CHAPTER 54: PATHETIC LEADER

The leader clenched his teeth in hatred and indignation, casting a murderous glare at Aziz, as if promising him a pain equal to a thousand deaths. His eyes were filled with suppressed fury, a rage that burned as intensely as the desert sun at its peak. It was a gaze that carried not only a threat but also a bitter frustration. He refused to accept the looming defeat, nor the humiliation of seeing his men fall one by one before a young enemy.

Aziz, for his part, found the leader’s indignation amusing. It was almost ironic to watch that fierce-looking figure, as if he could crush anyone with the power of his stare, yet deep down revealed a veiled fragility—an insecurity hidden behind bluster and empty words.

He had attacked them with his gang of bandits, threatened them with death, and even demanded that Liora and Agnes surrender to him without so much as raising his voice in protest. It was the arrogant posture typical of those who believe themselves superior simply because they have numbers on their side or the loyalty of a few followers. Yet, when one of them died—and rightfully so—those same self-proclaimed invincibles suddenly felt entitled to outrage and revolt—a hypocrisy Aziz could see perfectly well.

Aziz shook his head, feeling incredulous at the situation, as if it were impossible that these people could behave with such contradiction.

’To think these scumbags would be my first enemies... what a disappointment,’ he reflected, a surge of disdain running through his mind. He knew the world was full of far more terrifying adversaries—men and women with much darker and more dangerous intentions and power than these bandits.

Recovering from the initial shock, the bandits turned to Aziz in unison, eyes gleaming with a thirst for vengeance, almost ready to skin him alive. Their bodies were tense, muscles braced for violence, each one willing to kill or die to protect their cause—or perhaps just to avoid shame.

CRACK!

A dry and brutal sound reverberated across the field. One of the bandits dropped to the ground, groaning in pain, the result of Liora’s precise kick that struck his ribs with enough force to break bones.

"Don’t take your eyes off the enemy, idiots," Liora ordered, her voice sharp and firm as she advanced without hesitation, broadsword in hand. She gave the bandits no chance to react or interrupt Aziz’s impending fight with the leader. Her gaze was fixed, determined, revealing an innate combat experience.

Agnes, equally relentless, attacked with fists and sharp claws, her expression cold and focused, almost like a killing machine programmed to wipe out all resistance.

CRACK!

TUNG!

CLANG!

The battlefield was overtaken by the sounds of combat: bones breaking, metal clashing against metal, and screams that mingled pain with fury.

"AAAGH! YOU BITCH!" one of the bandits screamed in desperation, clutching the deep horizontal gash that Liora had slashed across his chest.

"Hahaha, don’t tell me you’re going to cry over that?!" she mocked, laughing with contempt and terrifying speed, ready to finish him off without delay.

But before she could move, another bandit stepped in, hands trembling as he held an old, worn spear.

CLANG!

He was immediately shoved back, his arms shaking under the force of Liora’s sword, which showed no mercy whatsoever.

"I-I won’t let you kill him," he stammered, his voice trembling, his fear nearly palpable. He seemed aware that he was probably next to die.

"A cowardly piece of trash like you wants to stop me? Then try it!" Liora retorted with disdain, rushing at him again like a living storm.

The bandits resisted as much as they could, with the sole objective of buying time and allowing their leader to deal swiftly with Aziz, the young man who had just killed one of their own.

While Liora was provocative and full of scorn, Agnes was her opposite: silent, cold, objective. She seemed like a lethal machine, focused solely on killing and eliminating her enemies with brutal efficiency.

Aziz, observing the two of them, was impressed by the way they fought, even when outnumbered. More than just strength, he saw the experience and control they had over their weapons and over the very art of war.

Every movement, every precisely and calmly delivered strike, indicated that this wasn’t their first time facing situations like this.

He looked away, nodding in recognition. They were more than allies—they were seasoned warriors, capable of turning the tide of battle with their skill.

"If you’re not going to attack... then I will," Aziz said, his voice low yet firm.

Silver mana began to flow into his legs. With a smooth yet purposeful motion, he charged forward in a straight line, sword ready to slice through any hesitation in his path.

The leader’s eyes widened in shock. In truth, he was overwhelmed by fear—a deep fear he couldn’t hide, especially as he watched his subordinates fall one by one.

Inside, he cursed himself for his impulsiveness, for attacking people at random without considering the consequences.

Not that it was the first time. In fact, he had lost count of how many times he had done this.

He robbed, killed, abused. Captured women became toys in his hands. He broke them slowly, shattered their souls just to toss them aside afterward. Their pleas and screams brought no remorse—only pleasure.

He delighted in others’ pain.

His rotten soul fed on the tears and cries of his victims, and he enjoyed watching them beg for mercy, relishing the power he held over them.

But now, seeing his men fall one by one, he felt, if only for a brief instant, a bitter twinge of regret.

To many, he was the embodiment of evil—and he wouldn’t deny it. He might even agree with a proud smile.

But in that world, split into dimensions and ruled by strength, morality and law were just tools created by the powerful to maintain their dominance.

And they themselves would break those tools if it suited them.

And who would dare oppose them?

He had seen it firsthand and understood perfectly how the world worked.

Born with little talent, he spent years believing he could overcome his limits, that it was merely an obstacle to make him stronger.

How wrong he was.

No matter how hard he trained, even to the point of breaking bones, no matter how much he begged the heavens for a chance, he never received an answer.

And in the end, he became stuck at the Master level, unable to progress, mocked and looked down upon.

With a twisted mind, he convinced himself that this justified his heinous actions—that he shouldn’t be the only one to suffer.

But deep down, he knew his rot existed long before he discovered his lack of talent.

He dreamed of being the strongest, of dominating people with power, of being admired and revered by all.

And since he couldn’t achieve that, he unleashed his frustration on the innocent, destroying lives with a satisfied grin, believing that somehow, he was fulfilling his dream.

And the worst part: he believed it was fair, that his lack of power gave him that right.

He was nothing more than someone who only saw himself, thinking that everything he’d endured made him what he was.

But now, facing someone truly strong, his real essence was revealed.

He was just a coward. A hypocrite. A pathetic being.

CLANG!

Aziz’s blade collided with the leader’s, who barely had time to raise his sword. The impact dragged him back several meters, his legs nearly giving out.

Aziz watched him, raising an eyebrow at the tremor running through the man’s body and noticing his daze.

Looking straight into his one visible eye, Aziz saw all he needed: fear, despair, regret... and a desperate will to live.

"It’s no use regretting now. Trash like you doesn’t deserve that," he said with disgust, his voice thick with contempt.

The leader tried to hold his sword steady, but his arms were trembling. His legs felt like jelly.

"Hahaha... how pathetic can someone be when facing someone stronger?!" Aziz laughed, incredulous at the cowardice oozing before him. "Come on, you idiot! Raise that sword and fight for real!"

The disappointment was clear. Aziz didn’t want an enemy like this. Weak. Trembling. Without honor.

What Aziz wanted now was to make him suffer for the vile words he’d spoken against his companions—and then end his pathetic existence.

The leader clenched his teeth again, trying to force his rage into courage. But all that remained was the desire to survive.

"BASTARD! YOU’RE DEAD!" he shouted, trying to drive away the fear. He lunged forward with sword in hand, but his intent was obvious: he didn’t want to win. He wanted to injure and flee. Leave his men behind as bait.

Aziz smiled, understanding the leader’s intention.

"At least he’ll fight for real now..." he murmured, charging forward as well.

The end was near, and Aziz was ready to put an end to this pathetic and pointless fight.