The courtyard was eerily silent, save for the faint drip of black blood pooling beneath the lifeless bodies of the Dreds. The acrid stench of death lingered in the air, clinging to the ruined walls of the Vossmer estate.
Elion stood amidst the carnage, blood coating his small frame and dripping from the tip of his sword. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, an unsettling smile tugging at his lips. His calm, blood-drenched appearance unnerved everyone watching from the grand hall.
Graviel's sharp silver eyes lingered on the boy, his thoughts whirring.
He's no ordinary child.
Graviel's arms folded across his chest, the chaos around him momentarily fading from his thoughts. He had seen countless prodigies in his time, martial artists who could move mountains with a single strike or tame fire with their bare hands.
But this—this was something different.
The way the Dreds had recoiled, the sheer terror that emanated from them as Elion approached, wasn't simply about strength or skill. It was something primal, something more profound.
He doesn't fear them. That's the difference. Graviel's gaze sharpened. And without fear, he has become their predator.
Yet, beneath his admiration, there was an undeniable sense of unease. Elion's calmness, his eerie joy in cutting through the Dreds, sent a cold shiver down Graviel's spine.
There's something dangerous in him, Graviel admitted to himself, though it wasn't alarm he felt. Instead, it was a rush of excitement.
A slow smirk crossed Graviel's face. If he becomes part of the Vossmer family, there's no limit to what we could achieve.
But Graviel's expression hardened as the screams of the dying broke through his thoughts. He couldn't dwell on the boy now—his soldiers, his people, were being slaughtered. He turned sharply to the elders.
"Gather your weapons," Graviel ordered. "We leave for Dandelion now."
Elder Cedrin was the first to voice his discontent, his tone sharp with fear barely masked by indignation. "We're leaving with him?" He gestured toward Elion, his pale face twitching. "That child—he's… unnatural."
Elder Lysandre frowned, her composed demeanor faltering. "My Lord, surely we don't need him. We are the Vossmer family. We've defended this city for generations."
Graviel's glare silenced her. "If any of you could do what he just did, then by all means, speak up now."
The room fell into uneasy silence. Cedrin glanced at Elion, his lips curling into a grimace as the boy turned toward them, his glowing eyes and bloodied appearance sending chills down his spine.
As Graviel commanded the elders, Elion turned his attention to Verion and Elara. His slow, deliberate steps left a faint trail of blood in his wake, and the air around him seemed heavier.
Verion clenched his fists, his knuckles white as he fought to meet his brother's gaze. The gap between them felt insurmountable, and the shame of his own helplessness burned in his chest.
Elara, standing beside him, felt a wave of unease wash over her. Her hands trembled slightly as she took in the sight of her son—her baby boy—covered in blood, his expression calm, almost serene.
"Are you coming with me?" Elion asked, his voice soft but firm. He tilted his head slightly, the golden glow of his eyes flickering. "It's safer this way. You know it."
Verion's lips tightened. "You mean safer for us, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge.
Elion didn't respond. He simply looked at them, waiting.
Elara stepped forward, her voice shaky but resolute. "We'll come," she said. Her gaze met Elion's, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something human beneath the golden glow of his eyes.
He's changed, she thought, her heart tightening. But he's still my son… isn't he?
Her mind flashed to the years she had spent protecting Elion, shielding him from the cruelties of the world. And now here he was, walking unflinchingly through death and carnage.
He doesn't need me anymore. But… I need him.
Verion hesitated, his pride warring with his growing understanding of his own limits. Finally, he nodded. "Fine."
The group moved toward the gates of the Vossmer estate. Beyond them lay Dandelion City, its once-grand streets now drenched in chaos.
Flames rose high into the sky, casting long, flickering shadows over the broken buildings. Blood stained the cobblestones, and bodies littered the streets—some human, some twisted beyond recognition.
Screams echoed in the distance, mingling with the guttural growls of the Dreds. Civilians fled in terror, their cries drowned by the clash of steel and the tearing of flesh.
Martial artists fought desperately against the Dreds, but it was a one-sided slaughter. Their blades passed through the creatures harmlessly, their Qi attacks dissipating into nothingness. Fear gripped their hearts, paralyzing their movements and feeding the very monsters they sought to destroy.
Elara gasped as she took in the scene, her hands flying to her mouth. "It's… a nightmare," she whispered.
Verion's fists clenched at his sides. His Qi flared briefly as he stared at the carnage, but even his anger couldn't mask the pit of fear growing in his chest.
Elion stepped forward, his small frame casting a long shadow under the flickering flames. The moment his foot touched the cobblestones, the Dreds froze.
Their twisted bodies shuddered violently, their hollow, black eyes locking onto him. One by one, they began to tremble, their clawed hands twitching as if trying to claw their way out of their own skin.
Ding! [Title Effect Activated: The Dred's Killer]
To the Dreds, Elion was their predator, a figure of absolute terror that eclipsed their primal instincts.
Graviel's silver eyes narrowed as he observed. A slow grin spread across his face. So, the boy's presence alone is enough to cripple them. Interesting.
"Child," he said, his tone carrying an edge of approval. "Do what you do best."
Elion smirked faintly, raising his blade. Without a word, he began to walk.
The Dreds in his path trembled violently, their grotesque forms frozen as though bound by invisible chains. Their bodies twitched and spasmed, their claws scratching weakly at the air, but they could do nothing but cower as Elion approached.
The smirk on Elion's face widened as he raised his blade. His steps were deliberate, his posture relaxed, and yet the air around him seemed heavier with each move he made.
And then, like a conductor beginning a symphony of destruction, Elion's blade moved.
The first Dred didn't even have time to snarl before its head was severed cleanly from its shoulders. The next followed in the same instant, a blur of silver light cleaving through its neck. Black blood sprayed like rain, painting the cobblestones in streaks of darkness.
Elion's swordsmanship was mesmerizing. Each movement flowed into the next with fluidity that seemed almost unnatural, as though he were performing a choreographed dance.
His small frame twisted and turned, dodging the occasional, feeble swipes of the Dreds with the grace of a wisp of smoke.
Another Dred lunged, its claws slashing down toward his head. Without looking, Elion shifted his weight and leaned back, the claws slicing through empty air as he spun his blade upward. The creature's arm fell to the ground, followed by the rest of its collapsing body.
SLASH! SLASH!
Two more fell. Black blood hissed as it hit the ground, the smell of decay and sulfur thickening the air.
The system's messages popped up in his vision like a relentless tally:
[Unread message: (You have successfully killed a Dred!), (You have successfully killed 30 Dreds!)]
[You have successfully killed 5 Dreds!]
[You have leveled up! (36x)] [Lv. 46,000,000 → Lv. 82,000,000]
But Elion paid them no mind. His focus was absolute, his golden eyes gleaming with something almost feral.