Chapter 58: Punch!
Suddenly, the Warchief lowered his gaze.
For the first time since he stepped out of the dimensional crack, his eyes were no longer locked on Clay, no longer filled with rage directed outward, but instead drawn to the ground before him where fragments of flesh, torn cloth, and scattered remains still lay across the broken earth.
Bufolk.
What remained of him.
For a long moment, the massive man did not move.
Then his shoulders trembled.
A sound came out.
Low at first.
Barely audible.
Then it grew.
A deep, cracking sound that tore out of his throat as if something inside him had snapped.
"My... son..."
His voice shook violently.
"My son... my son... Bufolk..."
He dropped to one knee, his massive fingers digging into the ground as he stared at the scattered remains, his breathing becoming uneven, each inhale heavy, each exhale filled with pain that refused to stay hidden.
"You... you foolish boy..."
His voice cracked again.
"You were supposed to return... you were supposed to stand before me again... you were supposed to surpass me... "
His hands trembled as he reached forward, touching a piece of torn cloth stained with blood.
"You were my pride... my blood... my future..."
His head lowered further.
"I raised you... I forged you... I gave you everything..."
His voice grew louder.
"And this is how you end!?"
Suddenly—
Boom!
His foot slammed into the ground.
The entire battlefield shook violently.
Cracks spread across the earth like lightning.
The soldiers stumbled.
The air trembled.
"You useless bastard!"
His voice exploded.
"You died like this!?"
Another stomp.
Boom!
The ground split open further.
"You lost!?"
"You lost to someone like this!?"
His breathing grew heavier, his eyes turning bloodshot as grief twisted into something darker, something harsher.
"You call yourself my son!?"
"You call yourself a warrior of the Bersuka Tribe!?"
His fists clenched tightly.
"You couldn’t even survive long enough for me to arrive!?"
"You couldn’t even hold your ground!?"
"You couldn’t even make me proud in your final moments!?"
His voice became louder, harsher, filled with a brutal honesty that made even the soldiers feel their hearts tighten.
"You deserve to die!"
"You deserve that humiliation!"
"You deserve to be crushed like the weakling you are!"
"You died like a dog!"
"You died like trash!"
Another stomp.
Boom!
Dust exploded outward.
"If you were stronger, you would still be alive!"
"If you were worthy, you would have stood until I came!"
"If you were truly my son, you would have killed him instead!"
His voice cracked again, but this time, it was not sorrow alone.
It was rage.
Fury.
Self-hatred buried beneath harsh words.
"You failed me!"
"You failed the tribe!"
"You failed yourself!"
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Everyone stood frozen.
The Captain.
The knights.
The archers.
Even Borzoi, who had been enslaved, stared at the Warchief with wide eyes, his expression filled with something that looked like fear... and understanding.
Cerys narrowed her eyes slightly, watching.
Clay...
Clay simply stared.
This guy...
He’s broken.
Not in weakness.
But in something else.
Something that twisted grief into cruelty.
Then—
The Warchief stood up slowly.
He raised his hand and pressed it against his temple, his fingers dragging across his skin as if trying to calm himself down, his breathing slowly returning to normal, his face smoothing out as though the storm that just erupted had never happened.
"So..."
His voice returned.
Calm.
Cold.
"So you’re the one who killed my beloved son, Bufolk."
His eyes locked onto Clay.
"What is your name?"
Clay opened his mouth lazily.
"I am—"
Bang!
A warm sensation exploded across the left side of his face.
A sharp, sudden impact.
The sound was quiet.
Too quiet.
But the force behind it was anything but.
For a moment, the soldiers held their breath, expecting Clay’s body to be sent flying, expecting him to crash through the ground, expecting destruction to follow.
But—
Nothing.
Clay stood there.
Completely still.
His head slightly tilted from the impact, but his feet unmoved, his body steady as if he had just been tapped by a weak breeze instead of struck by a monster.
The Warchief’s eyes widened slightly.
He slowly pulled his hand back, staring at Clay with something new in his gaze.
"You’re strong... for your age."
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"Good."
"Very good."
His voice deepened.
"That means I get to kill you properly."
Suddenly, his body changed.
His skin turned red.
Veins bulged.
Muscles expanded.
The air around him trembled as violent mana erupted from his body, raw and brutal, pressing down on everything around him like a crushing force.
"Let me add some power."
Clay’s eyes widened.
This...
This is stronger?
The system’s voice rang in his mind.
"Would you like to activate your Exponential Growth again?"
So this is it...
This is his real strength.
Before he could answer—
BAAAAAAANG!!!
The Warchief’s fist moved.
It was not even seen.
Only felt.
The impact struck Clay’s body directly.
The force exploded outward.
The ground beneath him shattered instantly.
And Clay—
Was gone.
He shot backward like a bullet.
Faster than sound.
Faster than sight.
He tore through the air, leaving a trail of destruction behind him as he disappeared into the distance.
Boom!
An explosion erupted far away.
Then—
Boom!
Another one.
Then another.
Then another.
Each impact echoing across the land like thunder, each one making the soldiers flinch, their hearts skipping beats as they tried to follow what had just happened.
Cerys froze.
The Captain froze.
The knights and archers froze.
Young master...
The Warchief stood there, slowly lowering his fist, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"Bwahahahahaha!"
His laughter echoed loudly.
"He flew far."
"I felt it."
"I felt his flesh give way."
He cracked his neck slightly.
"I thought he was something special."
His grin widened.
"Never thought he would be this soft."
He began walking forward.
Each step heavy.
Each step shaking the ground.
Meanwhile, the Captain snapped out of his daze.
"Stop him!"
His voice broke through the silence.
The knights immediately stepped forward.
The archers raised their bows.
They formed a line.
A fragile one.
But a line nonetheless.
"You will not pass!"
The Captain shouted, standing in front.
"You will not take another step!"
The Warchief stopped.
He looked at them.
Then he smiled.
"You want to sacrifice yourselves?"
His voice was calm.
"To save that boy?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or... to give me time to leave?"
The soldiers froze.
Their expressions stiffened.
Their resolve wavered.
Because deep down...
They knew.
They could not stop him.
Not even for a second.
The Warchief laughed softly.
"Stay away."
His eyes turned cold.
"Insects."
The word fell like a hammer.
Their bodies trembled.
Their instincts screamed.
Run.
Escape.
Survive.
But their feet refused to move.
Then—
Tap.
A sound.
Soft.
Behind them.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Slow.
Steady.
Every step clear.
Every step real.
The soldiers froze.
Their eyes widened.
They slowly turned their heads.
Behind them—
A figure walked forward.
Calm.
Unhurried.
Blood trailed from his nose.
His clothes were slightly torn.
Dust clung to his body.
Clay sniffed lightly, wiping the blood under his nose with the back of his hand as he continued walking forward, his expression completely unchanged.
The soldiers stared.
He’s... alive...
He passed them.
Step by step.
Until he stood in front again.
Then he stopped.
Lifted his head.
Looked at the Warchief.
And spoke.
"It’s my turn."