"Do you think there’s anyone out there who can kill me, Cale?" the figure said, his voice cold yet unwavering.
A chuckle echoed from the shadows. "Oh? So you still recognize my voice? For a moment, I thought you’d lost your memory or something." Cale stepped forward, his smirk barely visible under the moonlight. "After all, you’ve been silent for ten years. No calls. No signs. Nothing. What happened, Snow? Or should I say... Calamity Killer?"
Snow exhaled sharply, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "I’ll tell you everything... but first, I need to deal with this mess."
Without another word, he leaped from the rooftop. The moment his boots hit the pavement, the ground cracked beneath him—BOOM! Dust and debris scattered, but instead of a graceful landing, his knee buckled slightly. Pain shot through his body. He was weaker.
Cale landed beside him effortlessly, arms crossed. "You used to jump from buildings twice this height without a scratch. What happened to my strong Calamity Killer?"
Snow pushed himself up, shaking off the pain. "It’s a long story." He extended his hand. "Lend me your sword."
Cale sighed but tossed him a blade. The moment Snow gripped the hilt, something inside him awakened—but it wasn’t the overwhelming power he once commanded. No mana. No divine strength. Just his raw skill.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The hellhounds turned toward him, their glowing eyes locking onto their new target. Their bodies tensed, their claws scraping against the concrete. Then—they pounced.
The first hound lunged, aiming for his throat. Snow moved.
His sword sliced through the air—a blur of steel and death. The blade cut through the beast's neck so cleanly that for a second, it didn’t realize it was dead. Then, blood sprayed, and the head tumbled to the ground.
The other monsters hesitated.
Snow's movements weren’t human. They were haunting. His footwork was precise, his swings effortless, his strikes delivered with a cold, mechanical grace. A dance of death. But this dance wasn’t beautiful—it was horrifying.
The next hellhound lunged. He sidestepped. The beast’s claws barely grazed his coat before—SHING! A reverse cut sliced it in half.
The watching civilians trembled. Some clutched their mouths, eyes wide in shock. This wasn’t a hero’s battle. This was an execution.
"M-Monster..." someone whispered.
More hounds charged. Snow didn’t stop. He twisted, spun, and struck. Every slash was surgical, every movement calculated. His blade never wasted a single inch.
In less than a minute, the street was littered with corpses. Not a single monster left standing. The only sound that remained was the dripping of blood from Snow’s sword.
Then—he vanished.
One moment, the people were watching him. The next, he was gone. No trace, no sound, nothing but the chilling memory of his blood-soaked swordplay.
High above the city, on another rooftop, Snow wiped his blade clean. Cale stood beside him, his expression unreadable.
"Your swordsmanship is as terrifying as ever," he muttered, "but your power... it’s just average now. You weren’t using any mana. What happened to you?"
Snow didn’t respond immediately. He simply stared at the moonlit city, his grip tightening around the sword’s hilt.
Finally, he spoke.
"It’s gone."
To be continued...