"You know what I’ve learned from my time with Yami?" Grey asked as he crouched low, eyes locked on the men approaching him like hungry wolves. "That my strength lies in my speed!" he roared, bolting forward to meet the group head-on.
Grey shot forth like a cannonball, leaping slightly into the air before descending with a vicious axe kick.
His foot slammed straight into a man’s head, the impact forcing the man to collapse to the ground with a dull thud. His eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness instantly from the sheer force of Grey’s strike.
A sword whistled through the air, aimed directly at Grey’s torso. But in a flash, he sprang upward with a smooth backflip, completely evading the attack. He landed with a flourish, his feet barely making a sound as they touched the ground.
Before anyone could react, Grey was already in motion again. He blitzed toward another man, who spotted him just in time to throw a punch.
But Grey came to a sudden halt, grabbing the man’s fist in his palm. His feet skidded slightly as he absorbed the force, then he smirked and yanked the man’s arm down before springing upward to land a brutal knee strike to his face. The man stumbled back, blood trickling from his nose.
A spear came hurtling toward his back, ready to pierce deep into him. But as if he had eyes behind his head, Grey spun around swiftly and smashed his foot into the oncoming weapon, driving it into the ground.
He immediately pushed off the floor and sent a spinning roundhouse kick crashing into the attacker’s side, hurling the man across the room like a ragdoll.
Grey continued dismantling the group one by one in this same blistering fashion—his every move just a fraction faster, just a step ahead.
’Grey...’ Finral, seated on the cold ground, could only watch in silent awe. His eyes followed every movement Grey made as he darted from one man to another like a phantom.
’To anyone watching, it looks like Grey is far stronger than these men. But in truth, they outclass him by a whole stage. These are stage 2 warriors, yet a stage 1 like Grey is mowing them down. What people don’t realize is—Grey is exploiting his speed, reacting before they can even move.’
His gaze drifted slightly and landed on the pile of heavy iron weights a few meters away, abandoned and forgotten.
’Those weights... they’ve been suppressing him all this time, keeping him from using his full speed. Now that they’re off... he’s like the wind—faster, sharper, and more unpredictable.
He’s moving twice as fast as he did earlier. At stage 1, he’s already manhandling stage 2 warriors like they’re nothing. Just imagine when he climbs further... the higher he goes, the more dangerous he becomes. This guy... he’s trouble for this entire continent.’
"What are you all doing?!" the squad leader roared furiously. The small clan troop he led had started with over two dozen men, but now only ten remained. They circled Grey with nervous eyes and weapons drawn, warily gauging the storm that stood at the center.
"How can Stage 2 warriors like you all lose to him? A Stage 1 terrorist, no less! How pathetic are you all?! Do you want to bring shame to the Midnight Sun Clan? Bring him down now!" the man roared, veins bulging from his neck as the ten men bolted straight for Grey.
"You all never do learn until you’re taught a hard lesson," Grey muttered, shaking his head in disappointment. He slammed his fists together, producing a sharp metallic clang, and dropped into a ready stance.
The ten men lunged at once, their weapons slicing through the air as they struck toward Grey from all angles.
But Grey moved with effortless precision. He leapt just high enough to avoid their strikes, allowing the blades and clubs to clash violently against each other instead.
Hovering airborne for a brief second, he twisted his body, spinning mid-air like a controlled tornado.
And then—his heel came crashing down with pinpoint precision, striking the joint spot of all their weapons. With a thunderous clatter, the weapons shattered upon impact and scattered across the floor.
The disarmed men didn’t falter. Growling, they surged forward, deciding to take the fight to him up close.
One drove a fist straight for Grey’s face, but he ducked sharply. The punch missed its mark and crashed into the nose of a fellow attacker.
Grey seized the moment, ramming his fist into the man’s abdomen with such force that the warrior was lifted off his feet and sent skidding across the floor, groaning in pain.
’Shit! I’m already getting slightly tired. Even my Ki is dangerously low. I only have about a minute left before I’ll be completely defenseless,’ Grey thought, panic fluttering beneath his composed exterior. His gaze locked onto a boot soaring straight at his face.
Reacting in an instant, he raised his palms to shield himself, absorbing the brunt of the kick that sent him skidding a few inches backward.
The remaining nine men came charging again.
Grey exhaled and stood tall, dropping into another stance.
’Yami said... calmness, timing, and control of my breathing, right?’ he reminded himself, narrowing his eyes as Ki surged to his feet like swirling smoke.
He focused, pouring every last drop of Ki into his legs. He didn’t rush. He waited, eyes tracking every move. The men leapt in unison, closing in like wolves on prey.
He shot upward, soaring so high that his head brushed against the ceiling. Then, he spun—faster and harder than before. His body turned into a blur, a spiraling force of nature descending like a storm.
The men, still disoriented, barely had time to register what was happening.
Grey’s rotation grew tighter, deadlier. And then, in one fluid motion, he unleashed a fierce roundhouse kick aimed straight at the ground.
A massive gust of wind exploded from beneath his foot. The force slammed into the men, sending them flying like ragdolls. Their bodies crashed into walls, furniture, and each other, colliding with heavy thuds. Eyes rolled back, weapons forgotten, they slumped unconscious in various corners of the room.
Grey landed softly amidst the chaos, his breath ragged, his body trembling from exhaustion.