Chapter 623 - 532: Allen Collins

Chapter 623: Chapter 532: Allen Collins

He squinted, sizing up Roland’s seemingly unremarkable build and plain, unmarked traveler’s attire.

"Another meddler?"

He spat, clenching his fists tighter until the knuckles cracked.

"Kid, I don’t care who you run with. In Gray Rock City, anyone who gets in the way of Blood Fang’s business better make sure their bones are hard enough to take it! Get him! Let’s take this nuisance out first!"

Before the words had even faded, he let out a low roar. Done with testing the waters, he poured all his Power into his right fist, which stirred a vicious gust of wind as it smashed toward Roland’s face.

The punch was completely devoid of finesse, just the raw, vicious brute force honed in street brawls. An ordinary person would likely suffer a fractured bone and collapse on the spot.

Almost simultaneously, the short, stocky Mercenary howled and lunged from the side, a Short Knife suddenly appearing in his hand as he stabbed at Roland’s ribs.

Their coordination wasn’t exactly refined, but its viciousness and suddenness would have sent any ordinary Adventurer scrambling.

However, Roland was faster.

Facing the heavy punch head-on, he didn’t dodge. His left hand shot out like lightning, and before the fist could connect, his five fingers had already latched precisely onto the man’s wrist.

A grip, a twist—the movements were so fluid they seemed to have been practiced thousands of times.

"Argh!"

The bearded man felt a sharp, numbing ache instantly shoot up from his wrist and through his entire arm.

The Power he had gathered instantly dissipated. His fist fell limp, and his large body, pulled by the sudden force, involuntarily stumbled forward.

In the instant he lost his balance and pitched forward, Roland’s right shoulder had already silently slammed into his wide-open chest.

"BAM!"

Another dull thud, even heavier than before.

The bearded man’s burly, two-hundred-plus-pound frame was knocked off its feet, sent flying backward to crash heavily into the tall, thin Mercenary behind him. The two of them immediately tumbled into a heap, crying out in pain and unable to get up.

Only then did the Short Knife from the side barely arrive.

Roland didn’t even turn his head. He simply pivoted on his right foot, tilting his body slightly, and the tip of the blade grazed past his robes, hitting nothing but air.

The short, stocky Mercenary had overcommitted to the thrust and his body lunged forward.

Roland’s elbow was already waiting for him.

"CRACK!"

A clear, sickening crack of bone breaking rang out.

The short, stocky Mercenary’s knife arm bent at an unnatural angle, and the Short Knife fell to the ground with a CLANG.

But before he could even let out a full scream of agony, Roland followed through with the motion, turning and landing a swift, precise chop to the side of his neck.

The whites of the short, stocky Mercenary’s eyes rolled up, and without so much as a grunt, he collapsed like a sack of grain.

From the moment the bearded man threw his punch to the short, stocky Mercenary collapsing, the entire sequence had taken no more than two or three breaths.

Clean. Efficient.

The noisy, surrounding crowd instantly grew much quieter. Shock appeared in many people’s eyes.

But Roland didn’t stop. His gaze turned calmly toward the tall, thin Mercenary, who had just struggled out from under the bearded man, his face pale.

The tall, thin Mercenary’s earlier arrogance was long gone, replaced by pure terror in his eyes.

Seeing his companions instantly disabled, his will to fight vanished. With a strange cry, he abandoned his comrades and tried to bolt into the crowd.

"Hey, where do you think you’re going?"

A coarse, booming shout rang out.

Holland, who had already moved closer, perfectly blocked his path. He thrust his heavy Iron-Wrapped Oak Shield forward with a brutish momentum.

"BANG!"

Caught completely off guard, the tall, thin Mercenary felt as if he had run headfirst into a moving stone wall. Blood streamed from his nose as he staggered backward, dizzy and disoriented, right back in front of Roland.

He was completely dazed. Before he could even assess the situation, he felt his collar tighten at the back of his neck. An irresistible force lifted him clean off his feet, and the world began to spin.

Roland grabbed him by the back of his collar and, like swinging a bag of rags, spun him half a circle through the air before slamming him down hard onto the unyielding ground.

"THUMP!"

Dust flew into the air.

The tall, thin Mercenary felt as if his organs had been rearranged from the impact. He lay sprawled on the ground, capable only of twitching and groaning, completely incapacitated.

In the blink of an eye, all four of the aggressive Blood Fang Mercenaries were down.

One was unconscious, two were piled together struggling and crying out in pain, and the last lay limp as a ragdoll.

As for Roland, his breathing wasn’t even disturbed. He simply brushed some nonexistent dust from his sleeve.

Holland, shouldering his Nail Head Hammer, glanced at the miserable state of the men on the ground, then back at the composed Roland. He grinned, finally just muttering under his breath.

"Well... guess it’s just their bad luck."

And in the shadows of the crowd, the pale cyan vortex of wind that had already formed in Ellis’s sleeve slowly dissipated.

As the dust settled on the brief conflict, the crowd of onlookers gradually lost interest. Muttering amongst themselves, they dispersed, melting back into the ever-churning, murky river of people in Gray Rock City.

The downed Blood Fang Mercenaries—aside from the unconscious one—helped each other up. They shot Roland one last glare filled with a mixture of pain, venomous hatred, and terror, then wretchedly dragged their companion away, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the labyrinthine alleyways.

They clearly had no intention of continuing the Entanglement when they were so obviously outmatched.

Roland paid no mind to their hateful glares, simply giving Holland a look.

The Priest understood immediately. He called out in his gruff voice to the blond youth, who was still standing there in a daze.

"Kid, don’t just stand there gawking. Follow me."

With that, he shouldered his Shield and led the way, turning into a relatively quiet, narrow alley cluttered with discarded wooden barrels and other junk.

The group came to a corner sheltered from the wind. The clamor of the main street faded into a distant blur, leaving only the sound of the wind whining as it swept past the stone walls.

Only then did the blond youth seem to fully snap out of the daze caused by the string of events.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his still-rapid breathing. Then he turned to Roland, straightened his back, and placed his right hand over his chest in a gesture that, while slightly clumsy, was nonetheless deeply solemn.

"Sir..."

he began, his azure eyes filled with sincere gratitude and the lingering thrill of having survived.

"Thank you so much for your help. If you hadn’t intervened in time, I’m afraid I would not have escaped a severe beating today, and I would have been unable to fulfill my promise to Mr. Qiaosen. I will never forget this kindness. If there is ever anything you need help with in the future, I will not hesitate."

His voice was clear and full of a youth’s characteristic vigor, yet it held a faint, almost imperceptible tremor from his earlier tension.

Roland, however, did not immediately respond to his thanks.

His gaze landed on the blond youth’s face as if it had physical weight, studying him silently and carefully.

It was a focused, profound gaze, carrying an indescribably complex emotion that gradually made the young man feel a little uneasy.

Clear confusion, and even a hint of anxiety, appeared in his azure eyes.

Just as the blond youth was about to break the silence and ask what was wrong, Roland finally spoke. His voice was steady, yet it carried an unmistakable note of inquiry.

"What is your name?"

The blond youth paused, seemingly not expecting that to be the first question. But he answered immediately, his tone serious.

"Allen, sir."

"Allen Collins."