After waking up early, Roy continued his journey, far exceeding the intended 50-kilometer radius and traveling an impressive 500 kilometers over the next three days. During his travels, he encountered numerous Rank Two beasts, leaving him to reflect on the need for proper fighting techniques. Despite having nearly the same strength as peak Rank Two beasts, he often relied on unconventional tactics to secure his victories. Roy possessed knowledge of techniques used by practitioners from the Demonic Blood Sect, but his interactions were primarily with lower-level foes, so he hadn't acquired anything particularly valuable in terms of combat skills.
The landscape in this new part of the jungle was markedly different, with smaller trees replacing the massive ones near the waterfall. However, his journey eventually led him to a cliff, which provided a stunning view of a city located several kilometers below, encircled by massive protective walls. The sight of the city filled Roy with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. This was his first real chance to explore a settlement after his long training in the wilderness.
Roy felt excitement at the prospect of visiting the city, but he was acutely aware of his disheveled appearance—still shirtless and wearing tattered pants. He knew he couldn't stroll into the city looking like this, so he decided to first acquire appropriate attire. He planned to hunt for a suitable animal and fashion clothes from its hide or find discarded fabric on the outskirts of the city.
As he descended the nearly 100-meter-high cliff with ease thanks to his extraordinary body strength, he overheard voices coming from his left. Roy's curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to investigate.
The voices grew louder as he approached, carrying hints of hostility. As he drew closer, Roy discovered three older children bullying a smaller boy who appeared to be about his age, approximately nine or ten years old. These bullies seemed to have reached the 9th stage of Bone Tempering, while the younger boy appeared to be without any cultivation. The tension in the air was palpable, the expressions on the bullies' faces filled with malice.
"It's better if you just give me your swords. You don't have any use for them," the largest of the bullies, who seemed to be their leader, declared. He was around 13 or 14 years old, his voice dripping with arrogance.
Clutching his two swords, which were notably too large for his size, the young boy fervently replied, "No matter what you say, these swords are the last memories I have of my father." His voice trembled slightly, but his determination was evident. He held the swords as if they were a part of his very soul, refusing to let them go.
The leader callously responded, "Your old man has been dead for two years now. He can't save you, even if we have to take those swords by force. Frank, take care of him." Hearing this command, one of the bullies, Frank, advanced toward the young boy, cracking his knuckles with a menacing grin.
Roy decided to watch the situation unfold and leaped onto a nearby tree. He calmly began eating an apple he had found earlier, his eyes never leaving the scene below. He was curious about how the young boy would handle the situation, and if things escalated, he was ready to step in.
As the confrontation continued, Frank charged at the smaller boy, throwing a punch directed at the child's chin. However, the young boy displayed a surprising level of skill. In a swift motion, he dropped one of his swords onto the ground and unsheathed the other, using it to parry Frank's incoming attack. With a well-timed and precise counter, he struck Frank's exposed hand with his sword.
"Arghh!" Frank recoiled in pain, clutching his injured hand and breathing a sigh of relief that the young boy lacked cultivation, which had spared him from a more grievous wound. Frank couldn't help but be impressed by the young boy's quick reactions and resourcefulness. The young boy's eyes were filled with determination, his focus unwavering.
Roy continued to observe the battle, impressed by the young boy's exceptional focus. Despite his lack of physical strength, the boy's intense concentration allowed him to react swiftly and effectively to his opponents. As he wielded the sword, he managed to inflict injuries on the bullies, demonstrating a remarkable level of skill and dedication to the fight. Each movement of the young boy was calculated, his small frame darting back and forth with surprising agility.
Frank attempted to strike the boy with more punches, but the outcome was the same. The young boy's composure and resourceful swordsmanship allowed him to deflect the attacks and even retaliate with precision. He moved with a fluid grace, his feet shifting seamlessly as he parried and countered, each movement an extension of his will to protect the swords.
The other bullies were utterly astounded. How could a non-cultivator hold his own against someone in the 9th stage of Bone Tempering? They exchanged nervous glances, their confidence wavering. Roy had his own thoughts on the matter.
"I was mistaken earlier. His true strength isn't solely his focus or having a weapon," Roy contemplated. "His main advantage lies in his impressive swordsmanship. He moves like flowing water, displaying remarkable flexibility." Roy couldn't help but admire the young boy's skills and determination. His graceful movements were a testament to the power of focused training and the mastery of a craft. Roy recognized a kindred spirit in this boy, one who had honed his abilities through practice and dedication.
Despite the boy's impressive display, eventually, the other bully joined Frank, overwhelming the young boy. The relentless assault resulted in the child falling to the ground, unable to rise due to his injuries. The boy's face was etched with pain, but there was still a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
"I told you to give me those swords. They'll serve me well in the future," the leader of the bullies insisted, while the young boy felt the weight of having failed to protect his father's swords. His fingers loosened around the hilts, his strength fading as the pain took its toll on him.
With his hope dwindling, the young boy gritted his teeth, whispering, "I am sorry, Dad." His voice was filled with regret, tears welling up in his eyes. He had fought with everything he had, but it hadn't been enough.
In this vulnerable moment, he suddenly heard a voice calling out, "What are you guys doing, ganging up on a single person like this?" The voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable authority that made the bullies hesitate.
The leader was taken aback by the unexpected intervention. He turned to face Roy, his eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you? Get out of here, or it won't be good for you," he warned, trying to sound intimidating. But there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as if he sensed that Roy was not someone to be trifled with.
Unyielding, Roy remained in place, his gaze fixed on the bullies. He finished his apple and tossed the core aside, a confident smirk playing on his lips. The tension in the air grew thicker, the bullies' unease evident.
"Frank, Brant, deal with him," the leader commanded, though his voice wavered slightly.
Frank and Brant moved to attack Roy. As Frank aimed a punch at Roy's face, Brant prepared to strike him with a kick from behind. Roy leaped into the air in a highly unusual manner, positioned horizontally between Frank's punch and Brant's kick. He punched Frank and kicked Brant while still airborne, landing gracefully on his feet in a matter of seconds. The sheer speed and precision of his movements left the bullies stunned.
In the span of just three seconds, Roy executed this incredible series of movements, leaving both Frank and Brant clutching their stomachs in agony. Their groans of pain echoed through the clearing, and the young boy on the ground watched in awe, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The leader was left in shock, his jaw nearly touching the ground. He had never seen anyone move like that, let alone someone who looked about his age. Finally, Roy spoke, his voice calm but firm, "Leave, and don't come back." There was an unmistakable authority in his tone, one that made it clear he wasn't making a suggestion.
The leader, now stammering, helped Frank and Brant to their feet and quickly led them away. The three bullies disappeared into the forest, their confidence shattered. The young boy watched them go, a mixture of relief and exhaustion washing over him.
Turning his attention to the injured young boy still on the ground, Roy approached him. The boy looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. With a warm smile, Roy extended a hand for assistance, saying, "Hi, my name is Roy. Hehe." There was a lightheartedness in his voice, a stark contrast to the intensity of the fight that had just taken place.
The young boy hesitated for a moment before taking Roy's hand. As Roy helped him to his feet, the boy winced in pain, his injuries evident. "Thank you," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. He clutched the swords tightly, his grip firm despite his weakened state.
Roy nodded, his expression softening. "You fought well. Those swords must be really important to you." He glanced at the weapons, noting the care with which the boy held them.
The young boy nodded, his eyes misting over. "They were my father's. He taught me how to use them before he passed away. I... I couldn't let them take them." His voice broke slightly, the weight of his emotions evident.
Roy placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "You did your best, and you protected them. Your father would be proud." His words were sincere, and the young boy looked up at him, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes.
"Come on," Roy said, his tone cheerful. "Let's get you patched up. You can tell me more about your father while we walk."