Chapter 38
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: Where Are Your Allies?
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Chwaaak!
'Huh? That many throwing knives? Why toss them into the air like that? Is he nuts?'
The slave hunter who first spotted Johann's change furrowed his brow.
He couldn't make sense of it—Johann suddenly scattering a dozen throwing knives into empty air for no reason at all.
That instant.
Spit.
"Wha... ? Why's my body..."
A stinging pain hit, and the slave hunter watched his own headless corpse stagger forward before collapsing in a heap.
But that was just the start.
Shushushushushushushush!
"Kuhk!"
"Uwaak!"
"What the hell is this?"
"Can't see a damn thing..."
Chwachawachwa!
The dozen throwing knives Johann had flung sparked to life, streaking through the air like willful living beasts at blinding speed.
Twice the speed of sound, no less!
By the time the sonic boom whooshed past their ears, necks were already severed or hearts run through.
Dozens of trailing slave hunters—late to the party but running right alongside Johann—crumpled like fallen leaves in autumn, lifeless.
Most never even knew what hit them, greedy grins frozen on their dead faces.
"St-stop!"
"What the fuck is that guy? Crazy bastard?"
"You worried about that now, moron?!"
The slave hunters nearby or lagging behind halted, eyes locked warily on Johann.
Meanwhile, Johann checked his knives returning to his side and let out a disappointed sigh.
"Haven't used 'em in ages—control's a mess. Range feels tighter, power's down a notch too. Still, not bad. Nice to have so many volunteers sticking around for practice."
"That psycho..."
"All rush him! It's just one guy!"
"Kill the bastard!"
The nearest ones bared their killing intent and charged.
Too much greed for elven gold to turn tail now.
They pictured fat payouts in their heads, smothering the fear.
But...
Spit! Chwaaak...!
"......!"
"Wh-what the..."
Johann hadn't twitched a finger from his spot, as far as they could tell.
Half the dozen knives hovering over his head—crackling blue lightning—had simply vanished.
That was it.
And yet...
"Cough!"
Puhak!
The ten charging slave hunters pitched forward.
Some geysered blood from hacked necks; others oozed it from gutted hearts.
Those five knives, fresh from claiming ten souls, zipped back to their master overhead like nothing happened, hunting next.
"Little more practice and I'll have the feel back... Hey, what're you waiting for? Come on already—head's spinning here."
"Fuck this shit! You lot gonna quit here?!"
"Don't trickle in like pussies—all swarm him!"
"R-right! Numbers'll crush him!"
Their bravery? Born of blissful ignorance about Lightning Mana—blessing or curse, who knew.
The remaining three hundred-odd, greed-glazed eyes, charged Johann without a second thought.
"Yeah, that's the spirit. But here's the thing..."
Pajijik, pajik!
That instant, the knives' electric discharge doubled—at least.
"Who said numbers win?"
Shuwaang!
The dozen blades blasted outward in every direction, ripping through slave hunters at invisible speeds once more.
"Kraaak!"
"Block it!"
"Fuck, block what you can't even see?!"
"R-run..."
Seokeok!
Blood sprays, guts spilling, limbs flying—screams shattered the air, but only for moments...
"That's a monster..."
Puk! Thud...
In the end, Johann stood alone amid the survivors—or lack thereof.
"Alright, this spot's cleared."
Combat start to now: barely three minutes.
Yet over a hundred slave hunter corpses sprawled grotesquely around him.
Johann shifted his gaze.
That direction: the vanguard pack, too fixated on nabbing elves to care about rear screams.
"Fine, rest are a pain, but time to hunt 'em down."
Bang! Pajijik!
Johann and his dozen throwing knives streaked off, Lightning Mana tails streaming, closing on the leaders at terrifying velocity.
Kwang!
Johann pulled mana deep, shattering the air barrier—his shadow stretched long.
Pajijik, pajik!
Yet through the elf forest's tangled thickets, not a single tree clipped him.
Courtesy of Lightning Mana overclocking his neural pathways beyond limits.
'Only catch: killer headache after, like I'd wanna bash my own skull.'
Risk as real as the payoff.
He easily locked onto the vanguard's tail end.
'Gotcha!'
The vanguard had prepped for battle, waiting on the "enemy."
Not Johann specifically—the screams from behind? They figured elven guards counterattacking.
So blood-and-guts-drenched Johann popping up left them dumbfounded.
"Who's that prick? New face? Some rookie?"
"That guy's..."
"Huh? Marco, you know him?"
Marco recognized him, smirked, nodded.
"Cocky-ass rookie. Was gonna smack him down soon anyway... Where's everyone else? Why just him chasing?"
"No way the others all got..."
That instant.
Johann's flying dozen knives—still hungry—rocketed toward fresh meat at horror speeds.
Blink: limbs hacked, torsos ventilated, heads rolling, blood geysers and gut confetti.
Hell's gates flung wide.
Thaeaak!
Bloodthirsty wingbeats chased the carnage.
Sound trailed way behind at double speed.
"Wh-what the fuck just..."
Marco's eyes quaked wide.
His chatty buddy? Philtrum neatly sliced skyward.
Far from over.
"Uwaaaak!"
"My leg! My fucking leg...!"
"Why out of nowhere..."
Rookies reeled from the "traitor" newbie's betrayal; veterans bellowed.
"Quit sniveling—grab weapons! Mad dog or long con, doesn't matter. Kill him or we're meat!"
"Drop that psycho!"
Veterans lunged; rookies swapped shock for fury, mobbing Johann.
'Shame. Thunder Hornets pack a punch, but mana gluttons.'
Mana conservation: Johann stowed the returnees, drew hip-sheath swords—one per hand, dual grip.
Vanguard vet saw it, yelled back to the pack.
"Looks like no more of that freaky shit! No fear—charge!"
Slave hunters' lips curled smug.
Vets were dead certain: sans Thunder Hornets, numbers crushed one man easy.
Wishful thinking, debunked fast.
Pajijik! Spot!
"Huh?"
Seokeok!
First charger bugged eyes—Johann blinked out of sight.
Then glimpsed his own headless flop forward.
Pajijik, pajik!
Not alone. Johann's blue sparks bloomed; hunters' red blood flowered like petals.
"Damn it, snag his feet at least!"
"Fuck! Catch what you can't see?!"
"Shut up and focus, idiots!"
"Kraaak...!"
Proof of Johann? Fading blue lightning trails. No eyes tracked him proper.
"There he..."
Chwachawa!
"Gone again!"
"Dead's hit!"
"Shit, Wallis dropped blind!"
Spot him? Slaughters three nearby, sparks out—vanish.
Thaeaak! Spit... Chwaaak!
Mix in a Hornet or two? Primordial terror froze limbs.
First sweep? Pure psych warfare setup.
Johann reaped more, spent less.
'Blocked...!'
Seokeok!
Lucky parry? Iron blades bounced Lightning Aura harmless.
Pudding-sliced torsos, ghost away—pure hellscape battlefield.
Thought lions vs. fawns? Lids flipped: sheep to rabid wolf.
"Ma-Marco! Bolting?"
"Think I signed up for that monster? Move your asses—run!"
Marco's crew bolted first; greed-blind rest clocked it, scampered.
Life on gold? Sure. On broke victory? Pass.
But...
"Who said run's on the table?"
Johann snagged bow and quiver off a bisected corpse's back, nocked up.
Pajijik! Thaeak!
Lightning-laced arrow launched—horrific straight-line doom to prey.
Trees? Rocks? Shredded. Targets? Obliterated...
Pukpukpukpuk!
Johann unleashed—arrows magnet-clumped, dumping foursomes in sync.
"Marco! We're fucked—all dead!"
"Shut it—run don't yap..."
Pajijik!
Marco's squad skidded dead stop.
A lightning streak crashed down before them.
Precisely: the man who rode it in.