The night was dark, and the rain poured relentlessly.
Amidst the torrent of rain, Moen transformed into a shadow, swiftly weaving through the complex and dimly lit streets of Lower City District. The cold wind brushed past his brows, giving his sharp features an even more cutting edge.
The desolate streets stood devoid of life, except... for the presence of a venomous, snake-like killing intent.
A gleam of cold steel suddenly cut through the falling rain like a practiced drill, aiming with deadly precision at Moen’s heart.
Moen shifted slightly, dodging the calculated strike with the ease of someone who had repeated the motion countless times. The razor-sharp dagger grazed the corner of his coat as he turned and locked eyes on the figure concealed in the shadows.
It was a woman.
Clad in a maid’s uniform.
Her expression was as frosty as if it were a steel mask.
Her eyes, devoid of any emotion and reflecting no light, were as cold and mechanical as ever.
The failed ambush elicited no reaction from her—neither a change in her steely gaze nor the faintest disruption in her breathing rhythm.
—Just like when she was alive as an assassin.
Instead of retreating, the woman pressed forward.
The nimble dagger in her hand spiraled like a fluttering butterfly, its movements agile and complex as it aimed for Moen’s throat with even greater ferocity.
Clang.
The clash of blades sparked between the maid’s dagger and Elizabeth, illuminating the faint smile tugging at the corners of Moen’s lips.
“It seems…”
Moen deflected the dagger.
Took a step forward.
Pressed closer.
The woman retreated like a phantom, darting several meters back in an instant.
Yet, when she lifted her head, Moen was still right in front of her.
The pure white short blade traced a radiant arc, its brilliance slicing through the darkness of the night as it bloomed suddenly between them.
“My skills have long surpassed yours.”
Moen lowered his gaze, quietly watching as the headless body of the maid assassin collapsed before him. Rain washed away the blood on his cheek, and her form dissolved into black particles, vanishing entirely.
“Farewell,” Moen murmured softly.
Countless blade swings. Countless battles between life and death.
From being struck down instantly in their initial encounters to eventually defeating her using the techniques he had learned from her—it had been over half a year.
And in that span of time, it was long enough for a man to undergo a complete transformation.
“But this isn’t enough…”
Moen took a deep breath, letting Elizabeth vanish from his hand.
Then.
He clenched his fist.
And swung!
Boom—
It was as though thunder itself erupted amidst the downpour. Under the deafening noise, the raindrops turned into a fine mist, expanding outward from the center of the collision of two fists.
For a brief moment, an area several meters around Moen became a “vacuum” untouched by the rain.
Feeling the numbing pain in his fist, Moen grinned ferociously as he stared at the naked man before him, who radiated a savage and beast-like aura.
“Come on!”
He shouted.
And threw another punch!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
One punch.
And another.
There were no flashy movements—only the raw, simple collision of fists between two men!
But this wasn’t how the fight had started.
When Moen first faced this naked man, he couldn’t even push him to use full force. A few casual moves from his opponent had left Moen in complete agony.
The sensation of having every bone and muscle in his body nearly dismantled by hand was something Moen vividly remembered even now.
But skills, once shown, could be learned.
And weakness drives a person to rely on technique to bridge the gap.
From countless life-and-death battles, Moen had absorbed more than just Thunder.
Now, everything the naked man had exhibited had also become his skills!
However.
The records of the Black Book were not mere puppets copied from the living.
Apart from being devoid of emotion and unable to think independently, these replicas were almost indistinguishable from their original selves when they were alive.
And so, this experienced adventurer, upon realizing that his techniques were no longer effective against Moen, immediately and instinctively shifted to a different strategy tailored specifically for Moen.
Overcoming power with power!
When techniques reach parity, skill and raw strength become the key determining factors of victory.
With his far superior level and strength, the man should have easily crushed Moen.
Should have.
“So, you truly live up to your name, Teacher Mela!”
Moen laughed aloud.
From his fists erupted a resounding clash.
The thunderous roar was abrupt and sharp, like lightning splitting stone.
But if you slowed down the moment, you would realize it wasn’t a single roar.
It was several stacking explosions, fused into one sound, pushing Moen’s force several times beyond its original strength!
This instant multiplicative force naturally brought terrifying strain on Moen’s body.
During the barrage of punches exchanged with the man, every bone in Moen’s body protested, every muscle in his frame trembled in agony.
His skin cracked like porcelain, blood gushing out in scalding torrents from his flesh. He was quickly drenched, transformed into a man painted entirely in red.
But even so, Moen showed no intention of retreating.
On the contrary, his eyes gleamed brighter, his vitality surged, and the madness on his face grew more feverish with every second!
Come on!
More!
This is far from enough!
Bring me even more joy!
After what felt like an uncountable exchange of punches and kicks, Moen saw the naked man suddenly withdraw, curling his fingers into claw-like shapes—a predator baring its talons.
“Haha, I can do that too!”
Moen mimicked the man’s movements.
Thunder.
Versus.
Thunder.
And… the five stacks!
A full five- times reverberation condensed in Moen’s palm, then detonated in an instant!
The blast was like a world-forging thunderbolt, tearing through the silent night.
…
As the aftermath subsided, Moen glanced down at his arm, twisted and distorted almost beyond recognition. With a soft sigh, he muttered:
“I looked into your identity…”
“Your name is Rod—Rod Kazer, right?”
“This is my first time calling your name.”
Pausing, Moen placed a hand over his chest and, with a solemn tone, said respectfully:
“Then, Mr. Rod, with heartfelt gratitude, allow me to bid you… farewell.”
Under the relentless downpour, amidst the dissipating rubble and dust, the naked man remained standing tall.
But in the silhouette of the night, his entire left arm and half of his chest had been completely obliterated.
The outcome of the battle had been decided.
Moen lifted his head.
And perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he saw the man—who existed now only in memory—lightly nod at him before he dissolved into a scattering of faint glimmers.
“Such a fleeting yet prolonged moment,” Moen exhaled deeply, brewing with indescribable emotions.
An opponent he once couldn’t even dare to look up to—now defeated by his own hands.
What should he do now, at this moment?
Cry out loud?
Laugh maniacally?
Throw a wild celebration?
No.
None of it felt right.
This small step forward was far from deserving of any pride.
The enemies awaiting him ahead would not offer him countless chances at life, nor would they wait for him to stagnate in one place.
Thus.
He must.
Keep moving forward.
As his thoughts settled, the looming sense of death crept into his mind once more.
Moen instinctively shifted to avoid it, but the gleam of a blade emerging from the darkness still struck true, leaving a massive gash on his abdomen.
It barely missed his vital organs.
“Shit.”
Moen cursed, glaring at the serpentine figure sensually swaying out of the shadows.
“Even in death, you just keep getting sneakier.”
“Well, whatever. It’s not like this is the first or second time—I’m used to it by now.”
Moen sighed, pushing his intestines back into his wound. Drawing Elizabeth, blades clashing, the steel glinted coldly.
“Come on. Let’s continue.”
Moen laughed wildly:
“I haven’t even died ten times tonight—I’m far from… satisfied!”
