzed forward. "*Waterfowl Strike*," she whispered.
She moved like a swift, gentle current, weaving through Zygrok's flailing tentacles. In one fluid motion, she delivered a focused multi-strike fist to his neck, then grabbed and snapped it with a sickening crack.
The force shattered the floor beneath them. Zygrok coughed a final spray of blood and fell, lifeless and defeated.