Inside the palace of the Boleslaw Spire, amidst the blood-red mist, the bulletproof armor that Roslov had pulled off a corpse shattered as he put it on. His body instantly expanded.
His already muscular frame swelled further, veins throbbing with newfound power.
"Now, do as I say, control the overflowing power…"
The "Warrior" potion enhanced the body, but not the "Mental Body." It took Roslov three times longer than Bukayo to rein in the overflowing power, and ten times longer to barely grasp meditation.
"My Lord, I…"
Roslov took an excited step forward. His uncontrollable superhuman agility threw him off balance, sending him hurtling forward.
To give Roslov a memorable lesson on the importance of control, Nareth slightly sidestepped, letting the newly born "warrior" crash headfirst into the wall.
With a loud bang, the tremendous force made the wall tremble. Stars floated before Roslov's eyes, and it took a moment before he regained his senses.
Nareth's voice rang in his ears: "Control your strength."
Holding his forehead, Roslov realized the injury wasn't as bad as expected. Had it been before, he would've taken minutes to recover.
'My Lord is a god. Only a god could grant me such power!'
He quickly knelt on one knee before Nareth, his gaze fixed on his Lord's iron boots.
"My Lord, I will not disappoint your trust!"
Nareth helped him up, his voice stern and commanding:
"I believe in you."
Tears welled up in Roslov's eyes, nearly spilling out—until the communicator beeped in time.
Only Bukayo and his newly appointed deputy had permission to contact him aside from his Lord. He suppressed his turbulent emotions.
"My lord… forgive me!"
Roslov quickly composed himself, his tone returning to normal.
"No harm done."
He answered the call, and his deputy's urgent voice came through.
"My Lord, a noble force has launched an attack on the defense line. The Fender family can barely hold them off!"
Through the observation window, Nareth watched thousands of enemy troops charging below.
He didn't turn around, only clasped his hands behind his back.
"Go now, my 'warrior.' Only through battle can you truly master the power I've given you."
"Remember, decapitate the leader!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Once again, Roslov felt his Lord's trust. His blood and fighting spirit ignited.
Turning from the palace, he dashed downward at lightning speed.
'My speed has increased several times over. It's not just the difference between climbing and descending, this is a whole new level.'
Spotting a corpse, his instincts told him the armor was a perfect fit.
Using sheer force, Roslov tore off his shattered bulletproof vest and put on the new armor, which fit him perfectly.
Then he picked up a las pistol and a chainsword.
As he gripped the weapons, he felt a strange sensation, like they were extensions of his own body.
In his mind, he recalled the information that had surged into his brain earlier: [Proficient in all weapons and armor; no weapon is unusable.]
And then, his Lord's words echoed once more: "Control your strength."
As the "warrior" dove downward, he swung the weapons in his hand.
High-speed charge, reverse grip aiming during turns...
When Roslov emerged from the spire, his eyes were filled with confidence. He had gained initial mastery of his Beyonder ability, physical enhancement.
His gaze scanned the enemy formation as he silently repeated, "Decapitate the leader."
He immediately spotted a red-robed commander and smirked.
'Ah, yes, you noble commanders always wear the most obvious red robes.'
Knowing he couldn't charge the enemy lines solo like his Lord, he summoned his personal hundred-man squad.
"Follow me, eliminate the enemy commander!"
"Yes, sir!"
The gang elites were shocked to see Roslov, who usually charged in with them, now rushing out ahead. He raised his hand and fired—a laser beam pierced through the eyes of an enemy thirty meters away.
'When did the leader get so strong? Even with a noble's las pistol, you can't just run and make perfect shots like that.'
They all opened fire with their new weapons and found their accuracy had indeed improved, but nowhere near their leader's level.
Every time Roslov pulled the trigger, another enemy dropped. He charged straight into the enemy ranks.
The valiant "warrior" instantly drew enemy fire, and dozens of weapons turned on him.
Roslov rolled to the ground and ducked behind an abandoned fortification.
"You fools—attack!" he roared.
His men quickly raised their weapons and opened fire.
Roslov reloaded his energy cell and, while his men absorbed enemy fire, broke into a sprint.
The wind howled in his ears. Raising his left arm, he pulled the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat—
A rapid burst, every shot hitting its mark.
The red-robed commander watched as his bodyguards were slaughtered in seconds.
'Who is this monster? Could it be the newly infamous bounty hunter Thierry Vieira? But isn't he active in the Elubo Spire?'
A chainsword roar erupted near him. He had no time to think and fired a shot.
Roslov had been locked onto him the whole time. He ducked low, dodging the shot, then launched a flying kick, slamming into the commander's arm.
A sharp crack—his arm was broken.
'What a strong brute force.'
The noble staggered back, drawing his ornate power sword, and executed a strike from the Ostberg-Vaya sword technique, Article 23.
Lacking strength and speed, he relied on skill—the essence of the Vostroyan martial art lay in exploiting weaknesses and deflecting power.
High above, Nareth watched from the tower. His eyes gleamed as he whispered,
"Interesting…"
The power sword slashed at Roslov's sword arm, but in the nick of time, the "warrior" shifted his arm.
The blade missed its target, slicing only the outer armor of his arm, his wrist untouched.
The red-robed commander was startled. He tried to parry, but Roslov was faster.
As the chainsaw sword struck, the noble realized the move was from his own style, Ostberg-Vaya, a technique he had spent years mastering.
"Impossible! How—agh!"
Roslov didn't answer. One cleave ended the noble's life.
Just then, Howard emerged from a fast-attack boat and witnessed the scene.
'Malchuk was a master swordsman. He played a major role in Shimansky's 30-year expansion, slaying countless enemies—and yet…'
He frowned, searching his memory for the gang member's name.
'Roslov actually killed Malchuk? He was just some nameless underhive gangster. There's no way he could be this strong. If he were, he would've ascended already.'
As he puzzled over it, Roslov walked up to him.
"You're back. What's the situation?"
Now a "warrior," Roslov's temperament had subtly changed. His heart held only reverence for Nareth. Not even the tech-priests or nobles would get special treatment.
"Hmm…" Howard hesitated, slightly uncomfortable, but didn't press the issue. He smiled.
"Mission accomplished."
"You've changed—stronger than when you first climbed the tower."
"This is the power granted by our lord. Perhaps one day, you'll receive his blessing too."