Silence... eerie silence, it was almost as if one could hear crickets chirping.
The crowd of onlookers, made up of the most prestigious nobles, mixed with a multitude of common soldiers, stared slack jawed with trepidation at the youth dressed in black who was calmly approaching the wailing Song Zemin.
They could hardly believe their own eyes, Song Zemin had been vanquished with a single punch, he laid there in a terrible state. They tensly watched the former high and mighty leader laying sprawled in the dirt like a cooked shrimp, writhing in miserable agony and in no position to even defend himself.
As Hartley reached within ten meters of his helpless target...
Suddenly there was a quiver in the sky, the air in the surroundings visibly trembled, swirled, and then roiled violently with some sort of strange power.
The disturbance distorted the natural scene, vividly painting a portion of the sky reddish yellow.
"Behave yourself! ...You mongrel."
Roared an unseen saint that was hidden in the void, his tremendous anger was undisguised and unfiltered. He caterpulted forward from an unknown position, spliiting the air with a booming crack, swooping towards Hartley who had almost reached the defenceless Song Zemin.
The sudden sound of the man's voice travelled like a clap of thunder over the terrain.
Magnified by the silence of the stunned crowd, the voice shook the onlookers from both camps, making their hairs stand on end in fright.
As Hartley locked eyes onto the newcomer, his black robes fluttered wildly in the wind.
Dust frantically whorled around him in a chaotic pattern. Just the pressure alone exerted by the man was making Hartley's body feel heavy.
Hartley took no chances, changing to a defensive stance immediately, staring with cold squinted eyes at the assailant who was blazing a path of fire from the sky.
The man came at him in a blurred line of yellow, seeming like a burning comet falling from space to the earth.
By reflex a sphere of solid blue light surrounded Hartley's body in the blink of an eye, the sphere flickered and twinkled under the sunlight, Hartley lowered into a crouch and readied himself.
He inhaled, engaged state of focus, slowing down time around him.
Then coldly stared at the fast approaching man, bracing himself for the incoming attack, while at the same time planning his own counter-attack.
***
The defenders of the western hills gasped in horror and fright.
Perched on the high ground and staring down at the action below, everyone was as stiff as a doorjam.They had been celebrating the easy defeat of Song Zemin and welcoming his certain demise with glee, thinking the battle was about to finally be over.
At the height of their extacy a new enemy burst from the skies, seeming to rip the fabric of space asunder, bringing with him a striking flash of yellow.
Forcing the high spirited soldiers to quell their joy, swallow their cheers and flinch back in utter shock and disbelief.
Blinded by the stinging flash across the sky, most had to turn their heads away from the scene. The majority could barely even see what was happening but they could clearly feel the man's killing intent radiating outwards, washing them with fresh terror.
"What's going on, Is that a Saint?"
Fu Qian asked Qin Li with his voice trembling as he cupped his brow with his hand and squinted his eyes, making an attempt to shield them from the glaring light.
"Why is he intervening, I thought they didn't meddle in the affairs of the nobles." Qin Li asked another question subconsciously.
All soldiers around them were backing up in panic, putting distance between themselves and the new battlefield.
Even from such a distance away, Qin Li and Fu Qian started sweating bullets down their backs, feeling nervous about Hartley's safety.
One has to know that Saints usually didn't get involved in the conflicts of mortal men, so it was rare for normal people to even witness a Saint's enormous combat ability, let alone experience it in a direct attack.
***
Thundering hoofs battered the ground, flecks of dirt and stones flew away with the rising dust drummed up by the strong horses.
Commander Genk held tightly onto the reins of his horse as he led his men galloping out of the central area of the capital, then towards the west.
He barked orders over his shoulder at his men behind him, urging them to move faster and faster.
Time was of the essence, that was a constant thought circling at the back of his brain.
Darkness loomed in the commander's mind as his negative thoughts and frustrations consumed him. Causing him to scold Prince Jian in his mind for taking so long to give the blasted order.
He inwardly assured himself that Hartley would be ok, he'd seen enough to be confident about the boy's capabilities.
But sometimes paranoia begat perfection he thought, so he was still driving his men and their horses to the limits.
Relentlessly crashing forward with the utmost urgency, thinking of worst case scenarios.
***
Prince Jian sat slouched in his dimly lit office, it was broad daylight yet he was in no mood to even open the curtains.
He sat there in the gloom mulling in deep contemplation, he had been so enthralled with his own ambitions for power, he had naturally assumed everyone around him was of this same mindset.
It was one of the reasons he had become uncharacteristically close to commander Genk, all the time he had spent in the company of the commander, never once has the brute of a man ever display a desire to be a more prominent figure in aristocratic circles.
This lack of ambition led to his trust in the commander's judgement and they developed somewhat of a bond, but earlier the commander had acted out of character, strongly and passionately coming to the defense of the boy.
This definitely rattled him, seeing that the commander would almost ignore orders to insist on saving the boy.
Prince Jian definitely didn't feel comfortable with Hartley around, even if they were allies.
He knew the youth couldn't be controlled as easily as Genk, he would eventually mature to be a prominent figure, if he didn't die early of course.
Leading to the prince's mixed feelings and undecisiveness when it came to giving the order for a rescue..
That was until word reached him about Song Zemin's utter defeat, which forced him to rethink his position.
He had seen the youngter's eyes shone brightly with the light of ambition, this was what the Prince feared and resented the most, resulting in the Prince exposing his insecurities in front of the commander, which he slightly regretted.
He sighed as he rummaged through the parchments on his desk, reading the latest reports from the battlefield in the west.
***
At this point there was rampant chaos and confusion sweeping the Western Hills.
Battle-hardened men scattered in all directions, crying, screaming and frantically running for their lives.
Boom!!.
The floor caved in under Hartley's legs, the silhouette of his blue sphere was drowned with thick swirling dust that blotted out the sunlight.
It was a titanic clash, the sound reverberated for miles around. Even after entering Hartley's range, where time was slowed to one tenth of it's normal speed, the man still crossed the distance between them in a flash.
Hartley instinctively ejected his gravity pulse, a blue wave surged out like an extending halo from his sphere, gathering a tidal wave of dust and small glinting blue particles, sweeping the rocky ground clean.. thunderously speeding towards the mystery man with the devastating power of 100 gs, it was like a magnetic pulse pushing back a piece of metal.
The two forces collided, instantly creating an explosion of widespread destruction, making a huge debris-field and cracking the ground open halfway to the core.
The defenceless Song Zemin was blown away by the clash and disappeared from sight instantly, swept along with the wild debris-fields being wrenched up from the earth.
No one knew his fate or what direction he was thrown out, or whether he was still in one piece for that matter.
By now all nobles and their trusted guards were making their way away from the ensuing carnage with terrified faces.
Hartley barely got a glimpse of the saint's withered and pallid- skin, or his white hair and angry snarl.
Because the man's blurry hand was ripping space apart again, moving towards his face with deadly intent.