Chapter 3 - Mine Escape
'Now I'm ready,' Zaboru thought, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. 'But I need to plan carefully if I'm going to escape. This mine is just a straight tunnel with rooms lining the walls, each packed with guards. My goal is simple: get the key to open the gate and leave. But if Oswald is here, I need to take him out first. If he's not… things get complicated. I can't let him live to chase me down later.'
He paused, a wry smile forming on his bruised face. 'How did I start thinking so casually about taking someone's life? This isn't a game anymore.' His gaze hardened as a storm of resolve settled in his chest. 'But if I want to survive, I'll have to kill sooner or later. This place isn't for the weak. It's kill or be killed.'
Zaboru drew a deep breath, using the Relaxing Breathing Technique to steel his nerves. Calmness washed over him like a wave, sharpening his focus.
'Tonight, the plan begins. I'll build my strength with Basic Enhancement Breathing while mining. Once Oswald summons me for his twisted pleasure, I'll confirm he's here. After that… I'll rest for an hour before starting the operation.'
The day passed in a blur of grueling labor. Twelve hours of relentless mining left his muscles burning, but he didn't falter. His breathing technique kept his strength steady, his resolve unyielding. As he hoped, the guards eventually escorted him to Oswald's room.
'Good. Oswald is here,' he thought darkly as he entered the chamber. 'The bastard dies tonight.'
For two hours, Oswald tortured him with sadistic glee. Whips tore into his back, and heavy blows rained down on him, but Zaboru endured it all, his mind steady as he activated the Masochist Dream Breathing. The technique heightened his strength with each wave of pain, even as it magnified his agony.
When the session ended, the guards dragged him back to his room.
"Thud."
"Just die already, freak," one guard sneered. "It'd save us the hassle of dragging you back and forth."
The other guard chuckled as they locked the door and walked away.
'Not tonight,' Zaboru thought, lying motionless on the floor. He deployed the Relaxing Breathing Technique, letting its soothing rhythm mend his wounds and calm his body.
After an hour, his eyes opened, sharp and filled with deadly purpose. 'I'm ready. Stealth isn't an option here. It's a frontal assault or nothing. The guards will fall easily, but Oswald… he's a mage-type fighter. In "Rising Live," his attacks were devastating, but as long as I can dodge them, he's vulnerable. Twenty-five guards. Oswald makes twenty-six. Half of them should be asleep now.'
Zaboru opened his door, the quiet creak of the hinges drawing the attention of the nearest guard.
"Hey, you prick! What are you do—"
"Bang!"
The guard's words were cut short as Zaboru's hook punch slammed into his jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. His head snapped back, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Zaboru stepped over the unconscious body. His 11-year-old frame belied his monstrous strength. At 178 cm tall and lean, his body rippled with wiry muscle. Despite his malnourishment, his strength was terrifying, his body is strengthened with multiple enhancement breathing are very powerful.
The commotion alerted five other guards nearby. They turned, their faces twisted with anger and alarm.
"What the hell?!" one shouted. "This freak is trying to rebel! Take him down!"
The group closed in, their steel swords glinting in the dim light.
"You'll regret calling me a freak!" Zaboru roared, surging forward like a predator unleashed.
He drove his fist into the first guard's jaw with a crushing uppercut. The man's head snapped back as his feet left the ground, and he crumpled to the floor. Zaboru followed with a powerful front kick to the man's chest, ensuring he wouldn't get back up.
The remaining four guards hesitated for a split second, shocked by Zaboru's explosive speed.
"Kill him! Don't let him get away!"
The first guard lunged, his sword slashing toward Zaboru's chest. Zaboru sidestepped effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. His counter was immediate—a brutal hook punch that slammed into the guard's face, sending him crashing to the ground.
The second guard thrust his blade forward, aiming for Zaboru's head. Zaboru twisted to the side weaving the thrust attack, the blade grazing past him harmlessly. Before the guard could react, Zaboru's fist connected with a counter uppercut, launching the man into the air. He crashed into a third guard, sending both of them sprawling.
The final guard charged, gripping his sword in both hands. He swung wildly in a horizontal arc, the blade humming through the air.
Zaboru backstep under the swing, his reflexes razor-sharp. As the guard attack motion is over, Zaboru does a little bit front step then spun on his heel, delivering a roundhouse kick infused with Strike Breathing. The enhanced blow hit like a battering ram, propelling the guard into the wall with a bone-crunching impact.
The first guard, who had taken Zaboru's initial punch, groaned as he staggered to his feet. Desperation filled his eyes as he raised his sword for another strike.
Before he could act, Zaboru's feet slammed into his face with a thunderous front kick, knocking him out cold.
Two guards remained. One was barely conscious, swaying on his feet after the earlier uppercut. The other, trembling with fear, waved his sword wildly in front of him.
"D-Don't come any closer!" the trembling guard stammered with his voice shaking.
Zaboru grinned, a cold, predatory expression. He closed the distance in an instant, weaving past the guard's frantic swings.
His fists moved in a blur: a jab to the stomach that drove the air from the man's lungs, a hook to his jaw that snapped his head to the side, and a finishing uppercut that sent him sprawling unconscious to the ground.
The final guard, still struggling to stand, raised a hand weakly. "P-Please! S-Spare me!"
Zaboru's grin widened. "Not today asshat!"
He spun, his foot slamming into the guard's head with a devastating roundhouse kick. The man crumpled instantly.
The corridor fell silent, the six guards lying motionless around him.
'Nineteen left,' Zaboru thought, his breaths steady despite the chaos. 'Twelve are asleep. Two guard Oswald's room. Five are on the other side of the tunnel. If I move fast, I can take them out before they realize what's happening.'
With that, Zaboru turned and sprinted toward Oswald's chamber, his footsteps echoing like a war drum in the dim tunnel.
'This ends tonight.'
As Zaboru sprinted through the dimly lit tunnel, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed ahead. Five guards emerged, blocking his path. Their expressions were tense, eyes scanning the corridor as they spotted the lone figure.
"What!? That freak's loose!" one of them shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "What happened to the other five guards on duty? Never mind that—let's capture him before things get worse!"
The guards charged, their swords glinting in the sparse light. But Zaboru didn't falter. His eyes blazed with unyielding determination as he surged forward.
The first guard swung his blade in a wide arc, but Zaboru anticipated the move. Pivoting slightly, he channeled internal energy into his right hand. His fist glowed faintly as he unleashed a devastating straight punch, enhanced by Strike Breathing.
CRACK!
The blow struck the guard square in the chest, the force propelling him backward with a sickening thud. The man's body slammed into two others behind him, knocking them into a heap.
The remaining two guards froze, their confidence wavering as they took in the sight. The freakish strength they had mocked now left them rooted in shock.
Before they could react, Zaboru closed the distance. His movements were fluid and relentless. He dropped low, his leg sweeping out in a vicious low kick that struck one guard's knee. The man cried out, collapsing to the ground, and Zaboru followed with a brutal hook punch. The guard's face slammed into the dirt floor with a dull thud, unconscious.
The last standing guard snapped out of his stupor and lunged, his blade aimed for Zaboru's side. Zaboru sidestepped the attack with practiced ease, closing the gap in a heartbeat. He struck with a precise side kick to the man's left waist. The guard gasped, clutching his side as pain wracked his body, forcing him into a bowing position. Zaboru wasted no time—he delivered a swift uppercut to the man's chin, sending him sprawling backward.
The two guards who had been caught in the initial impact struggled to their feet, shaking off their disorientation. Their faces were pale with fear, but desperation drove them forward.
"Damn it! Take him down!" one shouted as they both charged.
Zaboru didn't flinch. The first guard swung wildly, but Zaboru stepped into the attack, evading it with a quick side step. Pivoting smoothly, he closed in on the second guard and unleashed a hook punch infused with Strike Breathing. The blow connected with a bone-crushing impact, and the guard crumpled instantly.
The last guard froze in terror, his sword trembling in his grip as he watched his comrade fall. His resolve shattered, and he raised a hand, trying to surrender.
"W-Wait! Please, I—"
Zaboru cut him off with a flurry of jabs. Each strike landed with precision, forcing the guard's head back with each blow. With a final, powerful front kick, the guard was launched backward, crashing into the tunnel wall and slumping to the ground, unconscious.
Panting slightly, Zaboru straightened, his sharp gaze fixed on the path ahead.
'Only two more before Oswald,' he thought, his steps steady as he approached the next checkpoint.
When he neared Oswald's chamber, the two guards stationed there—familiar faces who had dragged him to and from this hell countless times—stared in disbelief.
As Zaboru approached Oswald's door, two familiar guards stepped forward from their posts. They were the ones who had dragged him to Oswald's torture room countless times, their mocking jeers still fresh in his mind. Now, their faces contorted in shock.
"What!? The freak's here!?" one of them exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.
Zaboru didn't respond. He closed the gap between them in a blur, his speed leaving them no time to react. He dropped low, his foot sweeping out in a vicious low kick that struck the first guard's leg.
CRACK!
The man crumpled to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat. Zaboru's fists flew next, a brutal combination of left and right hooks, followed by a straight punch that sent the guard flying backward. His body struck the wall with a dull thud before sliding to the floor, unconscious.
The second guard raised his sword, but instead of attacking, he shifted into a defensive stance. His eyes darted nervously, trying to predict Zaboru's next move.
"You think you've got me, freak?" he spat, though his voice trembled.
Zaboru smirked, lowering his stance slightly. His movements slowed, his body coiled like a spring. The guard's focus zeroed in on his legs as Zaboru feinted a low kick, his foot twitching as if to strike.
The guard grinned, his sword moving to intercept.
'Now your leg is mine, freak!' he thought, confidence returning.
But the low kick was a lie.
Before the guard could realize his mistake, Zaboru's fist shot forward like a viper. His jab struck the man's face with pinpoint accuracy, snapping his head back. Zaboru followed with a front kick enhanced by Strike Breathing, the impact sending the guard hurtling into the wall with a resounding crash. The man slid to the ground, motionless.
Zaboru turned toward the heavy iron door. Beyond it, he could feel Oswald's presence, an oppressive weight lingering in the air.
Inside, Oswald stood waiting, his face twisted into a scowl. His hands glowed faintly with magical energy, the room around him radiating a faint hum of power.
The commotion outside had not gone unnoticed.
"So, the freak thinks he can overthrow me?" Oswald sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Impressive… but this is where it ends."
Zaboru stepped forward, his lips curling into a cold grin.
"This ends," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But not the way you think."
The room seemed to shrink as their gazes locked, the tension crackling like a storm waiting to erupt.
The battle for freedom had truly begun.