Clint's voice dropped to a whisper.
"So that's what he meant…"
The kid hadn't been bluffing.
He could "respond in kind."
And if he did… Clint already knew how that story would end. Not well for anyone.
He tightened his grip on the bow, exhaling slowly.
We can't afford this guy as an enemy.
Given his initial compliance and compromising nature, Reinhard was a great potential ally.
"We've got a rogue!" Clint shouted, snapping back into motion as he pivoted toward the sniper's origin.
Clint found his brain working at an ultra-high speed, analyzing the initial direction Reinhard had glanced toward, taking in the trajectory from the bullet fragments after Reinhard had intercepted it.
Trajectory. Angle. Wind.
Found her.
Two hundred fifty meters out. Third floor. Abandoned building.
Clint squinted through the glare of the midday sun.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
A woman lay prone flat on her stomach, in Shield Tactical gear that didn't quite fit. Somehow, despite being prone, her body was perfectly aligned, despite being level with the window. Blue hair, streaked faintly with pink. Masked.
The uniform she had was clearly meant for a male and had no room to accommodate breasts. So she had seemingly taken matters into her own hands and added a slit down the center to relieve the compression, but also had a side effect of revealing the woman's cleavage.
Seeing this, Clint, who excelled in long-range reconnaissance and assassination, immediately understood why Reinhard referred to this woman as part of their group, misunderstanding that she was affiliated with them.
But the weapon, Clint's eyes narrowed.
"That weapon… never seen that before, it's for sure not standard issue."
Her arm was the rifle.
Not attached or held.
Could it be a prosthetic?
Flesh stretched into a barrel. Structure shifting like a muscle under skin.
He didn't like that. With his advanced vision, just looking at it made him uncomfortable.
Her brow furrowed, clearly thrown off by the red-haired young man deflecting the shot.
Then she turned slightly, like she was talking to someone just out of view.
That's when Clint saw it.
A circular ring of orange sparks from just inside the building behind the window.
It's like some kinda…
"…Portal," he muttered.
The space around her looked off. Warped. Like it was a separate space inside a space.
He noticed the oddity because of the lighting.
When looking at her through her window compared to looking at the other floors, the windows were highly contrasted.
Hers was dark and dim with a lamp like light behind, casting a silhouette.
The ring of orange dancing sparks started shrinking fast.
Seeing how the shrinking ring was now the size of a basketball and continuing to collapse, he had no time to think.
In one motion, he exchanged his previous arrow for a new one, selecting a narrow arrowhead with a bulky tip that was equipped with multiple high-density miniature trackers.
"Let's get a tag on you."
Quickly pulling back on his bow string, he released.
"Shoo!"
The arrow, streaked through the sky, whistling, toward the closing portal.
Now three inches in diameter, it was practically closed—
It looked like it would make it.
"DOOOOM!"
A shot rang out.
Clint's eyes widened in shock at the sight.
This marksman was also a monster.
Clean and precise.
The bullet split Clint's arrow down the center, shattering it into fragments mid-flight.
The bullet after splitting the arrow in twain made its way toward Reinhard once again.
But with a casual ease as if he knew its endpoint. Reinhard raised his sheathed sword; however, something was different. An expression of brief surprise crossed Reinhard's face as he re-adjusted his blade, angling it so the flat was on the left side of his head.
"CLANG!"
"She curved the trajectory!"
Clint froze for half a second.
"…Could I do that?"
While arrows were significantly slower than bullets, to be able to perform a Robin Hood mid-shot was on an entirely different level, and that wasn't even factoring in that very same shot curved to target Reinhard once again from a completely different angle.
He would have heard of such skilled marksmen if they had that level of talent.
And just like that—
The portal snapped shut.
Gone.
In the confusion
One of the dropped rifles clattered to the ground and misfired.
"Pop-pop-pop-pop!"
The sound triggered panic.
Like a rube Goldberg machine, trained operatives flinched.
Following the sound of gunshots, the operatives assumed the earlier sandblast was the knight's attack and began to open fire.
Gunfire erupted from every direction.
All locked onto the red-haired knight.
[Ding!]
[You have been gifted, the temporary Divine Protection of Second Coming (Rank SS) - Time limit: 10 minutes.]
(Description: Enables the user to intuitively respond to an attack that they have already experienced with a vastly greater speed. This effectively causes attacks to not land on a user, making it an effective ability against formidable opponents.)
[Title earned]
(Blessed Knight)
Reinhard, momentarily confused by the massive amount of visual and auditory stimuli, was unaware of the gift he was granted.
Grenade launchers followed the low thud echoing as dozens of metal canisters arced through the air.
Reinhard's eyes widened. He, who was surprised by the sudden barrage and struggling to deflect the 360-degree storm of bullets, felt something innate in his physiology shift.
The Sword Saint's vectors already flared around him, white lines tracing perfect, efficient movement.
Then, time slowed. His reaction time sped up, and his awareness of every oncoming attack evolved into a speed bordering on precognition.
He moved with elegance, fluidity, and light. His sword traced the vectors, blocking the barrage with unerring, perfect precision.
Bullets faded to background noise.
His mind, once cautious, focused now on a single goal:
To trace. To cut.
Tension became exhilaration.
A memory stirred his last challenge: Cecilius Segmunt, the fastest man alive. A duel during a botched diplomatic mission. The only man faster than him, even with all his divine protections.
To be fair, at the time of the fight, he was wearing a suppression collar, but even without it, he felt that his speed still wouldn't compare.
Despite what others thought, countless people in his old world surpassed him in different categories; the reason he stood at the pinnacle was due to the synergy of his abilities.
He was a hexagonal warrior.
Halibel, as a shinobi, exceeded him in martial techniques. His ancestor, Reid, exceeded him in swordsmanship, Cecilius exceeded him in speed and flow method, Gusteko's Mad Prince exceeded him in quantity of mana, and his inability to use magic meant any ordinary citizen surpassed him in that category.
Here, now, restricted, weakened, he felt it again.
Excitement.
His instincts sharpened. His mana surged, he carefully directed it solely toward his brain.
Reinhard found this an excellent way to train his flow method. While he was still weakened, he let mana flow throughout his cognitive functions, through his synapses, increasing his speed, senses, reflexes, and reaction time, performing a pseudo thought acceleration.
Unknowingly, the new divine protection enhanced him.
Blocking became effortless.
He spun like a cyclone. Sheathed sword sweeping, knocking bullets aside. Sparks, sand, and smoke swirled around him in a storm, cutting off visibility.
He could effortlessly dodge. He could escape.
But behind him… agents and civilians.
Dodging would mean their injury, or worse, their deaths from their own stray weapons.
It was too ironic.
That was why he had to intercept every projectile, decreasing its momentum.
His grip on Reid's pommel tightened, now switching to two hands.
He wouldn't let his personal annoyance cost innocent lives.
While he could let these small metal projectiles strike him, imbuing his body with mana to remain unharmed, he wasn't sure if his royal knight's uniform still carried the engraving of The Divine Protection of Durability.
Because he was transported to a new world, he wanted to, if possible, keep his few remaining keepsakes in pristine condition.
That's when the real threat came.
Metal ovals, grenades. Tennis-ball-sized. Slower than the Bullets.
But his instincts warned.
He couldn't block or impact these objects.
He didn't know why, or what these objects were, but something told him that if he tried, it would sting.
He trusted his gut, his template's skill: Precognitive intuition.
No, it was his own power, not any templates.
He was Reinhard Van Astrea; he didn't need any screen to tell him that.
Taking into account his skills description, his gut feeling was always right.
He followed his gut.
With minimal motion, he flicked each grenade upward.
Barely touched them with the tip of his sheath.
A heartbeat later, they exploded harmlessly in the sky above.
Red and gold sparks rained down like fireworks.
"Cease fire! STOP!" Coulson's voice ripped through the chaos.
A few seconds passed.
Operatives looked around, stunned.
Guns lowered. The last echoes of the blasts faded into ringing silence.
The agents began to internally question their actions; they were well-trained, yet a little intimidation from a teenager had made them panic.
Everything they had learned.
It was utterly disgraceful.
A massive dust cloud billowed over the beach.
Coulson dragged a hand down his face, squinting through the dust cloud, bracing for the worst.
"You killed the kid!" Natasha's voice cut in sharply as she returned from her call, anger barely contained.
Her eyes swept the scene, immediately piecing together what had happened.
"This was supposed to be a controlled contact," she snapped. "Not a firing squad."
"It wasn't ordered," Coulson muttered, still staring ahead. "Weapon misfire triggered it."
"That's not an excuse."
Then.
A shadow moved within the mix of sand dust and smoke.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Unscathed. Imposing.
Reinhard walked forward, crimson hair fluttering behind him. Reid's sheath still glowing faintly.
"Fwoosh!"
Like a massive fan, the cloud of unbreathable particles was bisected with another casual swing of the sheathed Reid.
He had not a scratch on him from the previous barrage.
Eyes were tranquil but had a faint trace of residual anger.
And every operative understood:
They hadn't attacked a man.
They had fired on something far, far beyond them.
Coulson finally stepped forward, hands raised.
"He's not one of ours," he said quickly. "We have no hostility toward you. This is all a massive misunderstanding."
Then, louder, toward the agents:
"PUT YOUR DAMNED WEAPONS DOWN. NOW!"
Weapons dropped to the ground.
As the operatives voluntarily raised their hands in the air, unlike certain unintelligent soldiers who would insist on firing at an enemy ineffectively, they realized that their lives were in this knight's hands.
No gun could change that.
Reinhard's gaze lingered… then softened.
He didn't need his Divine Protection of Mind-Reading to detect lies.
He just knew that Coulson was telling the truth.
For a moment, Coulson felt his soul laid bare, examined under those piercing sky-blue eyes.
"…Alright. I believe you," Reinhard finally said, voice calm but firm. "It wouldn't make sense to hold back… only to launch a surprise attack now."
Then he gestured toward the window in the distance.
"They were wearing your soldiers' garb."
Coulson's eyes widened at this information.
Could it be a mole?
Reinhard fastened Reid back on his hip and, with a knight's dignity, performed a 90 Degree bow.
"I apologize for intimidating your men; it was not my intention. "I mistook your group for the source of hostility. That was my error."
Coulson blinked, then exhaled like a live grenade had just been disarmed.
But he also felt shame welling up inside his stomach. It should be his men apologizing, but this chivalrous knight beat him to it.
That… was not how this was supposed to go.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and stepped forward, scratching the back of his neck.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "That's on us. If you were anyone else, this would've ended very differently."
He glanced back at his team, then gave a quick, almost awkward imitation of Reinhard's bow before straightening again.
"We'll figure out who they are," he added. "And how they got our uniforms."
"No need, I'll find out myself."
Reinhard shook his head faintly.
"No need."
Coulson frowned. "No need—?"
"I will handle it."
"What do you mean—?"
That was the only warning he gave.
Reinhard lowered his stance slightly.
muscles tightening. A soft, blush-white light began to glow from within his legs, radiating out across his body.
Reinhard could feel the mana circulating throughout his body, following his blood flow through his veins, coating his muscles, and reinforcing his bones.
Enraptured by the sight, everyone present's expression shifted immediately.
Reinhard paused for the briefest moment.
"…Too slow?"
A small frown touched his face.
The output wasn't right.
Reinhard immediately realized his abnormality; his output was too weak, restricted, as if it was being forced through something far too narrow. like a water bottle that contained the ocean, only with a needle hole puncturing through it.
letting only droplets drip out slowly over time.
This had to be because of his templates' sync rate, restricting his mana output along with his physical strength and divine protections.
Adjusting, he redirected everything downward, compressing the flow into his legs alone.
The ground beneath his feet cracked.
Coulson's confusion lasted only a second before his eyes widened in realization.
"Oh, don't—"
Too late.
In a blur of motion, he launched himself skyward, an explosive leap diagonally up and over the perimeter, soaring nearly 30 meters into the air in the exact direction Barton had fired his arrow.
The agents could only stare in shock as the man effortlessly cleared the entire encirclement like it was a child's playground fence.
Any doubts they may have had about his apparent lack of injuries after enduring gunfire and grenade blasts were gone. This man's strength was not just enhanced; it was on the level of a certain angry green man, who was able to use a tank as a baseball bat.
(A/N: I was going to do a poll for Reinhards love interest, but within a week, I've gotten almost 30 requests for Wanda and 2 for Hella. The romance is still a ways off and will be a slow burn, but I didn't expect it to be so one-sided.
My schedule with work and online school makes it difficult to write, but I think I should be able to post weekly.
Rein without Reinhard's template is around 2x stronger than MCU Captain America. I don't want people saying that he isn't overpowered enough because I tried building up my MC's strength in my last book, and people immediately criticized why I had an overpowered tag and why he couldn't single-handedly from chapter 3, solo a pack of Ma beasts.