Chapter 40: The Outlaw (4)

Gen stood motionless in the grand hall, his body clad in black armor like a human-shaped block of steel. He didn’t need to move; his very existence there was like a silent boulder blocking the flow of a river.
Heavy, ragged breaths and faint hisses came from the guards scattered across the hall. Their panicked eyes darted back and forth — from George, cold and imposing, to the man in black armor, indifferent and shrouded in mystery.
“So that means… the one I must deal with includes you as well.”
Gen spoke, then began walking forward at a slow, deliberate pace. He lowered his massive warhammer, the monstrous head scraping across the stone floor. Each step dragged a screeching, grating sound that echoed across the hall, like a blade clawing across a gravestone.
“Arrogant. You dare say such things before me? Fine then… Let’s see how long a lone man like you can endure my attacks.”
George’s calloused fingers gripped the railing one last time before letting go. His fists clenched, muscles swelling with an extra layer of bulk. Crimson veins bulged like chains coiling around his body, each pulse throbbing as if they might burst through his skin at any moment.
The soldiers stumbled back in fright, gripping their spears with trembling hands, no longer knowing which side they were supposed to defend.
Gen continued forward. He didn’t need to speed up — the pressure alone made the distance between them feel endless, as though the entire world was collapsing into a single battlefield between just two men.
Within that suffocating atmosphere, the true battle finally began.
When Gen was about ten steps away from George—
“[Eclipse Bloom].”
Mo Hamus barely uttered the words, his whisper so faint it seemed only he himself could hear it.
A wave of cold mana seeped out, spreading like a burst underground spring.
From behind George, three shadows slowly peeled out from the void. They had no solid form — only dense, writhing clouds of black smoke twisting into shifting shapes.
They lunged without a sound, tracing swift arcs around Gen. Each shadow took a direction, closing in, forming a circle like petals unfurling from a seed of darkness, casting the entire hall into gloom.
Gen lifted his hammer. No wasted motion. His arm swept across, the weapon tearing through the air with a shriek sharp enough to crush anything in its path.
BOOM!
One shadow exploded on contact. The impact thundered like an earthquake. Black smoke burst out in a muffled detonation, the shockwave throwing nearby guards to the ground. Weapons clattered away, screams vanished into the suffocating haze.
Gen staggered half a step, black smog clinging to his armor like ash. But he showed no trace of alarm. With a twist of his wrist, the hammer spun in a deadly circle, its crushing weight howling through the air like thunder splitting the heavens.
“That’s all?” Gen growled, his voice rumbling up from the depths like an abyss, chilling the entire hall.
At that moment, the two remaining shadows attacked in unison.
One slithered along the floor, its flattened body snaking around his ankle and rising in an instant to his knee. The other dove straight down from above, its speed vicious like a night raven striking its prey.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two detonations erupted almost as one. Fire and smoke crisscrossed, spiraling into a violent vortex in the center of the hall. Debris scattered everywhere. Once again, the guards were hurled away, bodies slamming against walls, uniforms torn apart, blood streaking from gashes.
Their cries of pain wove together into a bloody chorus.
The scene resembled a death flower blooming at midnight — petals painted in fire, smoke, and human screams.
Mo Hamus gripped his dagger tighter, his hand trembling from the mana’s backlash, but his eyes remained icy through the veil of smoke. Deep down, only he knew this skill had yet to reveal its full terror. Once Eclipse Bloom evolved, it would become Darkshade Blossom. Whoever mastered Darkshade Blossom would be the unquestioned heir of the Mo family.
No — it was more than that. It was one of only two unique abilities of the Mo bloodline: High-Level Stealth, and Darkshade Blossom — a darkness that blooms, turning any battlefield into eternal night.
The smoke of Eclipse Bloom had not yet fully cleared when Gen’s figure began to emerge. George seized the opening, lunging forward like a beast unleashed.
“[Iron Fist]!”
His fist swelled, glowing red like heated steel, and slammed into Gen’s chestplate.
BOOM!!!
The muffled blast rang out. The raw force shoved Gen back several steps, each stomp cracking the stone floor into jagged fractures.
George didn’t let him recover. His body spun fluidly, flowing like water, delivering the next strike.
“[Whirlwind Kick]!!!”
His leg lashed out, a cyclone erupting with it, sweeping the smoke away in a single burst.
Gen was forced to twist his hammer into a guard.
CRASH!!!
The collision screamed with shrill metallic resonance, the shockwave rattling chandeliers overhead and loosening tiles from the walls.
In that chaos, Mo Hamus vanished. His form blurred into afterimages, circling like a phantom, searching for an opening.
“[Backstab]!!!”
His blade cut downward without hesitation, targeting the gap in the armor at Gen’s back.
CLANGGG!
Gen spun his entire body, borrowing the momentum from Whirlwind Kick. Tilting back, he swung the massive hammer up, knocking the dagger aside in a spray of sparks. The killing strike was deflected by mere inches.
The moment the sparks flashed, Mo Hamus flipped back, retreating swiftly like a shadow hurled away, regaining distance.
“Two against one, and this is all you can manage?” Gen’s tone was calm as ever, yet in the ears of all present, it crashed like thunder — cold, arrogant, absolute.
George roared in fury, heat surging from his body like a furnace flung open. Muscles bulged, veins stood out against skin stretched tight. His voice shook the hall like the judgment of a god:
“Arrogant fool! I will crush you!”
Facing him, Gen remained as unshaken as ever, his composure unbroken by the threat.
Whoosh—!
Instead of charging forward, he twisted his hips, hefted the hammer, and hurled it straight at George.
The air shrieked as the weapon spun, a steel whirlwind ripping the atmosphere apart.
“What?!”
George’s eyes widened. There was no time to dodge. He braced himself, meeting the blow head-on, like a raging bull taking the strike.
No one in the hall could have predicted such an attack.
BOOM!!!
The impact thundered as if the sky itself was collapsing. George’s shoulder jerked violently, his entire arm going numb, bones screaming as though crushed to powder. Even with his body as a living shield, he couldn’t stop its full force. The hammer blasted past him, embedding itself into the far stone wall.
The lavish wall cracked apart, fragments raining down like gravel.
Gen laughed — a hollow, echoing sound. He rested a hand on his hip, both hands empty, yet the posture only made him seem more defiant.
“I only wanted to show you…”
His lips curved, voice heavier than the weapon he’d just thrown:
“…I don’t need words to prove myself.”
“You… what kind of monster are you?! You dare mock me?!”
George’s eyes bulged, veins throbbing across his forehead as he roared with unrestrained rage. His fists clenched so tight that blood seeped between his knuckles, his gaze burning to tear his enemy apart.
 
“You’re not even following the Warrior Path, are you?! To discard your weapon in battle — madness!”
But Gen merely shrugged, casual, as if the fight itself were nothing more than a tedious performance unworthy of his effort.
For half a second, George froze. Throughout his lifetime of battles, he had faced countless enemies — yet never one so domineering, so brazen. Against Gen, all his fury twisted into a pressure with no outlet.
At that moment, Mo Hamus reappeared beside George. His scarred face turned toward Gen, lips curling into a cold, cutting smile.
“I think…” Mo Hamus’s voice was like a blade itself, piercing through the black armor:
“You’re no mere Hammer Fighter.”
“A man like you… must have long since advanced into a Warhammerer.”
His sneer deepened as he laid bare his thoughts.
Warrior Path — The Path of the Warrior.
The Warrior Path branches into many forms—Swordsman, Shield Knight, Axe Fighter, and more.
In Mo Hamus’s mouth, Hammer Fighter was merely the foundation, a lower rung called Hammer Wielder. Upon reaching level 50, one undergoes an “ascension,” a higher class known as the Warhammerer.
Gen chuckled when he heard this.
“Have any of you seen me use a single skill yet?”
His words were soft, casual as a drifting breeze, but each syllable landed with a weight that threatened to shatter the hall.
“Have you seen me enhance this hammer? Don’t be so hasty with your conclusions.”
The questions cut sharper than any blade, silencing the chamber with an eerie stillness. Even George found his throat tighten, heart racing wildly. If what this man claimed was true, then the power he had just displayed was nowhere near the true depth of his being.
Suddenly, Gen lifted his arm, and in his grasp appeared a sword of bizarre form.
Drywood Fang, Rank 90.
Its steel was dull, devoid of luster. The blade was etched with fine cracks like veins upon brittle leaves. Its hilt was twisted from rotted wood, resembling shriveled bones grasping together, with a jagged root jutting from the pommel like a sharpened claw.
This was a drop from the Forest of the Dead.
Of course, it could never compare to the hammer retrieved from the level 150 Black Dungeon.
Yet Gen was not finished.
“[Arrows Water].”
His free hand rose. Mana poured from his body, gathering in the palm and spinning into a reverse whirlpool. In the blink of an eye, a crystalline arrow of water coalesced, shimmering in a cold azure hue. Its surface rippled like waves, the tip quivering with a fragile sharpness like shattered glass.
The cold smile on Mo Hamus’s lips died at once. His pupils shrank. George sucked in a sharp breath, but it froze halfway down his chest, refusing to release.
The guards all around trembled.
It was as if their entire understanding of battle had been broken and rewritten in an instant.
This was no longer the power of a mere warrior, nor that of a mage alone. This was something beyond boundaries.
George’s eyes widened, veins bulging at his temples, his voice hoarse as if forced through a narrow throat:
“You are… Hybrid Path?”
A chorus of fearful murmurs rose from the guards. Hybrid Path—the name alone struck terror. Those rare beings who tore apart the boundaries, fusing mana and physical might into one. To most, such beings were hailed as monsters—or cursed as calamities.
Hybrid Path — The Mixed Path.
An existence unbound by tradition.
Like the Blood Knight, both warrior and necromancer.
Or the Spellblade, wielding sword and sorcery as one.
“Hybrid Path, huh? …Perhaps.”
Whoosh—!
The moment he spoke, the water arrow shot forth, streaking across the air like a cerulean ray aimed straight for George.
George twisted his massive frame, shoulders heaving as he spun half a turn. The arrow skimmed past his ear, leaving behind a razor-thin line of water that burned like ice against his skin.
He had no time to breathe.
“[Wind Sword]!”
Gen raised the blade high, cutting down into empty air. Yet the sky itself split open—an invisible blade of wind erupted, sharp enough to cleave flesh and bone, rushing straight for George.
“—[Iron Fist Guard]!”
George roared, stomping hard enough to shatter the stone floor beneath his feet. His arms crossed before his chest, mana flaring as it condensed into a dense shield, like molten iron reforged into a wall.
His arms were forced into pillars, an immovable bulwark against the storm.
When the wind blade struck, there was no deafening explosion. Instead, it was like two massive saws grinding against one another. The storm of wind was shredded, dissipating into nothing more than a harmless breeze.
Gen’s magical strike—neutralized completely.
George still stood tall, unmoved, an unyielding cliff before the storm. His hands trembled slightly from the strain, but his eyes burned sharper than ever. Fortune was on his side: the enemy’s magic skills were not honed. Still, George dared not underestimate him. A Hybrid Path was unpredictable—who knew what hidden cards remained?
“My turn!”
BOOM!
George lunged forward like a launched spear. The stone tiles beneath his heel shattered, exploding into fragments. In a single breath, the distance between him and Gen vanished.
His fist fell, packed with every ounce of muscle forged through countless battles. One punch, slamming into Gen’s chestplate with crushing force that shook the hall.
BAM!!!
A shockwave rippled outward, detonating the ground beneath them. Tiles burst apart, shrapnel spraying like bullets into the walls, forcing guards to the ground in panic. Gen braced against the blow, his black armor ringing like a mournful bell.
And in that fleeting moment, Mo Hamus struck.
“[Blood Lotus]!”
Five daggers erupted into the air, spinning like a flock of bloodthirsty bats. They whirled toward Gen’s armor gaps, moving faster than sight could follow.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Steel sparked against armor, dazzling bursts of fire exploding on contact.
Though most blades were deflected, their vicious angles forced Gen back half a step. His boots scraped across stone, his balance staggered.
“Now, Mo Hamus! Hold him!” George bellowed.
In a blur, Mo Hamus slipped forward like death’s shadow. His short blade gleamed from the waistline—
“[Shadow Reap]!”
The strike came cold as the scythe of a reaper, slicing straight for Gen’s neck. Gen tilted his head, the blade screeching off the collar of his armor. Sparks burst like lightning across a storm-ridden sky.
George wasted no chance. He poured everything into his might, unleashing his deadliest skill.
“[Meteor Smash]!!!”
His massive fist ignited crimson, burning the air itself. Like a meteor breaching the atmosphere, unstoppable, it crashed into Gen’s chest.
BOOOOM!!!
The ground detonated, cracking into a spiderweb of fissures. Shockwaves surged, blasting dust and debris into a storm. Gen’s body bent backward under the blow, iron boots sinking deep into stone, leaving behind a crater.
The entire hall trembled. Columns groaned, windows shattered to shards. The soldiers nearby gasped for breath, many collapsing under the pressure.
In that chaos, most believed Gen had been crushed beneath the force.
But then—
From within the smoke and ruin, a voice emerged. Cold enough to freeze bone, soft yet sharper than steel. It did not roar, nor shout—it struck directly into the minds of all who heard it.
“…Hah… You’ve… forced me this far?”
The tone remained calm, unchanged, yet it carried the weight of exhaustion—no, of mockery. A chilling laugh woven into words.