Dustin’s words made Mulder frown.
Mulder knew all too well that Warrick was the kind of man who had no sense of loyalty or honor. If Warrick could kill his own personal guards without hesitation, what would stop him from killing a stranger?
Mulder was certain that the moment things went south, Warrick would be the first to flee. Given the choice, he’d never willingly risk his life as Warrick’s sacrificial pawn. But now, there was no turning back.
With his undercover identity exposed and him helping Warrick escape, Mulder became a sworn enemy of West Lúcozia. His name was now on the most-wanted list.
Tonight was their best chance to escape. If they missed it, finding another way out would be nearly impossible.
There was only one path left for him-kill whoever stood in his way and make it onto that escape boat.
“Enough talk, punk. Let’s see what you’re really made of,” Mulder said.
After weighing his options, he gritted his teeth and finally decided to draw his longsword. His figure flickered like a phantom and left only a blur as he closed the distance instantly.
The sword in his hands gleamed coldly as it flashed past like a shooting star. A sharp wind followed its arc, carrying the force to cleave through the air as it aimed straight for Dustin’s throat.
Dustin’s expression remained calm and unfazed. Just as the sword was about to reach him, he shifted slightly. His movement was light and effortless as he narrowly avoided the fatal strike.
Simultaneously, his right fist clenched and drove forward with immense force, aiming straight for Mulder’s chest.
Mulder reacted instantly and swung his sword across to block. A metallic clang-sharp and resonant-rang out as fist and steel collided, sending sparks flying.
The impact sent a jolt through Mulder’s arm and forced him back several steps. He spun and used the momentum to swing his sword in a downward arc with a sharp whistle.
Dustin lightly tapped the tip of his foot against the ground and glided back three feet, effortlessly slipping past the attack.
Mulder’s sword aura streaked past Dustin, narrowly missing him before striking a nearby boat. A sharp crack echoed through the air. Within moments, the vessel split in two and began sinking into the water.
Mulder showed no hesitation after missing his target. His sword moved relentlessly, each slash fierce and unyielding.
The force behind every strike carried enough power to break through stone, and the sword’s sharp whistle cut through the air. Sparks flew as the flashing steel carved deadly arcs, threatening to tear through anything in its path.
Dustin stayed composed. His movements were fluid and effortless as he weaved through Mulder’s attacks like a wisp of silk in the wind, slipping past each strike with the slightest of margins.
His eyes were sharp and focused as he read Mulder’s every move. His steps seemed weightless, yet each one placed him just out of reach of the deadly sword.
Mulder’s frustration mounted as his attacks continued to miss. His strikes became more forceful and reckless, and his movements became wide and aggressive as he focused solely on offense. Yet, despite his relentless assault, he failed to land even a single hit.
Warrick, who had promised to back Mulder up, looked solemn. His expression was unreadable as he watched the battle unfold, and he showed no intention of interfering.
“This punk looks strange,” Warrick murmured, secretly alarmed.
Dustin looked to be in his early 20s, yet he handled Mulder-a grandmaster martial artist-easily and without the slightest strain.
What unsettled Warrick the most was his inability to discern Dustin’s origins or true strength.
After attacking with full force for a while, Mulder was already gasping for breath. He hadn’t felt it before, but now that he was facing a true master, he realized how grueling the battle was. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even graze his opponent’s clothes.
“Why’d you stop? Keep going,” Dustin said.
Standing with his hands behind his back, he remained calm and composed, completely unaffected by the intensity of the fight. His relaxed stance contrasted sharply with Mulder’s, who was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
While it would have been effortless for Dustin to end the fight instantly, he had no intention of doing so just yet. He wasn’t just pressuring Warrick, but he was also using Mulder as bait to draw out the mastermind behind him.
The Hall of Gods had been operating in West Lucozia for years, and there was no way Mulder was acting alone. He was merely a pawn, and somewhere in the shadows, there had to be someone more powerful pulling the strings.
Dustin’s goal was simple-lure that person out and eliminate them in one decisive move.
Mulder’s expression darkened with fury as he spat, “You’re forcing my hand, punk!”
He reached for a vial of enhanced serum at his waist and swiftly swallowed it. This serum was extremely expensive-something he had spent years accumulating resources to obtain. It was his lifeline.
The serum would grant him a surge of power, doubling his strength for a short time and making him nearly unstoppable. However, the side effects were severe.
If he couldn’t finish the fight before it wore off, the resulting exhaustion would leave him helpless, with only death awaiting him. For that reason, Mulder had always kept it as a last resort.
But now, he had no choice but to risk everything and fight his way out.
