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墨書 Inktalez
A sudden turn of events unfolded as a young man stepped out from the group. With a slightly awkward tone, he firmly rejected their demands. Despite this, the murderous intent that had previously filled the air around the Doll-Faced Scout leader had noticeably dissipated.
"Hmm?" Freyr sensed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. With his extensive combat experience and awareness from past lives, he recognized that the Doll-Faced individual was riddled with weaknesses, presenting undeniable flaws in combat from head to toe. He believed that if he could quickly attract this target's attention, he could take him down in a moment of distraction.
However, upon further reflection, something still felt off. This sense of relaxation seemed more like a mercy extended towards a weak opponent. A strong man confronting an infant clad in diapers would merely restrain his usual murderous aura to frighten away the enemy or intentionally allow them to understand the gap in their abilities, prompting them to retreat.
Freyr was well aware of both scenarios and suspected that the latter was more likely. The leader had dismissed his followers to ensure that his opponent would recognize their own limitations. At that moment, judging by the aura of death surrounding him, he resembled a god of slaughter. Although his appearance did not match this persona, it now seemed like a testament to his deep cunning. Leading so many Scouts and commanding their unwavering loyalty suggested that he was likely the strongest among them.
Just considering this possibility, Freyr thought it wasn't entirely implausible. The powerful aura emanating from him might indicate a lack of inner strength, serving as a veiled display of power—a manifestation of insecurity. Before the battle even began, he cloaked his own weaknesses with an air of menace, akin to many beasts in nature confronting one another. This was the essence of predatory instinct, which had transformed into a hallmark of the assassin clan when embodied by Scouts.
The murderous aura served merely as a means to create doubt in his opponent's mind about their own capabilities. As this doubt grew or when they began to feel they might lose or die, that was when the true effectiveness of the Scout would come into play—after ten years of honing their skills, they would strike decisively at the moment of engagement.
Doll-Faced suddenly smiled oddly, sizing up the tall young man before him with an air of calm delight. "You're impressive—more so than I expected. Oh, but remember, this is just the first step; you will still lose to me. Of course, few can withstand layers of lethal intent, so I admire men like you. Now I want to know your name; it's fine if you don't tell me—I will find out eventually."
Freyr felt no panic; he was far too composed for that. He calmly replied, "When asking someone else for their name out of politeness, shouldn't you introduce yourself as well?"
Upon hearing this, Doll-Faced displayed an appreciative expression and smirked slightly before responding with a smile, "Naturally, big guy. I am Lieutenant An of the Wolf Brigade—a shadow force living in darkness. You wouldn't understand our purpose because no one has the right to know it. I am the leader of the Scouts; I won't allow ants like you to tarnish the Wolf Brigade's reputation."
"Then it seems we have no choice but to fight," Freyr declared. "I will punch you in the face without any desire to understand what survival means because you certainly don't grasp its significance better than I do. Come on then, Sergeant from the Logistics Department of the Crimson Dragon Army—that's my current position. My name is Freyr."
"Indeed," Doll-Faced replied with an expression of realization dawning upon him. Soon after, a hint of regretful amusement crept onto his lips—a quiet laughter emanating from within that felt unsettling despite its subtlety. It seemed that those who lived in darkness had long been enamored with sunlight; such greed and jealousy fostered a unique sense of mockery over time. Nevertheless, Doll-Faced continued unabashedly: "Has the Crimson Dragon Army run out of capable individuals? Sending out rookies like you?"
"Well then," Freyr said with confidence, "you'll find out for yourself."
Freyr smiled, his hands already on guard. At the same time, the strength within him tightened to the Ultimate level. The layer of Gene Lock had stabilized significantly compared to before; his physical condition was much more solid than during his school days. Back then, activating Gene Lock had nearly left him with lasting disabilities, but now, triggering the hidden Gene Lock was just a hair's breadth away.
"Just by looking at you, I can tell you’re hiding some strength. Let me show you what it means to be a true soldier with military prowess—your awareness isn’t enough, rookie."
With an air of arrogance, he raised his arm, the muscles in his shoulder writhing like worms. Then, his chest began to swell slowly. Without needing to look, it was clear that the fabric of his black attire had enough elasticity to support the explosive power radiating from those muscles.
A wave of heat surged through Freyr's mind, akin to the sensation of a bomb detonating. A strong killing intent erupted in that moment; this was likely the true power of a Scout. Unlike the cold malice felt moments ago from everyone else, this intense and seething killing intent resembled molten lava—a different kind of visceral feeling that could rival the heat of Abaddon Hell.
"I can do this too."
Freyr smiled again, experiencing a similar situation manifesting within him once more. This was the effect of Gene Lock; he had invested a great deal of effort into it back then, and now he could fully harness and bear the cost of that power.
All for the sake of defeating the enemy before him, when the crisis signaled by gunpowder smoke was triggered, it felt like an electric circuit had been completely connected. This connection filled his entire body with a source of power ready to explode at any moment. It was a consequence born from feeling an overwhelmingly strong killing intent once again after many days.
It was familiar power, yet this time there was no bloodthirsty urge; instead, it exuded a hint of calmness, almost indistinguishable from his normal state. Freyr appeared remarkably composed.
The Doll-Faced young man smiled faintly before revealing a set of white fangs. He snorted coldly and said, "Hmph, not bad. I wonder who will lose."
"Of course it's you!"
At that moment, Freyr suddenly let out a roar as his figure flickered and vanished from sight in an instant. The Doll-Faced man tilted his neck slightly as Freyr's fist appeared right before him.
The clash between them began with an initial warm-up; the Doll-Faced man was not one to back down either, striking downwards with his hand toward Freyr's chest in a move that looked quite fierce.
Freyr gritted his teeth and took a step back, retreating a considerable distance.
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