Chapter 54 Who Is the Prey?

Alan's lazy voice drifted into the camp upon the night wind, brushing past the thieves' ears.

Everyone froze in unison.

Spotty Leopard narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on Alan's face. Within the span of a single breath, unadulterated joy blossomed across his features.

"The target walked right to our doorstep? The intelligence was correct!"

Meanwhile, Gray Hawk recovered faster than the others, opening his mouth to let out a roar!

"Alan!! It's him! Night Lion-大人's information was spot on, he actually dared to walk right into a trap! Kill him! Boss Night Lion said the thousand gold coins are entirely ours, not a single coin for him—we split it evenly!"

As the words fell, the thirty-odd men in front of the camp abruptly went still, the air seeming to quiet for a fraction of a second.

Immediately following that, the dense sound of blades being drawn tore through the silence, countless flashes of steel shimmering amidst the torchlight.

"Kill him!!!"

Amidst Gray Hawk's roar, the thieves wore ferocious expressions as they rushed toward Alan simultaneously!

The chaotic footsteps of over thirty figures echoed densely across the terrain within a radius of several kilometers, dust scattering into the night.

Alan watched this scene and narrowed his eyes.

He stepped out from where light and shadow intersected...

The earth burst apart beneath his feet! His figure exploded forward!

A single man charging head-on against more than thirty!

An excited shout rang out from the very front of the opposing crowd.

"A thousand gold coins!!! Hahaha, I can finally go back to Rikaert and fuck some women! Die!"

Just as the words finished, the speaker—an intermediate swordsman of the Sword God Style—moved at incredible speed, abruptly lunging right in front of Alan.

The latter glanced sideways, instantly reading the opponent's sword-swinging motion. Twisting his torso, he dodged the incoming blade, stepped to the man's right, and assumed a downward-sloping waist posture that made exerting force seem nearly impossible.

Alan and the man locked eyes for a split second. His toes left the ground.

The blade was unsheathed!

His body vaulted into the air, arms swinging as he looped the sword upward from his instep!

'North God Style—Circle Sky Slash!'

The blade light carved a gorgeous arc beneath the orange glow of the nocturnal torches, battle aura flickering along the tip and kicking up a wave of pressure!

The thief reacted with extreme speed as well, throwing his blade up before his chest in that very instant.

*Boom!* A deafening explosion rang out as the two blades violently clashed and bit into each other.

Yet the next moment, to the thief's horror, his weapon shattered into several pieces in mid-air, while Alan's blade maintained its momentum without the slightest hesitation, slicing straight across his waist.

The blade cut through the liver, shattered the ribs, sheared the lungs, snapped the spine, pierced the heart, burst through the shoulder blade, protruded from the flesh just above the collarbone, sliced off the man's cheek, and—amidst the shattering of teeth—swept out through his torn earlobe.

How long does it take for a blade to tear through a body? Not even a single breath.

The next instant!

Alan landed on one foot, retrieved his blade, and stepped right through the thief's body.

The man, split neatly into two halves behind him, exploded in the crisp night wind!

Flecks of flesh pulverized by the wind! Misshapen visceral organs, pale bone fragments stained with blood—all of it was harvested by Alan as they brushed past each other, hanging draped across his shoulders and back.

The bandits abruptly halted their steps, looking in terror at the blood-soaked butcher who seemed to have walked straight out of a slaughterhouse.

Only, the slaughterhouse did not harvest magical beasts or livestock; it harvested men.

The butcher brushed the minced meat off his shoulders.

"Sparring sessions only tie you down, preventing you from fully unleashing a high-destruction practical swordsmanship like the North God Style... As expected, only life-or-death combat can truly make the blood boil."

As he spoke, he whipped his blade through the air, flinging a long streak of blood onto the ground. An almost imperceptible green radiance flickered on his arm for half a second.

Feeling the healing magic crest activate and instantly smooth away the physical wear and tear caused by the practical-style North God Style, Alan looked at the stagnant group of thieves and grinned.

"What's wrong? Not going to keep charging?"

In the distance, Spotty Leopard witnessed Alan's strike firsthand, his expression darkening like water.

*The standard stance of the North God Style practical branch... This brat isn't just an advanced practitioner of the Water God Style...*

Alan glanced over the heads of the crowd toward the androgynous Spotty Leopard, whose eyes overflowed with murderous intent, and then swept his gaze over the surrounding bandit group who had quietly encircled him yet no longer dared to charge forward.

"Could it be... you're afraid?"

Silence hung over the clearing. The thieves were inherently slippery cowards, and at this moment, not a single one wished to stick their neck out as the vanguard. They all stepped back, hoping to yield the frontmost position to their "good brothers."

Yet everyone shared the same thought, causing this rabble to collectively take a step back in unison.

Quite orderly, indeed.

Seeing this, Alan squatted down with a smile, resting the slightly notched back of his blade against his right shoulder in a posture unsuited for striking, and sneered tauntingly.

"A moment ago, you were all full of life, shouting and screaming for blood... Scared already? If you're scared, I suggest kneeling down and kowtowing. I'll grant you a quick death."

At the back of the crowd, Spotty Leopard looked at Alan with a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. Bald Gray Hawk, however, was the type who could never stand seeing someone act so arrogantly. Catching sight of this scene, he immediately raised his voice to instigate the mob into swarming forward and hacking this show-off to pieces.

Right at that moment! Someone broke under the provocation of Alan's words and roared in fury.

"Brat! Too arrogant!"

A bearded bandit in the clearing saw a sharp glint explode in his eyes. The moment his words finished, the earth beneath his feet shattered and sprayed outward, his figure suddenly vanishing from the spot.

It was actually the Silent Blade!

An advanced Sword God Style practitioner!

In just the blink of an eye, the surrounding onlookers saw his figure flash directly in front of Alan, violently colliding with him at breakneck speed!

The forest's night wind roared! The kinetic force radiated outward from the center of their impact in rippling waves.

Accompanied by the smell of blood and the discordant sound of tearing flesh.

Their figures stalled for a mere fraction of a moment.

The next instant, the bearded bandit's body—as if it were a pre-assembled set of blocks—shattered into pieces upon receiving a gentle "bump" from Alan.

The smoothly severed chunks of flesh fell vertically like raindrops before Alan, seemingly devoid of momentum. Blood drenched Alan from head to toe, yet he maintained his casual posture with the sword slung over his shoulder.

Utter silence gripped the surroundings.

In the distance, Spotty Leopard swallowed hard, forcing back the words on the tip of his tongue. As far as he knew, this was the starting form of Alan Boreas Greyrat's self-created ultimate technique.

Yet according to the intelligence, the opponent should only be able to use this ultimate technique for defense—it clearly shouldn't allow for a counterattack like this!

With an extremely unsightly expression, he exchanged glances with Gray Hawk, whose face looked equally grim.

The intelligence was wrong.

And yet, if the intelligence were wrong, the fact that the corpse fragments had fallen vertically to the ground devoid of momentum completely matched the application of the Water God Style's ultimate techniques...

What on earth was going on?

Right at that moment, Alan spoke, offering a casual critique in an indifferent tone.

"A barely comprehended Silent Blade. The release of battle aura is far too chaotic, focusing too much on destructive power while neglecting speed. I could see it all crystal clear..."

He glanced down at the head rolling near his feet.

"You didn't die unjustly."