CHAPTER 134: THE ASTRAL PUNCH!

In the bustling cities, merchants wake before dawn, their hands calloused from years of handling goods, their voices warmed by the joy of earning enough to feed their families.

(Street children laugh and chase each other, not caring that their clothes are patched and torn, because to them, friendship is wealth beyond coin.)

In the quiet villages, farmers till the soil under the golden light of sunrise, their sweat mingling with the earth. They dream of bountiful harvests, not just for survival, but for the pride of providing for their loved ones.

Elders sit beneath ancient trees, telling tales of the past—of love won and lost, of battles fought, and of sacrifices made—while their eyes glisten with both nostalgia and wisdom.

Even in the shadows, where thieves and mercenaries lurk, feelings thrive. Greed may guide their hands, but fear, loyalty, and longing still live in their hearts.

A hardened killer might still pause to watch the rain fall, remembering the face of someone they once cherished.

(Animals, too, have their place in this world. Loyal hounds guard doorsteps not for gold, but for the bond they share with their masters. Wild creatures roam forests and mountains, living by instinct but showing tenderness to their young.)

(Yes, this may be a novel’s world, but its heartbeat is made of countless emotions—joy and pain, hope and despair, love and hate. And in these feelings lies the truth: a world, no matter how fictional, becomes real when its people truly live within it.)

(To me, they are not humans—just characters in a novel.

But to them, this world is everything.

Every heartbeat, every tear, every dream...

it’s more than just life—it’s their reality.)

(In my world, he’s nothing more than ink on paper, a string of words crafted by an author’s imagination.)

(A "character" — that’s all he should be. Someone who only exists when the page turns, who disappears the moment the book closes. He’s not flesh and blood, not a person who breathes or feels.)

(But here, in this strange reality I’ve been thrown into, he moves, speaks, and glares at me as if I’m the intruder.)

(I can’t let myself forget — he’s not a real human where I come from. Back home, he’s fiction, powerless beyond the limits of the plot. But here, if I just stand still and let him beat me, I’d be no different from the helpless extras in this story who exist only to be trampled on. That’s not who I am.)

(Even if this is his world, I refuse to bow down to someone who wouldn’t even exist without the mind that created him. )

(I won’t be a pawn in a game I already know the rules to. If he throws a punch, I’ll hit back. If he tries to crush me under the weight of the "story," I’ll tear the script apart. After all, he’s only a character. I’m real.)

The faint metallic clink of each gold coin landing in the battered tin cup echoed through the quiet lane, a sound so small yet sharp enough to fill the tense air.

Rin’s eyes followed the coins as if they were the most precious treasures in the world, while Kael remained crouched, his hand still in motion, helping the boy gather what had been scattered.

Erian stood a few steps away, his steel-gray eyes narrowing, a muscle in his jaw tightening with barely restrained annoyance.

The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the irritation simmering beneath his composed façade.

He shifted his weight slightly, as if considering stepping forward again, his presence looming like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Before he could move, Cecelia stepped in. She planted herself firmly between him and Kael, her back straight, her expression sharp and unyielding.

"Go away, Erian," she said, her voice carrying an edge that cut through the heavy silence. "I mean it."

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. His gaze flicked from Cecelia to Kael, as though weighing whether his pride was worth the trouble.

But he didn’t move a flinch.

"You beggar, want any of my punches too", he said to Rin.

Kael straightened slowly, handing Rin the last of the coins. "Here. Take care of your mother."

The boy nodded quickly and hurried off, clutching the coins like treasure.

Cecelia turned to Kael, guilt written across her face. "I’m sorry. He’s... he’s always been like that."

Kael shook his head. "You don’t need to apologize for him."

The older guard shifted uneasily. "Lady Lia... with all due respect—"

"There is no ’with all due respect’ when the Lia name is on the table," Cecelia cut in coldly.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to hear the faint hum of the oil lamp in the corner.

Finally, the seated guard gave a curt nod. "You’re free to go. For now."

Cecelia’s gaze flicked to Kael. "Come."

Kael stood up slowly, taking a deep breath to calm the burning pain in his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment and focused, feeling the familiar warmth of mana flowing through his body.

He gathered all the energy inside him, letting it build steadily, filling his muscles and mind with strength and power.

He didn’t have his sword with him—he had left it back in his dorm—but that didn’t matter. Today, all his power was focused into his fist.

When Kael opened his eyes, they were sharp and steady, fixed on Erianlia with an unblinking, determined stare.

His anger was like a roaring fire inside him, fierce and unyielding. The air around him began to change.

The soft breeze suddenly grew stronger, swirling dust and loose leaves into a small whirlwind at his feet. The atmosphere felt charged, as if the very wind itself responded to the power Kael was gathering.

His right fist clenched tightly, glowing faintly as the mana pulsed beneath his skin. With a loud, clear shout, Kael called out, "ASTRAL PUNCH!"

In a flash, his fist shot forward with incredible speed and force, striking Erianlia squarely in the face.

The impact was devastating. Erianlia’s body flew backward like a broken arrow, crashing through the wooden walls of several nearby houses.

Wood splintered and shattered everywhere as debris scattered across the street. The ground trembled beneath the violent blow.