Chapter 22: FRIH - 22
"Frieren, I'll handle this. What's a pugilist?" Ronan's voice was calm, but sharp. The pugilist sneered and lunged, unleashing a furious blow.
*Woooosh!* The air split; a sharp crack reverberated, shaking trees. The wind swept through the alley, a testament to the pugilist's strength. He felt invincible.
His confidence soared; his team waited, ready. They'd underestimated him, but now they'd see the Savage Beasts' power. These outsiders were weak prey. This would be their last job; the gold would set them for life.
His team remained unfazed. Mages were weaklings. They expected Ronan's head to explode.
*Bang!* The punch connected. A shockwave rippled through the air. But Ronan didn't falter; he didn't flinch.
He shook his head, expression unchanged, as if swatting an insect. The punch, meant to shatter bone, barely fazed him. He brushed the fist aside and turned to Frieren, teasing. "Interrupting is rude. Finished? That was weak. Didn't you eat?"
The pugilist froze, jaw dropping. His full-powered strike hadn't left a mark. His fists clenched in disbelief. It had to be an illusion.
He swung again, each punch filled with raw force. *Crack!* Again and again, his fists met unyielding resistance. The dragon-slaying strike felt like a tickle. It was like punching stone. This wasn't just strength; it was mastery.
Panic surged. His breath quickened, his confidence unraveling. He pulled back, horrified. He was outmatched. A cold sweat formed.