Chapter 54: Punch
Seeing that no one was replying to him from that dimensional crack, Clay’s expression slowly lost that trace of boredom and became serious, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the fracture in the sky as if trying to pierce through it and look at whoever was hiding behind it, whoever had been watching this entire time yet chose to remain silent even after everything that had just happened right before their eyes.
Without saying another word, he began to walk forward, his steps calm and steady, the broken ground crunching beneath his feet as he approached the unconscious body of Bufolk that lay motionless within the ruined battlefield, his large frame still and heavy like a fallen mountain that had once stood tall and unstoppable.
Clay reached down and grabbed him by the head, his fingers gripping firmly as if he was holding nothing more than a ragdoll, and then lifted him up without effort, raising the unconscious warrior into the air as if displaying him to the heavens, his gaze never leaving the crack above.
"Still not reacting?" Clay said, his voice low, but clear enough to echo across the silent battlefield. "Then I’ll just..."
Before anyone could even process what he meant, his arm moved.
Bufolk’s body was thrown high into the sky.
The massive figure spun uncontrollably, his limbs flailing as he rotated in the air, rising higher and higher before gravity slowly began to pull him back down, his unconscious form turning over and over like a broken puppet falling from above.
At that same moment, Clay lowered his stance.
His feet dug into the ground.
One hand clenched into a fist.
The other opened slightly, steadying his posture.
His entire body aligned with that single incoming target as if the world itself had narrowed down to one point, his gaze locked onto Bufolk’s falling body, his intent clear without needing any words.
He was going to crush him.
Not defeat.
Not knock out.
Crush.
Completely.
Erase everything.
His aura erupted.
A violent surge of power exploded from him, not like before where it was controlled or contained, but something raw, something overwhelming that spread outward in all directions, pressing down on everyone present like a suffocating force that made it hard to breathe, made it hard to even think as the sheer pressure of his killing intent filled the entire area.
The Captain’s body trembled as he felt it.
The knights froze where they stood.
The archers felt their legs weaken.
Even Cerys, who stood behind him, felt her heart tighten as she looked at Clay’s back, her eyes reflecting something she had never seen from him before.
Young master... is serious... ...?
But then Cerys saw Clays nod at her as if he was calling her to do something.
Cerys flinched her eyes, then nodded as if she understood what her young master was trying to say.
Bufolk’s body continued to fall.
Closer.
Closer.
Clay’s fist tightened.
Then—
"Wait! Don’t kill him!"
A voice thundered from the dimensional crack, powerful and filled with urgency, echoing across the sky as if the one who spoke could no longer remain silent.
Everyone froze.
Every gaze turned upward.
But Clay did not move.
Did not react.
Did not even blink.
"Wait! Wait!" the voice called again, this time more frantic, more desperate as if the speaker was reaching out with everything they had.
Bufolk’s body was already descending into Clay’s range.
Closer.
Closer.
Clay’s eyes remained cold.
Then he spoke.
"Fuck your wait."
And in the next instant—
He moved.
His fist shot upward with terrifying force, meeting Bufolk’s falling body at the perfect moment, the impact exploding into a blinding burst of light that consumed everything in its path, a massive shockwave erupting from the point of contact as if the world itself had been struck by a divine hammer.
Boom.
The sound did not just echo.
It devoured everything.
The ground shattered beneath him, the cracks spreading farther than before, tearing through the battlefield, reaching the gates of the border town, smashing through stone and structure alike as if they were made of paper, the massive walls trembling before being blown apart, debris scattering everywhere as the force continued forward without slowing down.
And it did not stop there.
The light extended outward, stretching beyond the town, beyond the battlefield, racing toward the distant mountain as if guided by Clay’s will, and when it reached it—
It struck.
A deafening explosion followed.
The mountain shook violently.
Then—
It broke.
A massive portion of it was blasted apart, chunks of rock collapsing and falling as dust and debris filled the sky, the once solid structure now scarred by the overwhelming power of a single punch.
Silence fell.
Then—
A sound.
A voice.
From beyond the crack.
A cry.
Not of anger.
Not of rage.
But of pain.
A deep, broken cry of an old man who had just lost something irreplaceable, something that could never be returned, his voice trembling as it echoed across the battlefield, carrying a grief so heavy that even those who did not understand its source could feel it in their bones.
"No... no... my son... my son...!"
The cry continued, filled with sorrow, with disbelief, with a pain that could not be hidden or suppressed, as if the very soul of the one who spoke had been torn apart in that instant.
The battlefield remained covered in dust.
Thick.
Heavy.
Blinding.
For a moment, no one could see anything.
No one could move.
Then—
Clap.
A single, sharp, clear and powerful clap resounded.
The air itself seemed to react to it, a wave of pressure spreading outward from that sound alone, sweeping across the battlefield like a storm, pushing away the dust, clearing the sky, revealing everything once more in a single motion as if someone had wiped the world clean.
The scene was revealed.
The gates of the border town were destroyed.
The ground was shattered.
The distant mountain bore the mark of destruction.
And at the center of it all—
Clay stood.
Unharmed.
Unbothered.
His dark red clothes fluttered slightly as the last remnants of dust settled around him, his expression calm, almost amused as he raised a hand and brushed off the dirt that had landed on his shoulder, as if what he had just done was nothing more than a trivial act.
The Captain stared.
The knights stared.
The archers stared.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
It broke.
Cheers erupted.
Loud.
Overwhelming.
"Young Master Clay!"
"He did it!"
"He destroyed him!"
"All hail Young Master Clay!"
Their voices rose one after another, growing louder and louder as the shock turned into awe, their fear turning into admiration as they looked at him like a figure beyond their understanding, someone who had not only protected them but had crushed their greatest threat with absolute power.
The Captain stepped forward, his voice shaking with emotion as he raised his weapon high.
"The pride of the Holy Kingdom!"
"The protector of the people!"
"The one chosen by the God of Light!"
The knights followed.
The archers followed.
Their chants filled the air, echoing across the ruined battlefield, their voices carrying a mixture of relief, excitement, and reverence as they celebrated the overwhelming strength of the young noble who stood before them.
Cerys somehow disappeared.
Then Clay raised his hand slightly, gesturing for them to calm down.
"Enough, enough," he said, his tone casual, though the faint curve of his lips revealed that he was not entirely unaffected by their praise.
The cheers slowly died down.
The battlefield fell into a quieter state once more.
Then—
A voice.
Cold.
Heavy.
Filled with rage that seemed to burn through the very air.
"I... am the Warchief."
The words came from the dimensional crack, each syllable carrying a pressure that made even the strongest among the soldiers feel their bodies stiffen, their hearts pounding as if something terrifying was staring directly at them from beyond that fracture.
"I swear to you..." the voice continued, growing darker, more intense with every word. "For killing my son... I will wipe out your race."
The air grew heavy.
The atmosphere changed.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Everyone looked at Clay.
Waiting.
Watching.
Clay lifted his gaze toward the crack.
His expression did not change.
His eyes remained calm.
Then he spoke.
"Oh really?"