At first, it was low, almost breathless. Then, it grew, rising into something amused.
The sound echoed through the chamber, slicing through the tension like a blade.
One of the hunters, a wiry man with twin daggers, scowled. "The hell is so funny?"
Even Boros hesitated, his expression darkening.
Henry wiped the blood from his mouth, shaking his head. "Ah, man. You guys really don't know what you're getting into."
And then—
A chime rang in his head.
A system notification flashed before his eyes.
---
[ You have defeated the Stonebreaker Troll. ]
[ Level Up! ]
[ Strength +20 | Agility +20 | Endurance +20 ]
[ HP Fully Restored ]
[ Skill Gained: Domain of the Stonebreaker ]
[ Quest Received: Survive or Eliminate the Threat ]
---
His body thrummed with raw energy.
His wounds vanished.
The ache in his muscles faded as his HP surged back to full.
He flexed his fingers—his body felt lighter, his mind sharper. His muscles hummed with power, like an engine roaring to life.
And in that moment, something stirred inside him.
A hunger.
Not for food.
Not for revenge.
For battle.
His grin widened.
Boros scowled, gripping his battleaxe tightly. "Enough of this. Kill him."
The dagger-wielding hunter lunged first.
Henry didn't move.
Not at first.
Then—at the last second—
He tilted his head.
The blade whistled past his ear.
Before the hunter could pull back, Henry caught his wrist—and twisted.
CRACK!
A scream tore through the chamber as the hunter's arm snapped at an unnatural angle.
Henry barely blinked. "Oops."
Then—he punched.
His fist hammered into the man's chest, sending him hurtling backward.
SMASH!
The hunter crashed into the dungeon wall with a sickening THUD—then collapsed in a heap, motionless.
The remaining hunters hesitated.
That was a mistake.
Henry moved.
He dashed toward his next target—a burly man wielding a spiked mace.
The hunter swung wildly, aiming to crush Henry's skull.
But Henry—
Caught it.
With his bare hand.
The hunter's face paled.
"Wha—"
Henry ripped the mace from his grasp, spun, and delivered a bone-shattering knee strike to the man's ribs.
CRACK!
The hunter gasped, his body folding inward from the sheer force.
But Henry wasn't done.
He whipped the stolen mace around, swinging it directly into the man's chest.
BOOM!
The impact sent the hunter flying, his body smashing into the ground, leaving a small crater where he landed.
Silence.
Then—a pained groan.
But he wasn't getting back up.
Boros snarled.
"Enough playing!"
He charged.
His battleaxe cut through the air like a guillotine, the sheer force behind it sending a gust of wind howling through the chamber, kicking up dust and debris.
But Henry—
Didn't move.
Didn't dodge.
Didn't block.
He caught it.
With one hand.
The moment the blade connected with his palm, a shockwave exploded outward, shaking the entire dungeon.
Boros' face twisted in disbelief.
Henry smirked. "You look surprised."
Then—he squeezed.
The battleaxe groaned under the pressure.
Cracks spread across the blade, webbing out like spider legs.
Boros yanked back—but the axe wouldn't budge.
Henry tilted his head. "You sure you wanna keep holding on to this?"
Then—he tore it from Boros' grip.
And flung it across the chamber.
Boros staggered back, stunned.
Henry was already on him.
A punch to the gut.
Another to the ribs.
A sharp elbow to the jaw.
Each strike landed like a sledgehammer, rattling the larger man's frame.
Boros stumbled, but Henry didn't stop.
He twisted—delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to Boros' chest.
BOOM!
Boros flew backward, smashing through a stone pillar.
Dust and debris rained down.
Boros lay motionless in the rubble.
Silence.
The remaining hunters stood frozen, horror painted across their faces.
Henry cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders.
His body still burned with power.
And the worst part?
He wasn't even going all out.
For the first time in years—he didn't feel weak.
He didn't feel cornered.
He felt alive.
The remaining hunters exchanged panicked glances.
Then—
One of them ran.
Henry sighed. "Oh, no you don't."
Dash activated.
He vanished.
Before the hunter could take three steps, Henry appeared in front of him.
The hunter barely had time to widen his eyes—
Before Henry's fist slammed into his gut.
CRACK!
The hunter collapsed instantly.
Henry turned to the rest.
"Anyone else?"
The hesitation was palpable.
Then—
One by one—
They dropped their weapons.
Boros groaned, pushing himself up, blood dripping from his lip.
"You…" he spat. "You think this is over?"
Henry rolled his shoulders, stretching. "Nah. But I do think you guys should rethink your career choices."
Boros clenched his fists. But he knew—he had lost.
"…Tch." He turned away, motioning for the remaining hunters to follow.
They limped off, some throwing fearful glances back at Henry.
And just like that—
The fight was over.
Henry let out a breath, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair.
He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers.
He hadn't even used a weapon.
And he had destroyed them.
A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.
Yeah.
This was just the beginning.
Then suddenly there was silence,
Not the peaceful kind.
Not the kind that came with relief.
But the kind that screamed louder than any battle cry—the kind that settled like a heavy weight in the air, crushing the spirits of those left standings.
Or, in this case—those left crawling.
The once-feared hunters lay scattered across the dungeon chamber, groaning in pain, their bodies sprawled like a battlefield of bad decisions. Some clutched their ribs, others cradled broken arms, but most just stared blankly at the ceiling, their minds struggling to comprehend how everything had gone so wrong.
Not a single one of them was dead.
But right now?
They wished they were.
Henry exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. The adrenaline of combat still coursed through his veins, his muscles buzzing with untamed energy. His knuckles ached, not from injury, but from how hard he had hit them.
And yet—
He hadn't even gone all out.
Henry flexed his fingers experimentally. No soreness. No pain.
Definitely overkill.
Across the chamber, Boros spat blood onto the ground, his eyes burning with pure, undiluted rage. He wanted to say something—to curse, to threaten, to salvage the last shreds of his pride—
But nothing came.
Because what do you say to the guy who just obliterated your entire crew without breaking a sweat?
Boros had lost.
They all had.