The old farmer was stunned, however, it was not due to the blood gushing out from the adventurers' mingled bodies, but rather from the identity that was unveiled in front of him. His lips were dusty like the Sahara desert as the air freely swirled around inside his gaping mouth. The young man that had ridden his dusty old and vegetable-scented caravan was none other than the elusive figure himself. The one dubbed as the strongest in the latest generation.
"You're..." he gulped down his dry saliva. His weary hands trembled at the sight of the youth as both of his knees were unbudged, pressing against the ground. He could hardly lift a finger as he saw three of the cloaked group nonchalantly massacre the entire tavern. The boss, and the underlings, were all dead.
"Eek!!" the adventurers at the gate immediately ran away after seeing their friends being instantly killed and left not even a whisper of their breaths.
