Chapter 901: The True King
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 901: The True King
Tyren paced out from the darkness.
He was a towering figure, his muscles corded and massive. Standing at a full two and a half meters tall, he possessed a feral aura that seemed woven into his very bones. He looked like a terrifying behemoth awakening from its slumber, stepping out of its lair and into its personal hunting ground.
A fine mist of rain continued to fall. The rhythmic, theatrical introduction by the tailor shop owner failed to heat up the atmosphere like a stage play; instead, it only made the air feel colder.
Yes, cold.
As the man slowly approached, though the environment remained unchanged, a bone-chilling dread seeped into the hearts of everyone present.
This was the natural pressure exerted by the man known as the Behemoth!
"Ah... it's Mr. Tyren..."
"I didn't expect him to come in person..."
"How terrifying..."
The people who had followed the tailor shop owner had already tactfully retreated to the side. They stole glances at this legendary figure with eyes full of either adoration or primal fear. These thugs, who were usually lawless and ruthless enough to prey on three-year-old girls or eighty-year-old grandmothers, were now as well-behaved as harmless cubs, terrified of becoming the Behemoth’s next meal.
"The Porsis Behemoth? Tavillan's Blood Food Devil?"
Bruce looked stunned. He stood frozen, muttering the titles over and over as if completely paralyzed by the man’s reputation and overwhelming presence.
Had the thick night not veiled half of his face, the terror and cowardice written there would surely have been impossible to hide.
"That’s right. I am the Porsis Behemoth, Tyren."
Tyren silently sized up the Slav before him, not even bothering to intentionally project his aura.
He considered himself a gentle soul most of the time, despite his occasional bouts of violence. At the very least, unlike other territorial beasts, he was merciful enough to grant his prey a moment to utter their last words before he devoured them whole.
This was a manifestation of absolute confidence in his own strength. Before a true apex predator, a few extra moments for a final testament changed nothing.
"Outlander, do not be afraid. Those redundant titles are merely misunderstandings by outsiders. From my perspective, I am but a mere manager of this district."
"Manager? Are you with the authorities?"
"The authorities? Of course not. However, there are places where the government’s reach cannot extend, and those places are our domain. Given your current wealth, I assume you aren't entirely ignorant of how this world works."
Tyren’s voice was deep, carrying an authority that could make one’s soul tremble.
"Indeed, this is the dark side of this city. And I am the undisputed... Dark King of this territory!"
"Dark... Dark what?" Bruce seemed unable to believe his ears.
"Do I need to repeat myself? I am... the Dark King!"
Clap! Clap! Clap!
As soon as Tyren finished speaking, a burst of enthusiastic applause erupted. The tailor shop owner and his lackeys clapped with all their might, their faces flushed red. It was as if merely offering this flattery was a supreme honor for them.
"..."
Bruce fell into silence again, remaining motionless. Only his shoulders seemed to be trembling slightly, as if he were forcibly suppressing something.
"Enough. Stop with the theatrics."
Tyren raised a hand, putting an end to the tailor’s sycophancy, which was becoming a bit much even for him. His gaze remained fixed on the Slav.
Is he really that terrified? His shoulders won't stop shaking.
Tyren shook his head with disdain. This Slav certainly had some skill, but that was all. A Third-Tier Martial Artist was considered a standout in this area, but to Tyren, it was nowhere near enough.
After all, he was the legendary and incredibly powerful... Fourth-Tier Martial Artist!
"Alright, enough talk. If you have any last words, speak them quickly. I don't like leaving loose ends. If you are willing to hand over your assets voluntarily, I can grant you a painless death," Tyren said.
"..."
"Hmm? Nothing to say? You only have one chance for a final request and one chance to seek a quick death. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"..."
"Hmph, still silent? Have you been scared witless? Can't even speak?"
"..."
"How foolish."
Seeing the Slav remain stubbornly silent, Tyren let out a contemptuous sneer.
They said Slavs were all hot-headed fools. He had thought this man might be different since he’d managed to become a nouveau riche, but in the end, he was just like the rest.
Ridiculous. Did he really think Tyren’s threats... were just threats?
"This guy is finished..."
Sensing the Porsis Behemoth’s killing intent, the tailor shrunk his neck and retreated to the side with his men.
As Tyren’s subordinate, he knew exactly what kind of master he served!
The title "Porsis Behemoth" didn't just come from his size; it came from the fact that this "gentle" man’s favorite pastime was acting like a true beast—tearing his targets apart alive with his bare hands!
The tailor had seen Tyren rip people asunder more than once over the slightest disagreement. Each time, it left a massive shadow on his "tender" forty-year-old heart.
And now, was that bloody scene about to play out again?
"Outlander, you will regret your stupidity!"
Tyren strode forward. Despite his massive frame, his speed was incredible. To the tailor, it was a mere blur before Tyren was standing directly in front of the Slav, his hands gripping the man’s shoulders.
This movement... he was definitely going to...
"Still not talking?"
Tyren looked down, but because of the Slav’s overly tall top hat, he couldn't see the man’s face clearly.
But to have no reaction even when he was this close—he must be paralyzed with fear.
"Fine. Regardless, once I rip your shoulders open and expose your ribs and organs, you’ll find your voice soon enough."
Tyren’s fingers suddenly clamped down. His muscles bulged like giant pythons, causing the evil ghost tattoo on his chest to stretch its maw wide as if to swallow the world.
"Here it comes! The Porsis Behemoth!"
The tailor covered his eyes, unwilling to witness the gore. He only heard Tyren let out a muffled, guttural roar.
"Hah!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
The air suddenly went still. Only the sound of the light rain could be heard.
The tailor, eyes covered, waited tensely. He was afraid that if he looked away for just a second, he’d catch a glimpse of the carnage and lose his appetite for days.
But... as the seconds ticked by, a sense of confusion dawned on him.
Strange.
What happened after that "Hah!"?
Was the Slav torn apart?
Where was the sound of tearing flesh? The snapping of bones? The Slav’s agonizing screams?
Why was there nothing? Why was it so quiet?
Driven by incomprehensible confusion, the tailor finally summoned the courage to peek through a gap in his fingers.
And then, he saw...
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing had happened.
The Behemoth, Tyren, was still holding the Slav’s shoulders. His muscles were bulged in a terrifying display of power, the veins beneath his skin throbbing like a nest of snakes...
But the Slav named Bruce stood as still as a mountain.
"What... what’s going on?"
The tailor stammered, "Lord Tyren... what... what are you playing at? Just finish him off. The night patrols have been strict lately. If the Security Team shows up, it’ll be a hassle, even if we aren't afraid of them...
Lord Tyren?"
Tyren didn't respond. He was staring fixedly at the Slav who, just seconds ago, had been beneath his notice.
After a few seconds of silence, his muscles bulged even further. Fighting Spirit erupted from him, and his height instantly surged past three meters!
"Hah!"
"..."
"Hah!"
"..."
"Hah!"
"..."
His muscles expanded again. This time, the veins on Tyren’s forehead looked ready to burst!
"Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!"
The low roars, like those of a wild beast, echoed through the deep night. Each shout contained immense power; if an ordinary person were too close, the sheer force of the sound would have ruptured their internal organs.
Yet, the Slav nouveau riche named Bruce didn't even have a wrinkle in his clothes move.
Only when Tyren’s throat was nearly hoarse from roaring did Bruce finally seem to notice the Behemoth’s actions. He tilted his head slightly, a look of mild confusion appearing on his sophisticated face.
"Hmm? Did you say something just now?"
"..."
"Ah, my apologies. I was busy laughing at what you said earlier... that bit about being the 'Dark King' or whatever. I wasn't listening to anything after that."
Bruce raised a hand, pressing two fingers lightly against Tyren’s wrist. His expression was gentle, his smile seemingly harmless.
"Could you please repeat yourself, Mr. Behemoth?"
"..."
Tyren’s pupils quivered; his heart hammered against his ribs.
The moment he realized something was wrong—or rather, the moment he finally confirmed it—he wanted to pull away and flee. But those two fingers pressing down felt like a mountain pinning him in place.
The Fourth-Tier strength he was so proud of felt as weak as a child’s... no, the gap was even wider than that between a child and an adult.
It was like the difference between a blind, ignorant insect... and a true behemoth!
"Ah!"
The tailor snapped out of his shock, finally understanding the reality of the scene. He reacted quickly, turning to flee.
But he had only taken two steps when a thread-thin arc of light flashed past him.
The tailor collapsed to the ground, feeling a sudden warmth on his cheek. He looked down blankly and saw one of his hands... disintegrating, section by section, in a bizarre, slow-motion display.
"One hand, five hundred thousand."
He heard the Slav’s voice:
"The price of greed."
"AAAAAAAHHHH!"
The tailor rolled on the ground in agony, clutching the stump of his arm that could never be reattached. On the other side, Tyren’s expression of pain was no less than the tailor’s.
He stared at the smiling Slav, feeling his bones and muscles screaming. His soul and body were being subjected to a searing agony, as if he were about to be torn apart at any second.
"You..."
Tyren realized he had provoked someone he shouldn't have. He finally understood that he was the fish that had been hooked.
"Who... who are you?"
"Who am I? That’s a bit repetitive. I already told you my name, didn't I?"
"No... I mean..."
"Ah, are you asking about my other names? I have those. In another place very similar to this one, many people prefer to call me by a rather trivial nickname—"
Bruce used his other hand to adjust his top hat and smiled peacefully.
"The 【Dark Emperor】."