Satisfied with his display, Richard pocketed the batons and looked down at them with a smirk. "Remember this well," he said coldly. "This is just a taste of what awaits you if you don't perform to my liking. Now, get yourselves together. We have more to do…unless you'd like another round."
Rachael's voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. "That's enough, Richard," she said sharply, her anger palpable. Unlike her usual indifference, her eyes were fixed on Omen with a painful expression. The sight of him in distress touched a nerve, revealing a deep concern she rarely showed. "Don't make me alert father."
Richard turned to her, his expression a mix of irritation and dismissiveness. "Oh, please," he scoffed. "They need to understand their place." His frustration was evident, but he relented with a sigh, if only to avoid further confrontation with his sister. The knights around them, who had been laughing and watching the scene with detached amusement, fell silent. Even the two knights sparring nearby had stopped, sensing the shift in tension.
Richard's gaze sharpened as he seized the opportunity to demonstrate his authority. He turned to his sister and tossed all three batons toward her with a casual flick of his wrist. "Release two percent of their strength and increase them accordingly by my will," he instructed coldly. "Understood?"
Rachael caught the batons with a practiced ease, her expression one of reluctant compliance. She rolled her eyes but nodded, clearly unhappy with her brother's display of power. The batons glowed briefly in her hand as she activated their enchantments, releasing a fraction of the slaves' abilities.
With the batons' enchantments now in effect, Richard unsheathed his longsword with a decisive motion. He held it aloft, pointing it directly at the trio of slaves. "Attack at once," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Dahlia, however, did not share the hesitation of her companions. Her anger and frustration had reached a boiling point. With a fierce snarl, she charged at Richard, her movements swift and determined. Her hand lashed out, aiming to strike him. Her eyes were burning with a mix of rage and desperation, the imprint of a wolf on her back pulsing with restrained power.
The imprints on each slave were magical seals designed to suppress their exogene. Exogene was the source of all their magical abilities. These seals were powerful enough to weaken even a god, making them a significant threat to anyone who relied on magic for strength. Dahlia, however, had more powerful passive abilities than active ones, and releasing two percent of the active ones was enough to remove the small seal on the passive ones.
Dahlia's were-beast attributes were evident as she engaged Richard. Her agility and reflexes, sharpened by her inhuman nature, allowed her to strike with precision and evade with grace. With a powerful swipe, her claws clashed against Richard's longsword, sending sparks flying and creating a ringing noise that echoed across the training field. Her next move was swift; she dodged an uppercut swing by performing a flawless somersault over Richard, landing gracefully and preparing for another strike.
She ferociously launched another attack, her claws aiming for a decisive blow. The sheer force of her movement was enough to make the observers, even the knights, take notice of her formidable prowess. But just as she was about to deliver the finishing strike, a sudden, sharp pain radiated through her body. She dropped to the ground, groaning in anguish as her power appeared to fade.
Richard, taken aback by the sudden turn of events, directed his enraged gaze on his sister. "What took you so long, sister!" he shouted, his voice filled with frustration. "How many percent did you release? I specifically said not to release any until I told you so! At most two percent!!"
Rachael, sitting calmly with a mocking smile, met her brother's anger with an unflinching demeanour. Her eyes betrayed no sign of remorse as she responded coolly. "I released ten percent of both girls. I noticed the ridiculous infatuation you have with them. Now if I hadn't intervened, she would have killed you. Let this be a warning not to anger your dear sister next time."
Richard's face reddened with rage and embarrassment. His arrogance faltered slightly, and he looked at Dahlia, who was now struggling to regain her composure on the ground. 'Just ten percent and she's almost equal to me in strength!'. Richard was beyond shocked by this development.
Rachael's eyes, cold and calculating, remained fixed on her brother. "If you wish to test them further, you might want to be more mindful of the limits you impose. Your arrogance nearly led to your downfall."
Richard, still seething, immediately regained his composure and finally turned to the only slave boy. Thankfully they had not listened to him and attacked simultaneously, or he would have been done for.
'The werebeast's physical abilities were high profile, but the pale one was just below average. Let's see what this guy can do; still, I need to be cautious this time.'
"Rachael, release one percentage for this one," pointing his blade at Omen, the situation intensified.
Omen's thoughts were composed as he assessed the challenge. 1 percent. I can make do with that,' he mused. He took a deliberate step forward, and before Richard could react, Omen's speed was overwhelming. He was upon Richard in an instant, his strike precise and devastating. His fist connected with Richard's head, and the impact was so forceful that Richard's neck snapped with a sickening crack.
The scene was brutal in its efficiency. Omen's action was executed with a cold determination that left no room for hesitation or remorse. However, before he could finish the job, an unexpected force clamped around his neck…
'Soul Attack!'
[Soul attack immunity]
The sudden sequence made Omen stop; thankfully, despite the seal, his passive ability activated and reduced the pain from the unknown attack. He gritted his teeth, a low growl of pain escaping his lips as he felt the constriction around his neck tighten.
He activated his [Iron Lung] ability, drawing in a deep breath to alleviate the pressure of the attack. His control over his breathing helped him reduce the assault more effectively, allowing him to suppress the pain further. Slowly, he managed to sit up, his gaze calm and unwavering despite the agony he was enduring.
When Omen looked up at his attacker, he saw Colonel Haelkrie standing before him, her expression a mix of cold detachment and professional curiosity. Colonel Haelkrie's eyes widened slightly in surprise as she assessed Omen's glare, a flicker of admiration passing through her expression. The passive soul immunity he displayed was remarkable, even with the seal restricting his abilities. She nodded inwardly, recognising the general's astute choice in selecting Omen.
Haelkrie's eyes met Omen's with a calculated intensity. "Impressive," she said, her voice calm and measured despite the tension. "You withstood the attack better than I anticipated."
Omen, his breathing controlled and his expression steady, and he responded with a measured thought. 'Your attempts are futile. I have faced worse.'
As if responding to his thoughts. With a decisive twist of her wrist. Her movements were precise and controlled as she snapped Omen's neck, ensuring it was just enough to render him unconscious without causing fatal harm. The crack of Omen's neck was a jarring sound, and the boy's body slumped to the ground, motionless but breathing.
The knights, maintaining a strict watch over the situation, had already bound Omen with thick, reinforced ropes, securing him to prevent any further attempts at aggression.
One of the healing servants was tending to Richard's injuries. The servant's hands glowed with a soft, healing light as they worked to mend the broken neck Omen had caused, carefully realigning the bones and stabilising the young man's condition. Soon he snapped into consciousness with all his rage…
Slap!
Richard's groan of painful rage was drowned out by the stinging slap Haelkrie delivered, her hand making sharp contact with his face. The force of the slap was so intense that it reversed the progress made by the healing servant. Richard's body jerked, and he cried out in pain as his neck, which had been partially mended, was once again thrown into disarray.