CHAPTER 27: 27: NOT SHOWING MERCY

Aaron didn’t bother replying to Stone’s mockery. His calm, indifferent gaze remained locked onto the man, not giving his taunts the dignity of a response.

"You know," Aaron began, rising slowly to his feet with the measured grace of someone who had faced death more times than he could count. "Those hidden men giving you the confidence to act arrogantly in the face of your demise... they can come out now. I know they’re lurking in the shadows. But if they’d prefer I fish them out myself, well—so be it." His voice was tranquil, composed, but the underlying chill was unmistakable.

"Hah! You’re a tough one, aren’t you?" Stone barked a laugh, clapping his hands. "You heard him, boys. No point hiding anymore. Deal with him—quickly. Wouldn’t mind adding his head to my little collection." His grin was wide, wolfish.

From behind crates, shadows, and hidden wall panels, masked men emerged—roughly thirty in number. Their uniforms were identical, sterile and black, clearly part of an organized militia.

"Where’s Rabid Dog?" Stone asked, glancing over the masked troops.

"I’m right here," came the deep, gravelly reply of a heavily built man. He stepped out from an inner room, yawning as if just waking from a nap. His hands were fitted with massive metallic gauntlets, each movement of his fingers accompanied by a faint mechanical hum.

"Well? Scared now?" Stone smirked, his voice tinged with cruel satisfaction.

Thirty-five awakened combatants. Thirty-four of them were confirmed B-rankers. One—Rabid Dog—was an elite A-ranker. Stone was brimming with confidence, certain that no man could stand against such numbers.

But Aaron remained still, arms folded across his chest. His eyes didn’t waver, and there was not the slightest hint of concern in his stance.

The masked men lunged forward first, their formation tight, movements synchronized like a trained battalion. Their timing was nearly flawless, an ambush designed to overwhelm.

Aaron was impressed—but only slightly. No matter how coordinated ants were, they could never hope to drown a man holding a pressurized hose.

The first masked man reached him. Aaron grabbed him by the arm and twisted hard—crack! The leg snapped, the man howling in pain as he dropped to the floor.

With a swift pivot, Aaron caught the blade of another attacker. A clean motion followed—another leg broken, another man disabled.

"So?" Aaron asked, his tone casual as he snapped the limbs of the last man. "Still confident? Or does your last man still give you hope?"

He didn’t need to look at Stone to feel the man’s growing unease.

From their physical condition, their silence, and the dead looks in their eyes, Aaron could already tell—these weren’t ordinary mercenaries. They were either being manipulated against their will, or they had been rigorously groomed by some secretive organization.

No sane man, after all, would willingly consent to having his tongue removed and a bomb planted in his skull.

"Kill him, Rabid Dog!!" Stone shouted, voice cracking as his composure began to crumble. The sight of Aaron neutralizing his entire squad in mere seconds had unsettled him.

"Yes, boss," Rabid Dog replied, grinning with excitement as he stepped forward. He cracked his gauntlet-clad knuckles together. "It’s been a while since I’ve had someone strong enough to entertain me."

"I’m going to enjoy toying with you," he said arrogantly, a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

"I didn’t permit you to look into my eyes," Aaron replied calmly.

Bam!

Rabid Dog dropped to his knees instantly. His body trembled as if something had been ripped out of him. He tried to rise but found that his legs could no longer bear his weight. Aaron had quietly manipulated the blood flow within Rabid Dog’s limbs, reversing it just enough to collapse the strength in his muscles.

The humiliation was palpable. Rabid Dog’s eyes burned with rage and disbelief.

"Perfect. I expect you to be on your knees when addressing me," Aaron said, nodding in mock approval.

"You bastard!" Rabid Dog snarled, his voice thick with fury and shame. He tried again to stand, veins bulging—but to no avail.

"Come now," Aaron said softly. "I don’t particularly like people speaking so harshly to my face."

Behind him, a thunderous crack split the air. A massive lightning dragon coiled into existence, its body crackling with untamed energy, illuminating the room in violent flashes.

"For your arrogance—and for your many past crimes—there’s no punishment more fitting than death," Aaron declared.

"You bastard! You have no right to—!"

Before Rabid Dog could finish his sentence, the dragon surged forward. A blinding flash swallowed him whole.

When the light dimmed, all that remained was a charred husk, the scent of ozone thick in the air.

Aaron stepped forward slowly, turning his gaze on Stone. "Now," he said, voice cold, "shall we have our little conversation?"

"D-demon...!" Stone whispered, eyes wide with terror. He turned and bolted.

"Come now. It’s far too late to run," Aaron said, and in the blink of an eye, he was in front of Stone.

He grabbed him by the collar and lifted him effortlessly off the ground. The man’s weight was inconsequential.

"P-please! I’ll give you anything you want!" Stone pleaded, panic flooding his voice. "Wealth! Women! Just name it—I have it all!"

Aaron’s expression didn’t shift. "I’m not interested in those things. What I do want, however, is information. About your backer."

"I-I’ll tell you everything! Just don’t kill me!" Stone begged, trembling in his grasp.

"There’s no need," Aaron said. "I’m sure your backers have already installed a failsafe—some mechanism that kills you the moment you try to reveal their secrets. It’d be a shame if they killed you before I had the chance."

"Please don’t—"

Crack!

Aaron snapped his neck cleanly.

Torture? No. That wasn’t his style.

Not yet, at least.

---

"This should be the place," Liam muttered to himself, cross-checking the address scribbled on a piece of paper with the rundown building in front of him.

The slaughterhouse looked deserted, its rusted gates creaking in the breeze. Bracing himself for a long, tiresome fight, he stepped through the doors.

The air inside was thick with the stench of blood and smoke.

Liam took cautious steps inside—and found a butcher’s corpse on the floor, neck grotesquely twisted. His eyes narrowed.

He didn’t like this. Something felt wrong.

Keeping his senses sharp, he moved deeper into the building. In the back, a metal hatch had been ripped open, revealing a hidden passage.

Descending slowly, Liam entered the underground chamber.

Still, no resistance. Just silence.

But the silence was more unnerving than screams would’ve been.

Dozens of corpses lay sprawled across the floor, destroyed in brutal, one-sided fashion. Liam examined them carefully.

Most had their necks snapped—clean, efficient kills. Whoever had done this wasn’t just strong. They were surgical.

A few others had been reduced to blackened husks. One bore lightning scars, the other scorched in flame.

Liam withheld judgment. He didn’t yet dare to guess who could wield that kind of overwhelming force. Or why.

Further in, he found masked men still alive, twitching on the ground—crippled, unable to move.

And then he saw him.

A lone young man, likely in his late twenties, stood calmly amid the chaos. In his hand dangled the limp, broken body of Stone.

Liam raised his hand slowly, his energy flaring to readiness.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, eyes narrowing, ready for anything.