“You’re not a fisherman? Who the hell are you?”
Mulder’s guard shot up the moment he got a clear look at the young man’s face.
Fishermen who spent their days at sea were usually tanned from the sun, but this one had a fair complexion. It felt a little strange
Noticing something was off, the men behind Mulder drew their blades and fixed their sharp gazes on the fisherman.
The so-called fisherman standing guard wasn’t just anyone-it was Dustin, who had been waiting for them all along.
Since his plan was set in motion, he’d been stationed there from morning until midnight. After what felt like an eternity, his targets had finally arrived.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to capture you.”
Dustin rose from the deck and rolled his shoulders before speaking in an even tone. “If you don’t want to die, surrender now. Otherwise, it’ll be too late.”
“Watch out! It could be an ambush.”
Mulder swiftly pulled out his dagger. His sharp gaze scanned the surroundings for any sign of hidden troops.
His subordinates instinctively formed a defensive circle as they braced for an attack from the shadows. But despite their heightened vigilance, the area remained eerily calm.
They were specially trained with razor-sharp perception. Under normal circumstances, if there were an ambush nearby, there was no way they wouldn’t have noticed.
“Don’t bother looking. It’s just me here.” Dustin said flatly, “I don’t need an army to deal with the likes of you.”
“Hmm?” Mulder frowned and sized him up before letting out a sneer. “Punk, you’re getting a little too full of yourself. Do you think you can stop us all by yourself? What a foolish dream.”
If Dustin had an army lying in wait, they’d be as good as dead. But he was alone and hardly looked like a threat. Forget stopping them. He’d be lucky to walk away in one piece.
“Stop wasting time on this punk. He’s just stalling for time. Kill him and take the boat -we’re getting out of here.” Warrick, standing at the back, suddenly spoke up.
Something about the young man on the fishing boat felt familiar, but Warrick couldn’t quite place him. Still, the other party’s confidence was unsettling. Either he had backup, or he had a death wish.
“What are you all standing around for? Get him.” Mulder wasted no time in giving the kill order.
Like Warrick, he had his doubts. On the one hand, he worried Dustin was just buying time, and on the other, something about the whole situation felt off.
“Attack!”
Several of Mulder’s subordinates exchanged glances before raising their blades and charging forward.
As the Hall of Gods elites, they were strong enough to take on a hundred enemies individually. When fighting together, their strength multiplied. This made them an unstoppable force against anyone below the level of a grandmaster.
Looking at their opponent, who seemed only in his early 20s, they didn’t believe he could be that strong.
The first subordinate lunged forward and swung his blade down with lightning speed.
However, Dustin’s figure blurred and vanished without a trace.
The attack struck nothing but air. Before he could even process what had happened,
a crushing blow landed on his abdomen. His body flew backward like a broken kite, crashed into a rock, and curled up in pain.
At the same time, two more attackers closed in from either side. Their swords flashed toward Dustin’s throat in a synchronized strike. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary flair-just pure, ruthless speed.
Just as the swords were about to strike his vital points, Dustin casually raised a hand and caught the edges of both swords between his fingers.1
“What?”
Both attackers’ faces changed as disbelief flashed in their eyes.
Dustin stopped their sword with his bare hands! A scene like this was only possible when there was an overwhelming gap in strength.
They tried to free their swords, but it was as if an iron vice had locked them in place and wouldn’t budge an inch.
“Time to die!”
The last attacker seized the opportunity and darted behind Dustin, gripping his broadsword with both hands. He raised it high and brought it down in a powerful overhead slash. The sword descended like a thunderbolt-unstoppable.
“Got him.” Mulder’s eyes lit up at the sight.
Though the other party looked unusual, Mulder’s subordinates were well-trained and coordinated. The first few drew the enemy’s attention, and the last one waited for the perfect moment to strike and deliver a fatal blow.
From Mulder’s point of view, that strike was something an ordinary person wouldn’t be able to react to in time.
As expected, the final attacker’s broadsword swung down on Dustin’s head. But contrary to everyone’s expectations, Dustin’s head didn’t split open.
When the blade made contact with his skull, a loud, explosive sound echoed. To everyone’s astonishment, the sharp broadsword actually snapped in half.
“Huh?”
The sight left everyone stunned.
It was one thing to catch a blade barehanded, but to take a direct strike to the head and shatter the weapon in the process while remaining unscathed-just what kind of monster was this?
“H-How is this possible?”
The attacker, staring at the broken blade in his hands, was at a loss. Their target’s body seemed to be made of iron, and their attacks had no effect whatsoever.
All their careful coordination and plans for a successful ambush-at that moment, it all became a joke. The difference between the two sides was just too much to overcome.
