The Trap Triggered

Bennett realized it was an ambush just as he was nearing the rendezvous point.

Violet’s silhouette had come into view through the wide glass facade of the café. Out of pure professional habit, he triggered Detection. Up to that point, he had suspected nothing. The real issue surfaced the moment the skill took effect.

There was nothing outwardly strange about Violet's presence, but the space enclosing her felt entirely wrong.

What is this?

The effective radius of his Detection had shriveled to a fraction of its normal scope.

Having honed his senses through countless battles, Bennett knew from instinct alone how far his perception should spread for a given measure of psionic energy. Puzzled, he cast Detection a second time—this time channeling his otherworldly power without holding back.

Hmph.

A fleeting wave of exhaustion washed over him from the sudden expenditure, but his sensory sphere instantly flared outward. The first anomaly he caught was an unnatural density of mana blanketing the entire block. Mana naturally lingered in the atmosphere, gathering and dissipating under various ambient conditions, but even accounting for environmental quirks, this concentration was absurdly thick. It was so dense that a spell construct was practically already primed and waiting.

His psionic energy surged outward in a ripple, washing clean the interfering mana weave. In an instant, the sensory distortion unraveling his awareness snapped back to normal.

...!

A torrent of clarity flooded his mind. Details that had seemed subtly out of place now presented themselves with crystal certainty.

The woman seated with her back to the window was not Violet. Furthermore, the surrounding pedestrians, the street merchants, and every loiterer in the area were combatants trained in mana manipulation. Concealed blades and bludgeons were tucked beneath every coat and tunic.

Worse still, mages were stationed on standby just beyond the café’s perimeter. Unlike standard melee combatants, mages gathered mana into distinct, condensed reservoirs, making them trivial to isolate once his perception was unclouded. Yet what troubled Bennett most was the third floor of the brick building he had passed moments earlier. A dense cluster of high-tier fighters, including several elite-class figures, sat waiting within. Given that it was the tallest structure in the immediate vicinity, it was undoubtedly their tactical command post.

Every piece of evidence converged on a single reality.

It's a trap.

Bennett shifted his gaze toward the guard leading the way ahead of him. Though he had uncovered the ambush, he could not yet ascertain whether this guide was an unwitting pawn or an enemy conspirator. The man radiated neither hostility nor bloodlust.

If he gets in the way, I take him down. If he doesn't, I leave him be.

Recognizing that battle was seconds away, Bennett immediately allocated all of his unspent stat points.

The instant his Strength crossed the threshold of fifty, a raw, explosive vitality coursed through his veins. It was reminiscent of when his Agility had broken past fifty, yet distinct in its sheer weight. A sensation took hold as though he could crush iron with his bare grip, accompanied by a pressurized tension humming beneath his flesh.

Crack!

The sudden influx of physical force drove his foot deep into the pavement. The solid, well-laid stone flagstones gave way, indenting beneath his boot heel. Bennett immediately reigned in his power and normalized his stride, though the crushed stone imprint remained behind him.

Slipping his hand beneath his coat, his fingers brushed against the familiar, cold contour of the Shooting Star. Tracing the receiver down to the magazine housing, he verified that it was fitted not with standard quarry bolts, but with enchanted magic-tipped ammunition.

Without breaking his walking cadence, Bennett raised the rapid-fire repeating crossbow and aligned the sights with the third-floor window of the brick building.

Command first.

A bolt hissed through the open windowframe and detonated violently inside.

BOOM!

The concussive blast shattered the windowpanes into glittering dust, vomiting an eruption of plaster, splintered timber, and smoke into the street below. Bennett did not pause. He emptied the remaining fourteen rounds in a continuous, deafening drumbeat of fire, slamming fourteen miniature artillery shells into the command nest before the occupants could even register the threat.

KABOOM! CRASH! THUNDER!

The masonry had withstood the initial blast, but it crumbled under the onslaught of fourteen consecutive elemental detonations. The outer walls blew outward as fire and frost tore through the brickwork in alternating waves. Stripped of its structural supports, the roof collapsed in on itself, wiping the third floor off the map in a heap of smoking ruin.

"Wh-what the hell?!"

Thrust into sheer disarray by the preemptive strike, the undercover operatives scrambled in panic. Bennett granted them not a single heartbeat to recover.

Swapping magazines with practiced fluidity, he swiveled the crossbow toward the alleyway where the mages lay in wait.

Fwoosh—BANG!

The mages had been weaving the formula for a containment barrier, but their incantations were far too sluggish to outpace the repeating crossbow’s mechanical firing rate. Before the spell circles could complete their rotations, elemental payloads blossomed amidst their ranks, tearing through robes and flesh alike.

"Aaargh!"

"Sh-Shield—gack!"

His next target was the café itself.

The assassin impersonating Violet and the strike team lurking in the dining area were engulfed by cascading explosions before they could even draw their steel. While not leveled as thoroughly as the command post, the café’s ground floor was reduced to splintered wreckage and churning flames in seconds.

A decent start.

Stowing the crossbow, Bennett drew his chainsword.

Shhhk!

The interlocking black blade segments deployed along the central spine with a crisp metallic hiss, bathed in the faint, ominous glow of sunset-colored psionic light.

Slash.

The neck of a man disguised as a passing pedestrian parted cleanly, dropping him lifeless to the stone floor.

Seeing their plan shattered, the rest of the disguised strike force abandoned all pretense. A laborer in threadbare clothes who had been hauling crates, a middle-aged woman tending a roadside fruit stall, and several seemingly innocent pedestrians traveling in small groups all drew concealed blades and converged on him at once. Their footwork was orderly and precise, and the cold edge to their bladecraft betrayed extensive, professional military drilling.

Bennett brought forth the technique he had recently mastered.

A dazzling, lightning-fast sword sequence unfolded, trailing sharp afterimages through the dust. The sheer velocity of Bennett's swordsmanship was beyond anything these hardened combatants could match. By the time their eyes registered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tip of his weapon, cold steel had already cored through their chests. Parrying was an exercise in futility; dodging was out of the question.

A handful of veteran fighters attempted to hold their ground, but their resistance made no difference.

Wuuuung...

A bizarre, eerie shriek began vibrating through the air, gnawing directly at the attackers' eardrums. Already disoriented by the blinding speed of his strikes, the invasive sound drilled into their skulls, splintering what little concentration they had left. Clamping hands over their ears offered no respite—the dissonance resonated straight into the marrow of their brains.

"Damn it... what the hell is this bastard doing?!"

It was a technique crafted to sap the physical strength of anyone who heard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it, gutting their resolve to fight from the inside out.

With every enemy he felled, his psionic energy climbed higher.

This was the precise reason Bennett preferred the chainsword over the crossbow in close-quarters melee. When facing elite masters, he needed to throw every tool in his arsenal into the fray, but mere mana practitioners could be harvested systematically without risk.

As Bennett reaped his foes with mechanical detachment, a sudden instinct made him flinch.

CRACK!

A savage, searing arc cleaved through the air from the side. The blade carried an aura burning with intense azure fire. It was undeniably genuine Aura.

"First that bitch, now this prick..."

A burly man emerged from the smoke and rubble. Though his clothes were tattered and soot-stained, he appeared entirely uninjured.

"You certainly know how to use that head of yours."

Bennett glanced down at the fresh gash across his arm. He had pulled his torso back the moment he sensed the strike, yet the cutting force of that blue blade had still managed to graze him. The sharpness of this knight's aura was noticeably higher than that of the elite knight he had faced at the factory.

"My name is Carlson. I stand here on behalf of the Drake Family. Who the hell are you?"

"..."

Carlson leveled a massive greatsword squarely at his chest, but Bennett met the challenge with dead silence. He had to keep his identity buried until the bitter end—not merely for his own survival, but to shield Bella from the crosshairs of Dungeon City's ruling houses.

"Wielding a rapid-fire repeating crossbow like that... you're clearly no back-alley vagrant. Who backed you? The Starfall Family? House Beryl? Or could it be..."

Carlson probed for a reaction, but Bennett had no intention of playing into his words.

Th-th-thump!

Without warning, Bennett unleashed a three-round burst from the Shooting Star and charged forward behind the projectiles.

"Ha!"

Swerving slightly to slip past the armor-piercing bolts, Carlson brought his greatsword around in a wide, sweeping cleave. A terrifying crescent of azure flames cut through the space between them, as though scorching the very air.

Dropping his stance low, Bennett slid underneath the arc. Still holding the crossbow in one hand, he squeezed the trigger point-blank.

Carlson snapped his greatsword back to deflect the incoming volley. Steel struck steel with a deafening screech, showering both men in white-hot sparks and metal fragments. Though heat seared Bennett's cheek, he ignored the sting and drove straight into the knight’s guard.

Bennett's legs coiled violently around Carlson’s lower body like an iron vice. Caught off guard by a grappling maneuver he had never encountered in knightly combat, Carlson recoiled, attempting to leap backward to shake him off. He had grasped the ranger's intention in that split second, but Bennett was faster. Before the knight could disengage, Bennett had already anchored himself to his lower half.

Carlson gritted his teeth, veins bulging ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠along his neck as he flexed every muscle to crush Bennett under his sheer mass. Immense crushing pressure bore down on Bennett’s frame, but the ranger channeled his newly augmented Strength without flinching.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Carlson's eyes flared wide.

Bennett did not possess an excessively muscular build, yet the raw, unyielding power radiating from his grip stood toe-to-toe with Carlson's own.

"What kind of freak—?!"

Their muscles locked in a brief, agonizing contest of force. Torquing his upper body with violent leverage, Bennett disrupted the knight's center of gravity. It was a mechanical shift of balance that even Carlson’s conditioned frame could not resist. With a heavy thud, the knight was forced down onto one knee.

"Damn it!"

Carlson swung his greatsword in a desperate arc, but the compromised angle stripped the heavy blade of its lethal momentum. Dodging the clumsy slash with a tilt of his head, Bennett brought the muzzle of the Shooting Star right against the back of Carlson’s exposed knee joint.

Recognizing the mortal threat, Carlson poured a surge of blue aura into his lower leg plating—

THUNK!

The psionic-infused bolt tore through both the aura barrier and the steel greave without hesitation, burying itself into bone. Before Carlson could even process the agony, the whirring teeth of Bennett's chainsword were already plunging toward the side of his neck.

"Hraaaagh!"

Twisting his torso frantically, Carlson managed to dodge the main edge of the blade, but his face twisted in torment. Though he had evaded instant decapitation, the chainsword tore through the heavy gorget protecting his collarbone. Steel tore like parchment, and the flesh underneath was shredded open. Had he been a fraction of a second slower, his entire shoulder would have been sheared off.

Discarding his greatsword, Carlson lunged forward with both gauntleted hands to seize Bennett by the throat.

In that exact instant, a sharp pulse of mana radiated from the ring on the knight’s finger. Scenting danger, Bennett kicked off the ground and threw himself backward.

SKRRRRR!

A crescent-shaped gale blade erupted from the enchanted ring, carving through the empty space where Bennett's skull had rested a microsecond before. Bennett's cap was shredded into airborne ribbons. Several locks of hair fluttered away, and a shallow laceration opened across his cheekbone. Crimson welled up, but the bleeding halted almost instantly as his passive recovery kicked in.

Carlson scrambled to snatch his fallen greatsword from the cobbles, but Bennett was already upon him.

CLANG! CLANG!

Crossbow bolts hammered the flat of the heavy blade in rapid succession. The penetrating tips drove deep fractures through the reinforced steel, webbing across its length like shattered glass. The violent kinetic transfer wrenched the hilt from Carlson's grip, throwing his arm wide and leaving his torso entirely defenseless.

Bennett brought the chainsword down with merciless precision.

Baring his teeth in a wild grimace, Carlson whipped a hidden dagger from his belt and hurled it toward Bennett's face. It did nothing to stall the chainsword's descent.

SHRRRRRK!

The sunset-tinted blade cleaved through the flaming azure aura and bit deep into the knight's armor. A crimson line traced its way from the bridge of Carlson's brow, down his nose, across his neck, and deep through the center of his sternum. The humming edge ground to a halt only after carving past the solar plexus.

Carlson remained frozen, his eyes wide and bloodshot in disbelief.

Squelch—!

A fountain of dark gore erupted from his bisected chest as his body slumped forward.

Embedded in the shattered sternum, the chainsword drank greedily of the residual aura clinging to Carlson's corpse. The dying blue flame dissolved into wisps of vapor, while the weapon’s sunset radiance pulsed with voracious satisfaction.

"Sir Carlson!"

"He killed Sir Carlson!"

A contingent of Drake Family knights who had clawed their way out from the collapsed third floor arrived on the scene, their expressions turning from fury to absolute horror. Though every one of them was an elite-class knight, their ranks were battered and limping from the preliminary explosion.

Bennett let the empty crossbow fall against its sling and took the chainsword in a two-handed grip.

Flash Sprint.

Closing the distance in an instant, he flickered past the foremost knight, cleanly severing the man’s throat before his blade could even be raised.

His movements were unpredictable, fluid, and terrifyingly swift. Combined with the psychic shriek drilling through their temples, even the seasoned elite-class knights broke down under the onslaught.

Beyond the knights, dozens of foot soldiers mobilized by the Drake Family swarmed the street. Realizing they were hopelessly outmatched in direct combat, the surviving elite knights attempted to use these common troops as meat shields, looking for an opening to counterattack.

Bennett remained fixated on the knights. Even as opportunistic strikes from surrounding foot soldiers grazed his coat and nicked his skin, he ignored the superficial cuts and pursued the elite-class targets with ruthless single-mindedness.

"Damn you! Fine, let's see who dies first!"

Driven mad by the relentless hunt, one of the cornered elite knights halted his retreat and swung with all his might, but the clash yielded the same inevitable end.

"Th-this is insane... One man against all of us?! This is madness! I'm getting out of here!"

The last surviving elite knight completely lost his nerve and turned tail to flee. Bennett brought up the Shooting Star with one hand and targeted the back of the runner's helm.

Thump.

"Ghk..."

The bolt punched straight through the metal shell, dropping the knight face-first onto the pavement.

Standing amidst the corpses of multiple elite knights and a small army of retainers, Bennett was drenched head to toe in viscera. Yet there was no trace of exhaustion or hesitation in his posture. He merely shifted his gaze toward the remaining regular troops, his eyes chillingly calm behind his mask.

Only then did the soldiers realize the monumental scale of their mistake.

The quicker thinkers among them began inching backward into the alleys. Deserting meant the Drake Family would eventually hunt them down, but that was an uncertain fate tomorrow; standing here meant guaranteed slaughter today.

Bennett had no interest in their plight.

Th-th-thump!

He planted bolts into the skulls of those who ran, and met those desperate enough to charge him with the screaming edge of his chainsword. Though a few managed to land glancing blows in the chaos, his Regeneration skill sealed each cut as fast as it opened, keeping the damage utterly inconsequential.

"Whew..."

Catching his breath, Bennett surveyed the carnage.

The thoroughfare, bustling with crowds only minutes ago, was transformed into an open-air charnel house. The staging grounds and observation nests prepared by the Drake Family had been blown apart by magic, spewing thick black smoke and licking flames into the sky. Streams of blood had converged across the cracked stones, pooling into a red lake that reeked of copper and burning flesh.

Bennett had not escaped entirely unscathed. Taking on an army of this size in direct confrontation without sustaining injury was an impossibility. Yet thanks to his high-tier Regeneration, not a single wound was fatal; while it was not instant divine healing, it clotted every puncture and stabilized his internal bleeding with astonishing speed.

Touching his face, he ensured his cloth mask remained firmly in place despite being soaked in crimson, then turned on his heel.

His business with the Drake Family's ambush was concluded, but there remained one more debt to settle.

Observing the carnage from the shadows of an alleyway far down the street, a middle-aged man let out a trembling sigh.

Branded onto the back of his fist was a lifelike tattoo of a pair of lips. It looked so unnervingly real that one might expect it to start speaking at any moment.

"We're pulling out."

"Pardon?"

His subordinates blinked in shock.

"Pull out? But Boss, That Person clearly ordered us to—"

The man’s face twisted into an ugly grimace as he rounded on them, his voice dropping into a harsh, furious whisper.

"Are you bastards completely out of your minds?! That monster is the one person you never make an enemy of! Do you have any idea how many corpses he left behind the last time people crossed him?!"

"...Do you know him, Boss?"

"I couldn't tell who it was at first, but looking at him now, it’s him. When the fuck did that lunatic enter the Dungeon City? Damn it all... I fled all the way here just to get away from him, and now he shows up on my doorstep? And why the hell is he even stronger than before?! Fuck, back then he looked like an absolute nobody, but he just wouldn't fucking die!"

Muttering frantically under his breath, he turned back to his men with absolute finality in his eyes.

"Listen to me carefully. Whether inside a dungeon or out on the city streets, if you cross paths with that bastard, you turn around and run. Anyone who tries to screw him over ends up hunted down to the very root of their bloodline."

"B-but the Priest is going to demand answers..."

"Once the Priest hears what kind of freak we're dealing with, he'll thank me for running."

Shivering in visceral terror, the middle-aged man broke into a brisk, undignified jog.

"B-Boss! Wait for us!"