Rocky strode along a grassy road near his territory. No. That place didn’t belong to him anymore.
He glanced at the distant castles, where his home used to be.
He smiled bitterly and shook his head, then looked toward the small house on top of the mountain, which had been his home ever since the branch Clan had shaken off the main Clan successfully.
The mountain was surrounded by trash... the waste disposal site of the Stephens Clan.
Instinctively, he glanced at a burning painting that depicted those familiar faces etched into his memory – his family. Without hesitation, he ran over and snuffed out the fire.
He gazed at the half-burned painting in silence, sadness weighing on him, before veins slowly emerged on his forehead.
Rage flooded his mind.
He looked at the burning pile of trash with bloodshot eyes. Because all of it belonged to his parents.
His mother’s clothes.
His father’s collections.
His little sister’s puppets.
Their time-worn keepsakes.
’’DAMN IT! I don’t think the main clan’s stuff was supposed to be this much. Looks like they always collected trash in the clan.’’ A man grumbled while commanding his beast to drag the stuff into the burning piles of trash.
’’That’s right. Luckily, they’re dead. So they won’t dump more trash on us.’’ Another one laughed.
’’Oh! That’s the ex–young lord.’’ One of the group pointed at Rocky while chuckling, his voice full of mockery rather than respect.
Three guys slowly approached Rocky with arrogant faces.
One of them giggled when he saw Rocky’s beast.
’’A beast from the black zone... Well, I’m not surprised. The ex–young lord has a trash taming ability, after all.’’
The man scratched his head when he noticed Rocky’s sad expression, his voice full of disdain.
’’Tch. Seems like we hit a nerve by burning his family’s stuff.’’
The third guy shrugged his shoulders.
’’Let’s kill him. I don’t like the way he’s glaring at me. We’ll teach him that he’s not the son of a great clan anymore.’’
Three beasts enlarged themselves and leaped off their shoulders.
A Redclaw Fowl Lv.40.
An Ironback Turtle Lv.30.
A Dreadfang Lion Lv.36.
All three beasts lunged at Rocky at once, yet he only looked at them coldly. His intention was carved clearly into his dead expression.
They must die.
Bobby rose into midair before returning to his true form. His obsidian armor materialized over his muscular body.
Killing intent gleamed behind the helmet, something no one couldn’t sense.
He triggered the [Aura of Apex Predator] skill, sending a wave of bizarre aura across the area. Just half a second later, the three beasts turned pale as death.
In his first move, he lifted his longsword—the volume of his muscles surged, causing the armor to sound cracking—then he swung it upward.
The Redclaw Fowl was instantly cut in half, blood spouting everywhere like a red rain from the sky, as if punishing this guilty land.
’’My beast!’’
One of the guys screamed in desperation as his beast died in a single strike. He never imagined that a mere black-zone beast at level 12 could kill his so easily.
With his beast gone, he was no longer a superhuman.
However, Rocky didn’t allow them to stay stunned for long. This wasn’t a duel.
It was an execution.
Rocky had already appeared behind them, his sword stabbing straight through the man’s chest.
He spat and shoved the blade downward, stepping over the corpse and glancing at the others with clear murderous intent.
The two remaining guys looked at Rocky, shivering as they stepped back like weak prey before a vicious predator.
Ten minutes later.
Bobby walked leisurely, tossing the lion’s and turtle’s severed heads into a nearby burning pile of trash.
The beast’s eyes rolled back as its tongue fell out, slowly turning to ash under the flames.
Then he shrank back into his tiny form, watching the heads burn with amusement. Meanwhile, Rocky was torturing the two men.
The sounds of sobbing and deafening screams echoed through the area.
Each metallic-gloved punch slammed into their bodies, cracking bones and tearing flesh apart.
’’H-Have mercy...’’ One of the guys, his face battered, groaned weakly.
But Rocky didn’t stop.
’’P-Please!’’
A few minutes later, none of them could even make any sounds anymore.
Rocky gave them a look of disgust before kicking the mangled corpses into the burning pile of trash nearby.
(I feel something off.)
Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the small house on top of the mountain. Someone very important to him was still alive there.
His mother’s maid, Ursa, had raised him ever since he was born. His parents were always busy clearing dungeons, leaving them with no time to stay by their child’s side.
If something had happened to her, he didn’t even know what he would feel. Maybe it would be like the moment he received the news of his parents’ deaths.
His heart ached at the thought.
Luckily, Ursa was still safe. His eyes turned red with tears when he saw that familiar face—now lined with countless wrinkles from months of hardship. She no longer had the fresh look she once did, yet she still tried to smile at him, as if to prove she was fine.
"Young lord... welcome home."
She stepped forward and wrapped him in a warm embrace, like a mother welcoming her son back after many years apart.
Rocky could feel her emotions—pain, sadness, helplessness.
"Ursa, I’m not a kid anymore. Please don’t hug me like that."
He felt embarrassed, still trapped in her tight embrace. He even lowered his head to match Ursa’s height, as she was two heads shorter than him.
But she didn’t stop or say anything. He could feel that she was releasing all her tension through that embrace.
Rocky frowned, his heart aching. He could tell something was wrong, so he let her hold him for a while longer before deciding to speak.
After ten minutes, she finally released him.
Rocky gazed at her pale, unhealthy face, still trying to hold on to a positive expression. He clenched his teeth.
He needed to know about the things that the maid and his big sister had hidden for him ever since the main clan collapsed under the branch clan
"We need to talk."