With these thoughts clear in his mind, Murphy turned to Raventa. "According to what you've said, how should we approach taking down the city ahead?"

The Duke of the North set a hand naturally on Arwin's shoulder. "Want to know? The old coot will show the kid a thing or two soon."

Arwin shrugged off the familiar duke's hand, speaking with steady resolve, "No need for the commentary."

The army halted before the small town without encircling it, forming a battle line instead. Atop the walls, the defensive troops stood ready, but a closer look revealed faint uncertainty. They were clearly prepared for whatever had gone down in the lawless lands, yet they seemed to anticipate their own fates.

A middle-aged man donning half a set of armor stood atop the walls, looking down at the ready forces below and bellowed, "You two old coots, His Majesty held your families in high esteem, entrusted you with power! A third of the kingdom's land was in your hands. Wasn't that enough? Do you have any idea how we lesser nobles dream of such days?"

Raventa was initially irked, but the walls projected youth’s indignance cooled his ire—he simply saw a naive child.

After an exchanged glance, Arwin dismounted and approached the walls alone.

Looking back at Murphy, the elderly face of the Duke of the North carried a smile of confidence, "Don't blink now, or you'll miss it."

Through the repeated hints, Murphy had more or less guessed the dukes' strategy for breaching the city walls. As one of the world's top fighters, he wasn't too familiar with those a tier or two below him. This was a prime opportunity for a bit of observation.

One hundred steps, eighty steps, fifty steps—Arwin halted, glanced up at the seemingly fierce noble on the wall, a look of near-confession on his face.

The man atop the wall's expression changed several times before shouting, "You don't know who I am?"

Arwin spoke as though a tender spot was poked, his tone calm, "For that, I apologize."

"Apologize for what?!" The man on the wall lost his composure, abandoning any pretense of nobility. He leaned over the wall and bellowed, "Son of a—remember this, Arwin, my name is Harven! I'm Baron Gary Harven, knighted by the King himself."

"Alright, Lord Harven, I'm sorry for what's to come. But please believe, I have my reasons," Arwin said in a booming yet steady voice that seemed fitting for an elder bishop delivering a sermon in church.

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Sadly, what swirled in his hand was not a scripture or a holy relic, but a gathering invisible fist of wind.

"Boom!"

A muffled sound erupted, and where Arwin once stood, only a footprint and a puff of dust remained. As for the old man who just apologized? He had gone to do that regrettable deed.

In the blink of an eye, the fifty-step gap vanished. Next, everyone saw that same old man standing at the city gate with a transparent force on his right hand, distorting the space around him.

Then the right fist swung out, a muffled explosion resonating in everyone's ears like thunder echoing through a stormy night.

A loud boom followed by whistling wind, the sound of shattering materials, thuds of collisions, hoarse roars, and desperate screams merged, creating a hurricane that soared past Murphy, laden with countless fragments of stone striking the armor of soldiers behind him with crisp clinks.

Murphy felt as though he was in a cinema, witnessing a visceral 4D movie before him. He quickly cast a protective spell around Pepe, keeping the barrage of stones at bay.

"Impressive, level 80 and this strong?" he mused. If a mere power-up punch could do this, his own level 100 abilities would create an even grander scene.

But what of the hero? Murphy pondered the potential of the hero that had surpassed limits spoken of by the previous Demon King. What exactly was this limit? A level cap, perhaps? Murphy's mind raced with speculation.

His daydream was interrupted by a sting on his arm. In front of him, his apprentice Pepe was in shock, speechless at the scene, gripping Murphy's arm tightly. With his superior vitality, Pepe's grip was stronger than most, and Murphy, not resorting to pain dulling, felt the pressure.

"Whoa, scared much?" Murphy teased with a chuckle.

"Maybe a little..." Pepe responded, dropping his usual bravado to confess his feelings.

"No worries, you might become this powerful one day too," Murphy reassured him with a smile.

The dust settled and the flying debris touched down, revealing Arwin's figure who turned and nonchalantly walked back to his steed. He mounted up and slowly rode toward the frontline.

At Murphy's side, Eric, the commander of the Western Guard, signaled downward with his arm. The well-prepared Western troops charged forward. The wooden and iron gates had vanished without a trace, and where the town's walls once stood, there now was a trench extending to the opposite end of the town. Murphy could clearly see the grassy plains on the other side.

Old Arwin had truly punched a hole through the town.

Thus, the little town scarcely marked on the map simply vanished before Murphy's eyes—an odd feeling since such acts had historically been in the demon's domain.

Internally, Murphy resolved that if he ever united the human kingdoms, he'd name Old Arwin the Demons' First Vanguard.

After all, the combined destruction yielded by all demons in ninety years paled against the old man's single punch.

The remaining half of the town’s walls fell, and the Northwest army burst into the city with the vigor of the Western Guard. Each civilian was outnumbered by five well-trained soldiers.

Fortunately for them, with word of the impending battle, most citizens had fled, leaving behind little more than the guard and supplies—an almost empty city.

Buoyed by high morale, the Northwest forces swiftly conquered the town, locating the granaries of the former lord—Baron Harven, now reduced to debris—ensuring their supply lines were amply stocked, ready for the next engagement.