Royal Guards, huh..."

He looked up slowly.

"Believe me when I say this—it's rare to see such a daring motherfucker in the land of nowhere."

The fighting going around the place stopped abruptly. Those who were engaging didn't dare to move due to fear of having their swords sliced.

Trevor's eyes trembled as he turned his head back in a stiff, robotic motion.

His heart pounded in shock and his vision locked onto the masked, cloaked man—the same man he had spoken to earlier with only mild curiosity.

Back then, the man felt… average. He seems sharp and a bit dangerous but not like someone who could create such a huge shaking to the core.

Now, though, the very air around him has changed.

An invisible pressure weighed down on everyone. The man's presence was like a mountain crushing down on their chests. Trevor's breath hitched. His knees almost buckled.

This guy wasn't normal. He was strong—scarily strong.

The burly man, still standing tall with blood on his armor and his spear gripped tight, stared at the newcomer. Despite the injuries and the blast that had thrown half his men to the wind, he didn't back down. His jaw clenched.

He sneered, forcing a bravado that even he didn't believe in trying to exert his influence.

"Who are you?" he barked, muscles tensed, sweat rolling down his temple.

The masked man stood still, one hand calmly resting on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked under his cloak. His voice came out calm—but cold as steel.

"It doesn't matter who I am," he said. He slowly raised his chin, eyes catching the dying embers still flickering across the battlefield. "Rather…"

His tone dipped, venom seeping into his words.

"Who the fuck are you to impersonate Royal Guards?"

A few of the mercenaries gasped.

The survivors who were still crawling out of the forest's broken edges froze.

Even the trees seemed to stop rustling for a moment.

The burly man's eyes widened slightly—but he quickly growled out a reply, lips curling with anger.

"Bullshit," he snapped. "Can't you see the insignia? It's real."

Trevor's lips twitched, a bead of cold sweat sliding down his cheek. He looked at the insignia too—squinting hard now.

Kael, guised as the cloaked swordsman, frowned under his hood. His sharp gaze dropped to the man's chest plate.

From this distance, the armor did look official. The plating was worn, but it resembled the real thing—close enough that most would never know the difference. The plating was decent—nothing a high-ranking officer would wear, but good enough for lower-tier infantry.

The horses, the weapons, the formation—all had just enough discipline to cause doubt.

'Damn it… is it really fake?' Kael thought, annoyed.

In fact, he really didn't want to engage. Killing was easy but if this group really have a connection to Prince, the same problem of man hunting would pop up again.

'FUCKK!'

'Why am I so unlucky.'

He shot a glance at Trevor, who looked back at him, startled.

Trevor gulped understanding Kael thoughts and muttered , "Yeah... it's real…"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"I've seen Royal Guard armor before… and it looks legit."

Kael's brow twitched beneath the shadow of his hood.

'This is getting troublesome,' he cursed in his head. If he was wrong, and they really were connected to the Royal Guard, he'd be dragging a hornet's nest straight onto his back.

The mercenaries and bandits around the clearing were silent now. Some leaned on weapons, others sat wounded, bleeding onto tree roots or mud-slick leaves—but all eyes were on Kael.

The burly man cracked a twisted smile.

Kael's gaze sharpened, cold and unwavering. He spoke clearly now, voice louder.

"Let's stop this farce," he said, tone cutting through the air like a blade. "And take a step back."

The burly man's grin widened. He raised his chin, mocking, and spoke in a slow, deliberate drawl.

"And what if I don't?"

Kael didn't blink.

"You won't," he replied.

Then, with a slow, smooth motion—he drew his sword.

Shhhhiiing.

The blade slid from the scabbard with a high, clear note—like a scream of steel—and at that moment, something in the air snapped.

Killing intent exploded from the weapon like a storm.

A heavy, sharp pressure blasted outward, chilling everyone to the bone. The temperature seemed to drop. Leaves fluttered down. Even the wounded crawled back, away from the glow of the blade.

Trevor stumbled, grabbing the side of a broken cart, mouth dry.

The mercenary leader's hands clenched as his instincts screamed at him to run.

The burly man's cocky expression flickered. His grip on the spear tightened. Sweat beaded on his brow.

'What the hell is this aura…' he thought, biting the inside of his cheek to stay focused. 'This guy... he's dangerous. Not some village swordsman. This is the kind of freak you hear stories about.'

Behind Kael, strong killing ingent crackled around the shattered cart.

Everyone started to hallucinate that being in the battlefield which was scorched, broken, painted in blood and ash.

And at the center stood a man cloaked in shadow, his sword humming with restrained violence.

The forest didn't breathe.

Everything had gone still as if something darker, something colder had just stepped into the ring.

Kael's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his body leaning slightly forward, ready to strike. His aura flared as the tension thickened in the air. But just as he was about to enter full combat mode, something unexpected happened.

A sharp chill crawled up his spine.

He froze.

His instincts screamed. An oppressive force was sweeping toward them, fast and sharp like a lance through fog.

Then it came.

BOOOOOM!

A deafening crash erupted above as a figure landed heavily atop the towering tree at the edge of the clearing. The impact shook the entire canopy, sending birds fleeing in a panicked frenzy. Leaves cascaded down like rain, fluttering to the ground, carried by the aftershock of the blast.

Everyone wake up from the dazed state as if struck with a powerful slap waking them up from their dreams.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Kael's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. Trevor, pale as a ghost, instinctively stepped back. The mercenary leader's knees buckled slightly. The bandits flinched, exchanging nervous glances. A few of them dropped their weapons altogether.

Pressure.

A crushing weight filled the air. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing their lungs. The presence was suffocating, far beyond anything Kael had ever sensed before. The aura bore down on them like a mountain. This wasn't just strength. This was dominance.

All eyes slowly lifted while Kael clicked his tongue.

'Is it reinforcement?'