With a faint, almost playful smile curling on his lips, Harry surveyed the group before him. His voice cut through the tense air like a blade. "From the looks of things, I didn't arrive too late, did I?"
The flickering firelight played strange tricks on his figure, his form shifting between light and shadow, as though he belonged more to the darkness than the flames. His silhouette stretched long across the ground, an almost otherworldly presence in the chaos. There was something unmistakably different about him; his air, his confidence. He carried himself with a grace and lethality that set him apart from ordinary men.
The silence shattered abruptly.
The crack of muskets echoed through the night as several men fired simultaneously in Harry's direction. Smoke billowed, flames sparked, and the dull roar of gunfire filled the air. Yet the bullets whistled past him, hitting only shadows.
Before they could process their failure, flashes of steel lit up the darkness. Heads rolled to the ground, severed with ruthless precision, their lifeless expressions frozen in shock. The dull "thud" of bodies falling to the earth followed, one after the other, like a grim drumbeat.
Harry moved through them like a wraith, his blade an extension of himself. Compared to his speed, the men might as well have been statues. Even the sluggish reload of their muskets couldn't compete. Their desperate attempts to react were futile, he was too fast, too skilled.
In a blur of motion, he reached the girl. The mercenaries around her didn't even have time to draw their swords. His blade moved like a whisper, and the next instant, their heads tumbled from their shoulders. Blood spurted in crimson arcs, painting the ground as Harry stood amidst the carnage.
The girl stumbled back, her eyes wide with terror, her face pale. She looked as though she had seen death incarnate, and she wasn't wrong. She tried to find her voice, but it trembled as she stammered, "Y-you…"
Harry stepped closer, his cold, calculating gaze fixed on her. The girl was no ordinary fighter; she was an elite, and she knew exactly what kind of power it took to dispatch her team with such ease. Her lips quivered as she tried to voice her realization. "You're not just—"
Before she could finish, his sword flashed one final time. The blade sliced cleanly, its movement so swift and precise that it seemed effortless. A spray of blood filled the air, and her head fell silently to the ground, her expression frozen in grim disbelief. Her body crumpled to the earth a moment later, lifeless.
Harry's sharp eyes turned to the last remaining man. Unlike the others, this one didn't even try to fight. His courage shattered, and he bolted, desperation driving his clumsy steps. But running was futile.
Harry's movements were swift and deliberate, his blade catching up to the fleeing man in an instant. The sword pierced his chest cleanly, silencing him before he could even cry out. The man's body collapsed, crumpling to the ground with a hollow thud.
The entire confrontation had lasted mere moments. Yet, in that short span, Harry had eliminated every threat with chilling efficiency. The crackle of the fire was the only sound left in the aftermath of the massacre.
George and Henry stood frozen, their faces pale, their minds struggling to comprehend what they had just witnessed. The two men, experienced in their own rights, were no strangers to combat or skilled fighters. Yet Harry's performance was beyond anything they had ever seen.
George, an elite fighter himself, knew the level of skill it took to perform such a feat. To dispatch multiple enemies so quickly and with such ease, it wasn't just elite-level ability. Even among dojo master, such power was rare. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice trembling. "You… You're…"
Harry didn't allow the moment to linger. His piercing gaze met George's for only a second before shifting to Henry, who was quicker to recover. Henry stepped forward, bowing slightly, his voice laced with genuine gratitude. "Mr. Zack…. Thank you. If not for you, we would have perished here tonight."
Harry smiled, a faint, almost dismissive expression. "No need to thank me," he said smoothly. "I'm merely fulfilling my duty as your hired bodyguard. Protecting you is my responsibility."
His tone was calm, but there was an undertone of authority that made it clear he didn't want the conversation to dwell on his abilities. Instead, he turned the subject with practiced ease. "But tell me… What exactly is in these dungeon? What is it that so many people are willing to kill for?"
The shift in tone was subtle but effective. Henry caught the cue immediately and nodded, his brows furrowing in thought. "It must be the secret records rumored to be hidden here. Before, we only had suspicions. But now…" He gestured to the bodies surrounding them. "The intensity of the fighting proves it. There's no doubt in my mind now. There's a secret text here worth killing for."
"Really?"
Harry's eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement as he studied Henry. He nodded slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. "I suppose you're right. Otherwise, why would the Black Council go to such extreme lengths, risking so many men and even kidnapping you, Mr. Henry?"
He tilted his head slightly, his tone light but probing. "But if their true goal was simply this relic, why not take the straightforward route? Why not simply invite you to help, given your expertise? It would save them a lot of trouble."
Henry let out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Invite me? That would never work." His smile didn't reach his eyes as he continued. "The Black Council is infamous for its atrocities. I would never willingly work with people like them, madmen who care nothing for rules or ethics."
His expression darkened as he leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "Besides, they know I'd refuse. And more importantly, they wouldn't risk me leaving this place alive. Their behavior makes it obvious; they don't want anyone to know what they're after. If they'd been successful, they would have left me buried here with the dungeon."
He paused, glancing around the ancient site as if it might offer up more answers. "That means this relic… whatever it is, it's far more valuable than we realize."
Harry's face grew thoughtful, and George, standing nearby, nodded grimly. The three of them exchanged a silent understanding. Henry's reasoning made perfect sense. For an organization like the Black Council to act so covertly and ruthlessly, the secrets hidden here must be extraordinary.
Their discussion naturally led to one conclusion: they had to move forward. Retreat wasn't an option, not now.
To Harry's mild surprise, it wasn't fear or caution that drove the decision, but sheer determination. Henry, who had just narrowly escaped death, seemed more excited than ever. His eyes gleamed with intellectual fervor, and his steps were quicker now. The danger only seemed to fuel his curiosity, his scholar's mind unwilling to abandon a puzzle half-solved.
"I can't leave yet," Henry said firmly, practically buzzing with energy. "The architecture, the carvings, the aura of this place… it's remarkable! I have to know what's deeper inside."
Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly at Henry's enthusiasm. "Most people would be running in the opposite direction after what just happened. I suppose you're not "most" people."
George, for his part, was no less resolute. His hands clenched into fists, his voice filled with quiet determination. "There might be combat training methods or ancient rituals buried here, techniques that could push an elite fighter to the next level. If there's even a chance of finding something like that, I can't walk away now."
Harry chuckled softly. "Looks like I'm surrounded by two very determined men." He shrugged casually, his tone laced with indifference. "Well, I've got no grand stakes in this. I'm here for the ride. But if there's something worthwhile to be gained, I'm not one to say no."
With their motivations aligned, the three pressed onward.
The dungeon opened up before them, vast and labyrinthine, an eerie quiet replacing the earlier chaos. Without the interference of the Black Council, their progress was steady, though not without challenges. Hidden traps and lurking dangers lay in wait at every turn; pitfalls, collapsing pathways, and strange mechanical devices that activated with unnerving precision.
Yet no matter what they faced, Harry handled it all with ease. When beasts emerged from the darkness or traps sprung to life, he didn't hold back. This time, there was no pretense, no effort to downplay his abilities.
Harry unleashed his full strength.
With the speed of a storm, he dispatched every threat with an effortless grace that bordered on terrifying. His sword struck true every time, cutting through obstacles and enemies alike. The power of a knight surged through him, undeniable and overwhelming. The others could only watch in awe as he carved a path forward, his movements as precise as they were devastating.
George's jaw tightened as he observed Harry's display. It wasn't just skill, it was something more. The raw speed, the precision, the sheer mastery over combat… it left George struggling to reconcile what he was seeing.
His thoughts raced, his mind involuntarily comparing Harry to Steven, the renowned master of the Red Bird Dojo. Steven's reputation was unmatched; his strength was legendary in Malian City. Yet here was Harry; a young man, practically a student and his abilities seemed to rival, if not surpass, Steven's. The realization sent a chill down George's spine.
"This… this isn't possible," George muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on Harry. He clenched his fists tighter, envy bubbling beneath the surface despite himself. How could someone so young, so relatively unknown, reach this level of strength? No amount of natural talent should allow for such a leap.
Harry, meanwhile, remained unfazed by George's silent scrutiny. He pushed forward with his usual calm, treating each challenge as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He didn't seem to notice or perhaps chose to ignore, the wide-eyed stares of his companions.
Henry, for his part, was blissfully unaware of George's inner turmoil. He continued to jot notes in a small notebook, his enthusiasm undampened. "Look at these carvings!" he exclaimed at one point, brushing dirt from an ancient stone tablet. "These symbols are like nothing I've ever seen before. This confirms it, there's something monumental hidden here."
Harry glanced back, his expression unreadable. "Just don't let your excitement get you killed, Mr. Henry. You're lucky George and I are here to handle the hard work."
Henry grinned sheepishly but said nothing, too engrossed in the mysteries of the dungeon.
George, still simmering with admiration and jealousy, finally broke his silence. "Zack," he said hesitantly. "How… how did you become this strong?"
Harry turned to him, his smile faint but inscrutable. "Years of training and a bit of luck," he replied nonchalantly. Then, with a small shrug, he added, "But strength alone won't solve every problem. Let's focus on surviving this place first."
With that, he turned and continued down the corridor, leaving George to wrestle with his thoughts and Henry to marvel at the dungeon. The journey through the ancient site was far from over, and the secrets waiting ahead were bound to be even more dangerous and more valuable.