The bandit leader felt an overwhelming wave of fear crash over him, a primal terror that crawled into every corner of his body. This was a man who once considered himself untouchable, a king in his domain, thanks to his ultimate skill, "Blood Block." Yet now, the foundations of his belief, of his very world, were crumbling before him. Sweat formed in beads on his forehead, his breath hitching as his eyes widened with a dawning sense of dread and confusion.
"Wait... how is it possible that it doesn’t work on you?" he stammered, his voice trembling. Then, a terrifying realization began to take shape in his mind. "Could it be that you are..."
The weight of this realization struck him down to his knees, his legs buckling under the sheer pressure of his fear. His body could no longer support him. Tears streamed from his bloodshot, swollen eyes, cascading down his filthy, grime-covered cheeks. He was no longer the fearsome leader of bandits—now, he was just a man facing the cold inevitability of his doom. Sobbing, he raised his trembling hands in desperate supplication, pleading for mercy from the silent general standing before him, a man whose eyes showed no sign of compassion.
"Please... please! Don’t kill me! I’ll do anything, I swear! I’ll leave the village, I’ll disappear... just, please, spare my life!" His voice cracked, a pitiful whimper replacing the once-commanding tone that had terrorized so many.
Samuel, still calm, his expression cold and detached, looked down at him with eyes that seemed to bore into the bandit’s soul. The silence between them stretched for what felt like an eternity. Then, slowly, a slight smile curled the edges of Samuel’s lips, but it was a smile devoid of warmth.
"Oh, don’t worry... I’m not going to kill you," Samuel said, his voice as smooth and emotionless as ever.
The leader, still on his knees, felt a spark of hope. His bloodshot eyes widened, and a nervous smile spread across his face, as if life had been returned to him. But this illusion of salvation collapsed as quickly as it had appeared.
Samuel coldly added, "I’m not going to do anything to you. But him..." He gestured behind him. "...I’m not sure he’ll make the same promise."
The bandit’s faint spark of hope flickered and died in an instant. He felt it before he saw it—a monstrous presence looming behind him, like a force of nature about to descend. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, more oppressive, as though a massive beast had suddenly filled the space around him. Terror-stricken, the leader slowly turned his head, heart pounding in his chest, to look behind him.
There stood Canon, now freed from his paralysis, his massive form towering over the bandit. His face was a mask of fury, contorted into an expression so terrifying it barely seemed human. His eyes burned with a visceral, unquenchable hatred—a thirst for vengeance that blazed brighter than any emotion the bandit had ever seen before.
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The leader’s mind raced, panic overtaking all rational thought. He had used up all his mana, every last reserve, in a futile attempt to defeat Samuel.
Now, he was defenseless, his strength utterly depleted. Desperately, he tried to scramble to his feet, to run, but his body refused to cooperate. And then, a crushing weight slammed down on his shoulder. Canon’s hand—enormous, heavy, and merciless—gripped him with such force that pain exploded through the bandit’s body. He screamed, the sound a raw, animalistic wail of desperation, but no amount of struggling could free him from Canon’s iron grip.
"Please... please let me go..." he whimpered, his voice barely a whisper now, his tears flowing freely, soaking the ground beneath him. But Canon, a tower of silent rage, said nothing. His eyes never left the bandit’s, and his fury only seemed to grow with each passing second.
In one swift motion, Canon pulled his arm back, preparing to strike with all his might. "Armed Arm!" he roared, and his muscles bulged, swelling grotesquely as the power of his skill surged through him. The bandit leader’s eyes widened in sheer horror, his mind too paralyzed by fear to fully comprehend the pain that was about to come.
The blow landed with a force that could have shattered mountains. A sickening, deafening crack echoed through the air as the bandit’s body was flung backward like a ragdoll, his form sailing through the air before slamming into a massive boulder with a thunderous impact. The rock exploded, fragments of stone and dust flying in all directions.Blood sprayed from the bandit’s mangled body, splattering across the ground in a gruesome arc.
Agony unlike anything he had ever experienced tore through him. Gasping for breath, the bandit leader weakly raised his head, his vision blurring as he looked down at his broken body. His left arm was gone, ripped from its socket along with a chunk of his shoulder and the upper left side of his torso. Blood poured from the gaping wound, staining the earth beneath him. He tried to move, but his right leg was twisted, broken beyond repair, bent at a grotesque angle. Every attempt to move sent fresh waves of pain crashing through him.
He screamed—a piercing, anguished wail that echoed across the battlefield. His vision swam, his head throbbing from what he was sure was a serious head injury. Blood filled his mouth, his lungs heaving with the effort to stay alive, each breath a fresh torture.
And then, there was Canon. The giant was approaching again, his steps slow, methodical, each one a heavy thud in the dirt. His eyes blazed with fury, and his massive fists clenched at his sides, ready to deliver the final blow.
The bandit leader, sobbing uncontrollably now, made one last, desperate plea for mercy. "Please... please... I beg you..." His voice was barely more than a croak, his strength all but gone.
Canon, unmoved, reached down and grabbed the bandit by the collar. The leader’s tears continued to fall, his heart pounding in his chest as he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable end.
But then... silence.
"You can open your eyes," came Samuel’s calm voice, breaking the tense stillness.
The bandit trembled, opening his eyes slowly, hardly daring to believe what he might see. Canon was lying on the ground, unconscious, the rage having drained from his face.
"He’s reached his limit," Samuel said, his tone as even as ever. "He passed out."