Night Battle

Era of Chaos, Year 1842.

The night, like a heavy velvet drenched in thick ink, tightly blanketed the rugged and winding mountain path.

The wind whimpered, rustling the sparse, twisted shadows of the trees, as if countless phantoms were dancing in the darkness.

Under normal circumstances, no one would pass through here.

Naturally, it was not because of the terrain—the landscape here was far from treacherous—but rather because a gang of vicious bandits had entrenched themselves in this area.

"Boss, someone is coming," an underling reported.

"Oh?" Gunnar stood up.

Gunnar was a hulking man over two meters tall, with long crimson hair and a hideous scar stretching from his forehead to the corner of his mouth. When he smiled, it twisted like a centipede.

Hence his moniker, the Crimson Centipede.

"Just one person, looks like a kid too."

"Heh." Gunnar sat back down and waved his hand. "Such a trivial matter, handle it yourselves. I get the meat, but occasionally I have to let you boys have some soup."

The surrounding subordinates cheered.

A few impatient thugs had already grabbed their machetes and rushed out.

Before long, several miserable shrieks echoed from that direction.

"Heh, turns out he has some skills. No wonder he dared to cross this path." Gunnar sneered and waved his hand again. "Send more men."

How much trouble could one youngster stir up?

"Let me go play with him." A burly man beside Gunnar also stood up, revealing a sinister grin. He snatched up two axes and strolled leisurely toward the commotion.

A moment later, all movements ceased.

The stench of blood drifted over on the cold night wind.

Gunnar frowned. That subordinate was quite capable, possessing astonishing strength; he could already arm-wrestle with a mid-tier warrior.

What had happened?

Even in a stalemate, it shouldn't be this dead silent.

Gunnar was not panicked.

Because he was a high-tier warrior.

Even if this entire gang of bandits combined their strength, they would be no match for him.

Many adventuring groups had extended olive branches to him, but he had rejected them all... In his eyes, that life lacked freedom.

Doing whatever he pleased—becoming a bandit obviously allowed him to live without a bottom line.

Gunnar finally stood up, his right hand gripping the long spear beside him.

A figure slowly approached under the moonlight, the gleaming longsword in his hand dripping fresh blood along the path.

So young.

This was Gunnar's first impression.

The opponent looked no older than fourteen or fifteen, with a youthful face, short black hair, and a calm, composed bloody glint in his eyes.

"Which noble house do you belong to, little young master?" Gunnar noted the luxurious clothes on him and the exquisitely crafted longsword in his hand. "To have such strength at such a young age..."

Aise did not answer the question; he merely sized up the opponent before him.

Massive build, astonishing strength. If struck by that spear even once, he would basically lose his ability to move.

Interesting.

A hint of a smile appeared on the corner of Aise's mouth.

Gunnar suddenly furrowed his brows, scanning the surrounding darkness with a touch of vigilance.

"I came alone," Aise spoke up. "There is no one else around."

"Then how dare you be so fearless?" Gunnar grinned, the scar on his face seeming to come alive as his features twisted. "Are you not afraid, boy?"

"You are the one who is going to die, so of course I am not afraid," Aise said indifferently, as if stating a trivial fact.

Gunnar snorted coldly. "Arrogant."

Aise wasted no more words. He transformed into a phantom and lunged forward.

So fast, so low.

Aise was not tall, not yet fully grown, and fell far short when compared to Gunnar.

The boy seemed to literally turn into a shadow on the ground.

Gunnar raised his long spear high and thrust it toward Aise, like spearing a fish in a river.

Aise's figure blurred and vanished.

Boom—

Gunnar's spear violently pierced the ground. A powerful shockwave rippled out, instantly tearing up the surrounding turf and sending clods of dirt and chunks of rock flying.

Aise was forced to reveal his figure.

"Found you."

Gunnar laughed uproariously and immediately advanced with his spear. Gripping it with one hand, he wielded it like a long staff, sweeping it horizontally with a howling tear through the air. Under his immense strength, even the refined iron shaft bent slightly.

Clang—

Aise raised his sword to block, and then his entire body was sent flying backward like a shooting star.

Had it been an ordinary longsword, it would have surely shattered by now...

Gunnar looked at the longsword in Aise's hand with some surprise, a greedy gleam appearing in his eyes.

Aise remained expressionless, though his arm trembled slightly. Blocking that attack had not been easy for him.

Gunnar gave Aise no chance to breathe. He pressed the attack closely, his spear continuously sweeping and thrusting forward.

A long spear was forcefully gripped at one end by Gunnar and wielded as if it were a long whip.

Only with his brute strength could a spear be used in such a manner... And what it brought was a terrifyingly wide attack range, making it impossible for Aise to get close.

Aise dodged left and right. The spear lashed against the ground beside him, causing gravel to explode outward and slice across Aise's cheek, leaving streaks of blood.

Yet his eyes remained calm, showing not a trace of fear.

"Weren't you quite arrogant just now? Boy, I'd like to see how you plan to kill me..."

Gunnar's laughter came to an abrupt halt.

An ice cone had appeared out of nowhere, silently piercing his throat.

This guy... is not a warrior!

Disbelief flooded Gunnar's pupils. The spear in his hand dropped to the ground as he clutched his throat with both hands. His massive body slowly collapsed, writhing in agony on the dirt.

Aise slowly stepped forward, a demonic smile gradually creeping onto the corners of his mouth.

He was far too careless; during the dodging process, Aise had already laid down a magic circle on the surrounding ground.

His swordsmanship was learned from his father, while magic was naturally taught by his mother.

He was still growing, so trying to rival a high-tier warrior relying solely on swordsmanship was indeed a bit strenuous.

As his longsword pierced through Gunnar's heart, Aise's body trembled slightly before he finally let out a long sigh of relief.

That felt better.

Having finished everything, Aise began to loot the bandit camp.

Several pitch-black tents were pitched nearby, hidden in the night; unless one got close, they were completely invisible.

This gang was not large, consisting of only a dozen or so people, all of whom had been wiped out by him.

They were quite wealthy. Aise scavenged a substantial amount of gold coins and stuffed them all into his spatial ring.

The remaining worthless items were piled together and burned to ashes with a single fire.

"Hmm? What is this?"

Aise suddenly rummaged through someone's belongings and found a long object tightly wrapped in cloth.

The longsword in his hand sliced open the fabric, revealing the scabbard inside.

It appeared to be a longsword as well.

Aise was somewhat indifferent. The sword in his own hand was already an outstanding masterpiece, a gift from his father and mother. How could some random bandit's sword possibly compare to it?

But after a moment of thought, Aise decided to bring this sword back with him anyway.