Luo Feng stood alone in the center of the training ground, his calm gaze fixed on the King and the five heroes.
The King's face twisted with fury as the rumors — already spreading like wildfire across the kingdom — reached his ears. Whispers of a destroyed border village, of heroes using civilians as shields, of an entire population massacred while the "blessed ones" fled. The story had traveled faster than any horse.
One of the heroes sneered, stepping forward with his glowing holy sword drawn. "That useless village? We did what we had to do. Sacrificing a few worthless commoners to save the Goddess's chosen is an honor for them!"
The King slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, eyes blazing with rage.
"How dare this filthy peasant speak such blasphemy in my presence?!" he roared. "Kill him! Kill him right now! I want his head on a spike before the sun sets!"
At the King's command, over two hundred elite royal soldiers — B-rank and A-rank warriors — drew their weapons and charged at Luo Feng from all sides. The sound of steel and pounding boots filled the air.
Luo Feng did not move.
The moment the first soldier swung at him, he vanished.
Stealth Specialist wrapped around him like a second skin. He became a silent shadow among the chaos. His Appraisal skill flashed in his mind, showing him every weak point, every opening, every soldier's rank and weapon.
The Adamantite dagger appeared in his hand — a simple black blade that looked almost harmless… until it moved.
The battle became a slaughter.
Luo Feng reappeared for only a fraction of a second behind one soldier, the dagger slicing cleanly through the man's neck. The head rolled before the body even realized it was dead. He melted back into stealth, reappearing beside another, cutting both legs off at the knees in one smooth motion. A third soldier tried to block — the dagger passed straight through his sword, armor, and spine as if they were paper.
He did not spare anyone.
Arms were severed at the shoulder. Bodies were cut in half at the waist. Heads rolled. Legs were sliced clean off. Necks opened like ripe fruit. Blood sprayed across the training ground in wide arcs. Every strike was precise, merciless, and impossibly fast. The Adamantite dagger never dulled, never slowed — it simply ended lives with cold efficiency.
One after another.
Ten.
Fifty.
One hundred.
The soldiers screamed, tried to surround him, tried to use magic and coordinated attacks — but he was always one step ahead, always unseen until the dagger flashed.
Two hundred.
Two hundred and eighteen.
In less than ten minutes, 218 royal soldiers lay dead or dying on the blood-soaked ground. The rest of the army froze in horror, unable to believe what they were seeing.
The King stood speechless on his platform, face pale.
The five heroes stared with wide eyes, their earlier mockery completely gone, replaced by genuine shock and a hint of fear.
The Guild Master and the adventurers watching from a distance were stunned into silence, their jaws slack.
Luo Feng stood in the middle of the carnage, his simple clothes barely stained, the Adamantite dagger dripping red at his side. His face remained calm — the same gentle farmer's expression he had always worn — but his eyes were colder than winter frost.
He looked straight at the King and the five heroes.
His voice was quiet, almost soft.
"Two hundred and eighteen… That was just the beginning."