RAGNA POV...
Seriously—did he really think I gave a fuck whether he was a knight or not, or whether his bloodline had a fancy name stitched into a piece of cloth, and more importantly, did he genuinely believe that gave him the right to act like an entitled piece of shit standing in front of me?
I took a step forward.
That was all the opening Freecss needed.
The moment my foot touched the dirt, I felt it—the subtle shift in the air, the faint scrape of fabric, the killing intent compressed into a single point—as his hand slipped beneath his hunter jacket and came back out with a knife already spinning between his fingers, his movements so smooth and practiced that any normal person would’ve been dead before they even realized an attack had been made.
The blade left his hand in a clean arc.
And missed.
Freecss’s eyes widened just a fraction as he realized the knife had flown straight through the space where my neck should have been, burying itself uselessly into the tree behind me, and I could almost hear him cursing his own rotten luck in his head.
I was smiling.
’I can see it... no—more than that, I can feel it.’
I hadn’t moved much—just enough—but somehow the world itself felt slower, clearer, as if every sound, every twitch of muscle, every shift in weight screamed its intention at me before it ever became action.
’Is this what perception in battle feels like?’
It was ridiculous. I felt like I could just stand still and calculate the trajectory of every attack thrown at me before it even left their hands, even attacks coming from blind spots, even attacks driven by panic.
"Fire!" someone shouted.
The archer yanked the short bow from his back with shaking hands, nocking an arrow as he tried to sound brave.
"Even if that child monster is strong, I doubt it can take on all of us!"
His voice cracked.
The arrow flew.
The vibration from the bowstring rang through the air like a bell to my senses, and before I even thought about moving, my body responded—my right arm shot out, fingers closing around empty space, and then suddenly the arrow was there, trapped in my grip just inches from my shoulder.
I squeezed.
The shaft splintered apart with a dry snap.
Silence fell.
I could feel it—the moment the legends stopped being rumors and became reality. Their horses reared back, hooves scraping, eyes rolling white as fear infected them faster than any command ever could.
A true Cursed Child.
They didn’t know why I was there.
They didn’t know what I wanted.
But they knew one thing with terrifying clarity—
They had to run.
The archer, desperate and shaking, kept firing anyway, arrow after arrow screaming through the air just to buy time, just to create distance, just to survive
I stepped sideways, barely moving, arrows slamming into the dirt and trees where my body had been a heartbeat earlier. I reached down, grabbed two arrows from the ground, one in each hand, already calculating angles, wind, panic.
I threw them forward.
The first arrow punched cleanly through the archer’s throat, silencing him mid-breath as his body collapsed off the saddle like a puppet with its strings cut.
The second arrow buried itself deep into the young noble’s horse’s neck.
The animal screamed and collapsed, sending the noble tumbling violently into the dirt behind the others.
’...I never knew I was this badass.’ I could have sword I was reeling in excitement at this moment.
I didn’t stop.
I lunged forward, the ground exploding beneath my feet as I closed the distance in an instant, leaves and dirt spiraling behind me, my fist tightening as I drove it into one of the soldiers with enough force to make bone scream.
Cracks echoed.
Screams followed—brief, but bloodcurdling however was soon cut short by snapping joints and crushed ribs—until the sounds died completely, leaving only the wet thud of a body hitting the ground.
I didn’t even pause to admire it.
The broken pieces of arrows were still in my hands.
I flung them like shrapnel.
Freecss shouted orders—panicked, and desperate—but his voice echoed back unanswered, and the next thing he knew, his horse stumbled over a fallen tree, sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dirt and leaves.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." I sang softly, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I walked forward.
To think I had actually given them a chance to leave alive.
I sighed.
"Cursed child! Wait!"
The young noble screamed, crawling backward with a twisted smile plastered onto his face.
"If you want them, you can have them! I won’t object—even if you eat them! Just don’t kill me! I can grant you freedom, think about it!"
The aloof dignity from earlier was gone, replaced by tears, mucus, and raw terror.
I couldn’t stop myself.
I smiled wider.
"Really?"
I chuckled. "And who do you think would ever find out what happened here? Or have you forgotten—dead men tell no tales."
I walked up to him and brought my foot down on his leg, lightly but heavy.
Hard.
The crack was loud.
He screamed like a pig being slaughtered.
Then I turned around.
Freecss was on the ground, both hands clawing at his neck, gasping as he tried—and failed—to breathe properly. I picked up the knife he had thrown at me earlier and plunged it into his chest.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Blood sprayed everywhere, painting the dirt red until his body finally went still.
"Please! Mercy! I don’t want to die!" the noble wailed, sobbing uncontrollably.
I looked at him, tilting my head.
"What a pathetic excuse for a noble lord,"
I said quietly. "Is this really how nobles behave when faced with real danger? When they lose, they beg?"
My voice was calm—too calm—and that seemed to scare him more than anything else.
I leaned in, my four eyes locking onto his.
Cold sweat poured down his face as his body shook violently.
"You’re the kind of human," I said slowly, "that I hate the most."