Chapter 586 - 512: Crushing! The Spell-Shattering Fist

Chapter 586: Chapter 512: Crushing! The Spell-Shattering Fist

The situation had been urgent. In his haste, he had only drawn upon a sliver of Power from the Primordial Core.

Had he been prepared, he was confident he could have incapacitated the man in an instant, let alone allowed him to cast his Magic.

He raised a hand and gently patted the shoulder of the Ogre beside him. The massive creature had just been pulled from the brink of death, and his breathing was still ragged. Roland ignored the reverence and gratitude practically overflowing from the Ogre’s eyes and began to speak slowly.

"I’ve heard that black market deals mostly involve goods that can’t see the light of day." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

His voice wasn’t loud, yet it cut through the lingering noise with perfect clarity.

"But as one of the Guards tasked with maintaining ’Order’ here, attacking a guest with a ’ticket’ lethally and without provocation... doesn’t that break the very rules you’ve set for yourselves?"

He spoke as he strode forward.

Compared to the Ogre’s towering, robust frame, Roland’s build seemed far more "slender."

But after that earth-shattering punch, no one dared judge him by his appearance.

Each step he took seemed to carry an invisible weight, causing the surrounding crowd to hold their breath reflexively.

Roland stopped about three paces from Malok, his deep, black eyes calmly gazing into the Tiefling’s vertical pupils, which were still wide with terror.

"Or is it that..."

His tone remained level.

"Here, the so-called ’rules’ are merely a decoration for the strong to do as they please? That the only true principle has always been the law of the jungle?"

Before the words even left his lips, the deep black of Roland’s eyes was instantly suffused with the color of molten gold, transforming into majestic, ice-cold, gilded vertical pupils.

In that same instant, he pivoted on his left foot, his waist and hips twisting violently like a drawn bowstring.

His right leg became like the blade of the heaviest, swiftest War Axe, tearing through the air. It left a blurred Residual Shadow in its wake, accompanied by a dull roar as it chopped toward Malok’s side.

It moved faster than the naked eye could follow.

"Wait!"

In the split second before Roland’s kick connected with Malok’s body, a short, sharp cry—clearly meant to halt him—rang out from a shadowy spot high to the side.

Almost in sync with the cry...

"WHOOSH!"

A thin, incredibly swift ray, the murky green of swamp mud, shot out from the Shadow.

It wasn’t aimed at Roland’s vitals, however. Instead, it shot with precision toward the path of his attacking right leg.

The intent was to intercept him, forcing him to halt his attack.

However, Roland’s attack was already an arrow loosed from the bow.

His gilded vertical pupils didn’t even swivel to find the source of the voice and the attack.

He simply eased up on the Power, bent his knee slightly, and hooked his ankle with practiced skill.

The fatal chop transformed into a powerful, lateral impact that "swept" heavily into the arm Malok had hastily thrown up to defend himself.

"CRACK!"

The distinct sound of bone shattering rang out.

"Argh!"

Malok let out a pained shriek. His body went flying sideways like a puppet struck by a Siege Hammer, crashing through two stalls behind him.

He collapsed to the ground amidst a scene of chaos and gasps of shock, clutching his twisted, mangled arm. He twitched in agony, instantly incapacitated.

Roland then twisted at the waist, turning back around. He raised his left hand to his side, fingers spread, palm facing outward.

A layer of condensed, Blood-colored Fighting Spirit instantly gathered and spun before his palm, forming a miniature crimson whirlpool.

"HISS!"

The murky green ray plunged into the crimson whirlpool as if sinking into a bog, its velocity dropping in an instant.

The Negative Energy it contained—imbued with properties of sluggishness and restraint—was rapidly churned, dispersed, and neutralized by the spinning Blood-colored Fighting Spirit.

All that remained was a faint, unpleasant stench of decay that scattered on the wind.

Roland’s body didn’t so much as tremble. He simply raised his gilded vertical pupils and stared coldly toward the high ground.