Chapter 569 - 505: Crush, and Then Inquire

Chapter 569: Chapter 505: Crush, and Then Inquire

For a few seconds, time itself seemed to freeze inside the tavern.

A dead silence.

A suffocating, dead silence.

Only the faint sound of splintered barrels rolling in the corner and dust settling softly broke the stagnant scene.

The thugs who had surrounded them, once radiating killing intent and ferocious expressions, were now frozen in place as if by an unseen Frost.

The mocking, savage, and cold expressions on their faces had yet to fade before they were frozen solid.

In their place was a dazed bewilderment, and from the depths of their pupils, an unconcealable horror and Fear that spread rapidly.

The Ranger with the Short Bow on his back froze, his fingers, resting on the Bowstring, hovering stiffly in mid-air, trembling slightly.

The two tower-like brutes standing in front of Holland instinctively took half a step back. Their heavy breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, the muscles on their bronze faces twitched, and their eyes filled with disbelief.

Riley’s face was ashen. The palm of the hand gripping his Dagger was instantly soaked in cold sweat. His previous cold, snake-like demeanor had vanished, replaced by the pure terror of a creature facing its natural predator.

He had seen it more clearly than anyone else.

He had seen how the young man had nonchalantly caught Ogre’s punch—a blow powerful enough to shatter rock—and then tossed him aside like a piece of trash.

That Power...

It was completely beyond his comprehension.

Behind the bar, Boss Karen’s jaw dropped. His fat face was a mixture of utter shock and a sliver of absurd relief. He had no idea where the rag in his hand had gone.

And Holland...

He hadn’t even fully retracted his lunge to help, his Nail Head Hammer raised in mid-air. He looked like a statue that had suddenly been hit with a Petrification Spell.

His eyes were wide, his mouth hung slightly ajar. He stared at the black-haired young man’s calm, upright back, then slowly turned his stiff neck to look at the corner, at the ruins that were still trembling slightly—a mess created by Ogre’s massive body.

"How... How is this possible..."

A voice, so faint it was barely audible, escaped his dry throat.

The glow from the Holy Emblem on his neck had long since stopped its frantic flickering, as if it too had been stunned into inaction by the reality-shattering scene before it.

Just a short while ago, he had personally witnessed Roland use a Thunderbolt-like momentum to kill several powerful goblins with his bare hands.

That clean efficiency and terrifying Power had already left a deep impression on him, making him realize his "amnesiac" companion was anything but ordinary.

But...

Those were goblins, after all.

Even if those little Green Skins were unnaturally strong and surprisingly coordinated, they were still fundamentally Demons, a common threat in the wilderness.

In Holland’s estimation, if he were at his peak with his Holy Light flowing freely, facing five such goblins would still be a tough fight. He’d have to be wary of their coordination and brute force. But ultimate victory wouldn’t be impossible—it would just mean expending more effort and sustaining a few injuries.

Even an ordinary Low Tier Extraordinary Professional, with the right weapons and tactics, could probably deal with them after paying a certain price.

Roland’s performance, by comparison, had simply made the process seem abnormally easy and efficient.

It was astonishing, but it hadn’t completely shattered the boundaries of Holland’s idea of a powerful Warrior.

However, the one who was just thrown like a rag doll was no mere wilderness Demon.

It was Ogre.

"Scarface" Ogre.

The Half-beastman tyrant of Lin Ye Town and its surrounding areas, a name that struck fear into all who heard it. He had carved out his "empire" with the monstrous strength from his mixed blood, his vicious methods, and a cunning mind.

Holland had never experienced Ogre’s terrifying Power firsthand, but he had heard countless rumors and had even seen him snap a challenger’s Iron Sword with his bare hands and shatter an unruly subordinate’s sternum with a single punch.

That was genuine, raw strength, enough to dominate in the chaotic borderlands—something that couldn’t be compared to a few beefed-up goblins.

And yet, this was the infamous Ogre. His fully charged, fatal punch had been caught by Roland with a single hand, without him budging an inch.

Then, he was lifted with that same hand, thrown like trash, and sent crashing through half a wall.

’This is no longer in the realm of easily dealt with.’

This was total...

Domination.

It was a desperate, absolute gap in their level of Power.

"Argh... Bas... Bastard!"

A roar filled with pain, humiliation, and fury—like that of a wounded beast—erupted from the rubble in the corner.

Wood splinters and barrel fragments flew everywhere as Ogre’s burly figure staggered to its feet.

His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle, his wrist clearly broken. His face and body were covered in dust, liquor, and bloody scrapes. A gash on his forehead was gushing blood, which trickled across his already gruesome scar, making him look even more terrifying.

But his light brown eyes were bloodshot with extreme rage, locked onto Roland as if they were about to spew fire.

’Humiliation! Unprecedented humiliation! In front of everyone, on my own turf, I was thrown out like trash by some scrawny-looking kid!’

Rage completely consumed his reason, eclipsing the soul-shaking Fear he had felt for an instant when he saw those gilt vertical pupils.

"Get him! Kill him! Kill that little bastard!"

Ogre pointed at Roland with his good right arm, his voice distorted by rage and pain, grating like a whetstone.