The deafening, clang echoed off the alley walls, a sound so violent it seemed to fracture the very air.
For a single, moment, the world was a still frame of brutal force.
Dravin's wide cleaver was pressed against Klein's crimson saber, the two weapons locked in a desperate struggle just inches from Dravin's throat.
The point of Klein's blade, glowing with condensed, terrifying power, had been halted, but only just.
Then, the stalemate broke.
The raw, overwhelming power of a Rank 4 foundation, amplified by Level 7 mastery, proved to be the superior force. With a final, explosive surge, Dravin pushed outwards.
"Crack!"
A spiderweb of fissures spread across the blade of Klein's D-rank saber.
The weapon, unable to withstand the monstrous force channeled against it, let out a groan before shattering into a dozen glowing, metallic shards that scattered across the ground.
The backlash was instantaneous and devastating.
The energy from Klein's ultimate technique, with nowhere to go, surged back up his arms and into his body.
He was thrown backwards as if hit by an invisible battering ram, tumbling through the air before crashing heavily against the far wall of the alley.
He slumped to the ground in a heap, barely managing to keep his consciousness together.
Dravin remained standing, his chest heaving, his muscles trembling violently. The sheer, explosive power he had unleashed still coursed through his veins like a live current.
A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth where he had bitten his tongue, and a shallow, searing red line marked his neck where the heat of the saber's tip had grazed his skin.
He couldn't believe it. He had almost died.
He had walked into this confrontation with the arrogance of the overpowered, viewing Klein and his lackeys as nothing more than annoying insects to be swatted away. He had toyed with them, enjoying the reversal of their roles. And that arrogance, that momentary lapse in judgment, had nearly cost him his life.
Who would have thought that Klein, in the span of a single day, would have not only learned but achieved a frightening level of proficiency in a ranked combat technique?
The `Inferno Slash`,. It wasn't some basic academy art; it was a treasure, a secret technique likely passed down through his family.
Underestimating an enemy with a deep background was a rookie mistake, a lesson he had learned on Earth but forgotten in the intoxicating rush of his newfound power. A lesson he had just been forcefully reminded of.
A wave of cold fury, directed as much at himself as at his enemy, washed over him.
At that moment, Klein stirred.
He pushed himself up, using the broken hilt of his saber as a makeshift crutch.
His face was as pale as a sheet, his body trembling uncontrollably. The backlash from his failed technique had ravaged his meridians and left him completely drained of energy. He was now weaker than even a Rank 1 Super Soldier.
His eyes, once filled with arrogant rage, were now wide and blank with fear. He stared at
Dravin, at the cold, murderous intent radiating from him, and his mind finally grasped the terrifying reality of his situation.
"Y-you… you better not do anything reckless," Klein stammered, his voice weak and raspy. He tried to inject some of his usual authority into his words, but it came out as a pathetic plea. "My older brother… he's an official student, a prodigy! He would never let you off, even if you ran to the ends of the earth!"
He was threatening Dravin, desperately hoping the name of his powerful brother would act as a shield. But to his dismay, the threat had the opposite effect.
Dravin's furious expression broke, and he burst into a fit of harsh, mocking laughter that echoed chillingly in the confined space.
"Hahahaha! What a joke! What an absolute joke!" he bellowed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You corner me, you try to cripple me, and then you try to *kill* me. And now you expect me to just let you walk away because you have a strong brother? Where can one find such a wonderful deal in this world?"
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the sound of his boot on the stone like a judge's gavel.
"If our roles were reversed right now," Dravin continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "what would you be doing to me? Don't insult my intelligence. If I didn't have the strength to defend myself, I'd be a broken corpse lying in a ditch somewhere right now, my death covered up to protect your precious reputation."
Each word was a blow, stripping away the last of Klein's desperate hope.
"Y-you! What are you trying to do?" Klein's face turned increasingly pale as he saw the cruel, evil smirk spreading across Dravin's face.
Dravin didn't answer with words.
He moved, and the alley filled with the sickening crunch of bone and the high-pitched, agonized screams of a boy who had never known true pain.
Like a chicken in a slaughterhouse, Klein was brutally dismantled. Dravin didn't just break his limbs; he shattered them, ensuring that even with the advanced medical technology of this world, recovery would be a long, painful, and excruciatingly expensive process.
He returned the favor Klein had intended for him, tenfold.
When he was finished, Klein was a whimpering, blubbering mess, barely conscious and lying in a pool of his own tears and filth.
But Dravin wasn't done. He looked at the four lackeys, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide-eyed horror, and proceeded to do the same to them, their renewed screams adding to the grim symphony.
Then, with a cold efficiency that was utterly terrifying, Dravin stripped all five of them of their clothes, leaving them in nothing but their underwear.
He used their own belts and shirts to hoist them up, hanging them from a series of protruding pipes on the alley wall like slabs of meat.
As a final, humiliating touch, he stuffed their own underwear into their mouths, silencing their pathetic moans and ensuring their shame would be absolute.
When the students returned from the examination, victorious or defeated, this would be the sight that greeted them.
The arrogant Klein Reddington and his crew, hung up and displayed for all to see. It was a brutal, public humiliation that would follow him for the rest of his life.
Dravin stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Killing them would have been satisfying, but it would have been a mistake. The academy would undoubtedly investigate the death of a student from a prominent family, and he would have to flee, his future ruined.
This… this was better. This broke their spirit, their reputation, and their bodies, without making him a fugitive. He could always kill Klein in the future, once he was strong enough that the consequences no longer mattered. For now, this would have to suffice.
His gaze fell upon a small, leather-bound book that had fallen from Klein's belt during the struggle. He picked it up. The cover was embossed with golden, flame-like patterns. `Mortal Rank Combat Technique: Inferno Slash.` This was it.
He pocketed the book, a flicker of satisfaction cutting through his lingering adrenaline. With this, his own combat strength would improve even further. He had turned a potentially fatal encounter into a massive profit.
He turned to leave the alley, his work done. The examination would be starting soon. Just as he was about to step out into the sunlight, the familiar, mechanical voice chimed in his mind, bringing with it a completely unexpected reward.
[Ding!]
[Congratulations on defeating an enemy!]
[One (1) Lottery Spin has been rewarded!]