Chapter 129: The Man They Could Not Break
The Man They Could Not Break
The four attackers unleashed a relentless storm of blows.
Fists cut through the night air like hammers. Knees slammed forward with crushing force. Elbows whipped toward Julian’s ribs and jaw in rapid succession.
Yet Julian D’Aurelius did not feel a single thing.
The Undestroyable Barrier Skill at its peak was simply too absurd.
An invisible aura wrapped around his body like a silent shield.
A touch here, then another - each strike settled like air drifting past skin. The way it moved across him held no weight at all.
Fists slammed into his chest, then his shoulder, his jaw, over and over. Yet each hit felt like cracking knuckles against cold iron.
Not a single crease managed to stay on his shirt. His outfit remained untouched, smooth as if just pressed. Nothing disturbed the fabric’s clean line. Even chaos left it unwrinkled. The mess around him changed nothing about its neatness.
Right there amid the chaos, Julian stayed still, fingers resting easy inside coat pockets.
A gust from the clash made his dark hair shift just a little. The breeze tugged at strands near his forehead. Wind off their fight lifted pieces behind his ear. Movement came when force met air between them.
A quiet sort of tiredness sat behind his gold-colored eyes.
This... is actually pretty satisfying.
Five full minutes passed.
The night echoed with the dull sounds of impact.
But the Scythe Division members were beginning to slow down.
Their breathing grew heavier.
Their movements slightly less sharp.
Human strength had limits.
Even Old Martial Arts practitioners could not fight forever.
True energy drained.
Muscles burned.
Their stamina was reaching its end.
Finally—
The hook-nosed assassin abruptly stopped.
His chest rose and fell violently as he stepped back.
His eyes were dark and calculating.
Then he suddenly pulled a military knife from his waist.
The blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
Without warning—
He lunged forward.
Instead of attacking Julian’s chest or head—
He thrust the blade toward Julian’s rear.
No matter how strong a man was, there were always weak spots.
But this time...
He miscalculated.
The razor-sharp knife struck Julian—
And stopped.
It couldn’t penetrate even one inch.
The blade simply halted in mid-motion, as if blocked by an invisible wall.
For a split second the assassin froze.
Then—
SMACK.
A loud slap exploded across his face.
A soft crunch followed his shift of weight on the gravel path. Stillness had held the street until that moment.
"Fuck."
Fingers moving one by one, Julian let the sharpness fade from his palm. The burn slipped away as he shifted each digit through the air.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips as sunlight caught the sharp gaze. The look held stillness, like frost on glass.
"That’s what you call a brilliant thought?" his words came out slow, laced with scorn despite the quiet tone.
"You really thought a cheap trick like that would work on me?"
Close enough to feel the shift in air, he held the assassin’s stare without blinking. A breath apart, his presence pressed forward like a silent challenge. Eyes locked, unyielding, the space between them tightening on its own.
"Do I look that easy to kill... or do you think I’m as useless as Evan?"
That hit deeper than any blow ever could.
A sharp pain lit up his cheeks as the hooked-nose fellow stumbled away.
Before he could react—
Julian was already about to move.
But the four assassins had retreated several meters at lightning speed.
They stared at him like men who had just seen a ghost.
Their chests heaved.
Their arms trembled.
For five full minutes they had attacked with everything they had.
They had used fists, elbows, knees—
Even a sneak attack with a knife.
And yet...
They hadn’t left a single mark on this man.
Was he human?
Or some kind of monster?
Then they saw Julian slowly reach into his pocket.
The four men instantly tensed.
Cold sweat slid down their foreheads.
Was he finally going to make a move?
Their minds raced.
If he attacks...
Can we escape?
Or are we already dead?
Their hearts pounded like drums.
But then—
Julian calmly pulled out a cigarette.
He placed it between his lips.
The lighter clicked.
A small flame flickered.
He inhaled slowly and exhaled a perfect smoke ring into the cold night air.
Then he spoke calmly.
"You’re too weak."
His voice was casual.
"I have no interest in dealing with trash."
He flicked ash lazily.
"I’m afraid if I make a move..."
He paused slightly.
"I might not be able to kill you."
The gaunt man’s lips trembled.
"What... do you mean by that?"
His voice shook despite his attempt to sound calm.
This man was simply too oppressive.
In his entire life—
Aside from the elder of their organization—
He had never felt such overwhelming pressure.
If Evan had been here—
Standing still for two minutes like that—
He would already be dead.
The four assassins realized something terrifying at the same time.
If Julian had actually attacked earlier...
They would already be corpses.
Julian flicked his cigarette again.
"I mean..."
He looked at them with open disdain.
"All of you here..."
"Are garbage."
The words fell like cold iron.
The four men instinctively trembled.
Julian suddenly raised one hand.
Immediately—
The four assassins stepped back in unison.
Pure instinct.
They didn’t even realize they had done it.
Watching their terrified reaction, Julian’s smile widened slightly.
Perfect.
At that very moment—
Hidden dozens of meters away—
Timur and Jareb finally moved.
Timur’s eyes blazed with excitement.
"Charge!"
He made a sharp gesture.
"Young Master Julian wants us to clean up the trash!"
The father and son exploded from their hiding place.
Their figures rushed across the road like arrows.
In normal circumstances—
Either one of the four assassins could defeat both of them.
But now the situation had completely changed.
Five minutes of continuous battle had drained their stamina.
Their true energy was nearly exhausted.
Worse—
Their minds were already shaken.
Fear had broken their confidence.
Right now they were no stronger than ordinary fighters.
Timur attacked first.
His palm struck one assassin’s shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground.
Jareb rushed forward and locked another man’s arm.
Within moments—
The remaining two were also overwhelmed.
The battle ended quickly.
The four members of the Scythe Division were tied up tightly with ropes.
Breathing heavily.
Humiliated.
Timur and Jareb walked toward Julian.
Their expressions were filled with admiration and deep respect.
"Young Master Julian," Timur asked respectfully.
"What should we do with them now?"
Julian was about to say—
Take them to the police station.
But suddenly—
His eyes stopped.
Locked onto one of the assassins.
Julian stepped closer slowly.
His gaze fixed on the man’s hands.
Twelve fingers.
The detail suddenly triggered a memory.
In the original story—
Around Chapter five hundred—
The Old Martial Arts world began appearing more openly.
At that time a bodyguard from a powerful family had twelve fingers.
The description matched this man perfectly.
That bodyguard belonged to the villain faction.
And naturally—
He was punched to death by Evan.
Julian stared at the man for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"What’s your name?"
The man swallowed nervously.
His voice came out weak.
"I... I’m Hemil."