Bloody Odyssey

Chapter 88 88: Blue Death I

The door crashed open.

Logan stumbled into the inn, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. His breath reeked of cheap wine. Bloodshot eyes scanned the room—skipping over the Godfall guards, the overturned chairs, and the servants pressed fearfully against the walls.

Then his gaze landed on Dax's table.

White hair.

He grinned, a wet, ugly thing.

"It must be those freaks."

As a rank seven master, he instantly sensed the complete absence of mana from Dax's body. No fluctuations. No aura.

To him, Dax was empty.

He slammed his palm against the nearest table. Wood cracked.

"Ahhh! So the rumors were true." His voice boomed through the inn, loud enough to rattle the windows. "Because of your lack of mana, the world made you a pretty boy."

He licked his lips deliberately.

"Such a shame."

Beside Dax, Nadia's golden eyes turned to ice.

Madeka's hand paused mid-reach for Dax's shoulder. Her smile didn't fade—it sharpened.

The guards went deathly silent.

Their faces darkened. Hands moved to hilts. Weapons began to unsheathe with the soft, terrible sound of steel kissing steel.

At the center of the table, Alfonzo rose.

A deadly bow was already in his hands, arrow nocked and string drawn taut. His eyes were bloodshot. His aura—normally warm and almost playful—had become something far more dangerous.

The other three guards moved into formation around him, flanking and protecting.

Alfonzo didn't wait for Dax to speak. He didn't wait for the women beside him to act.

He fired.

Thwip.

The arrow pierced the wall beside Logan's head—clean through. Wood splintered. Moonlight streamed through the fresh hole. A warning shot. Precise. Deliberate.

Alfonzo's voice was low and steady, carved from stone.

"I assure you, Northern Beast." His eyes never left Logan's. "I will not miss my next shot."

He showed no fear toward a man three ranks above him. He was ready to prove how Godfall had survived the Blood River for years.

Logan turned.

His gaze swept across the four guards—their tight formation, their weapons, their eyes. For the first time, something flickered across his drunken face.

Eh.

"The fact that you think I would back down—"

His aura burst outward.

The innkeeper—Jacob—pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering. Please, he thought. Please don't let them destroy my inn.

Without hesitation, three more arrows materialized in the guards' hands—drawn, aimed, ready. They didn't care about the furniture or the walls. A fight was about to erupt.

Two guards stepped forward. The older man with silver at his temples stayed beside Alfonzo, hand resting on the blade at his waist.

Logan's muscles coiled.

He was about to move.

Time seemed to still.

Not literally—but it felt that way. The air grew heavy. Torchlight slowed.

Nadia appeared between Logan and the guards.

She moved like water—smooth, silent, inevitable. Her golden glow flickered as her leg extended. Her foot planted firmly into Logan's chest before his brain could register she had left her seat.

Crack.

The Northern Beast flew backward.

He crashed through the inn's front wall—stone and timber exploding outward—tumbling into the street beyond. Dust rose. Rubble scattered.

Nadia's lips moved, but no sound came out.

Instead, a golden dome bloomed into existence, blocking the guards' striking arrows mid-flight. The projectiles clattered harmlessly against its surface.

Then Nadia was back in her seat.

Faster than the mind could comprehend.

The sounds of clashing metal and shattering rubble rained down outside, filling the night with the music of violence.

Nadia smoothed her dress.

"You handled it well, Nadia."

Dax nodded at her. His tone carried no surprise—only calm expectation, as if this was exactly what he had foreseen.

Without a care for the chaos, he asked, "Between you and your grandfather, who is faster?"

Nadia's brow furrowed.

Grandfather—the strongest of his era. Even in his old age he was that fast. Talk less now that he has regained his youth.

"I really don't know," she said, shaking her head.

Dax continued chewing.

"Hmm." A pause. "I think you are." He teased.

Alfonzo and his men stared at Dax's group with expressions caught between shock and confusion.

What just happened?

He looked at the golden dome still shimmering faintly where it had blocked his arrows. That is definitely a light defense spell. But when did she cast it?

His men exchanged glances. None of them had an answer.

"Why are they behaving like nothing happened?"

One of the younger guards nodded toward the table. Dax was eating again while Madeka fed him. Nadia's expression remained perfectly calm.

Weird, Alfonzo thought. They're all weird.

"Sir Jacob?"

The innkeeper's legs shook as he stepped forward. His face was pale, hands trembling, but he forced himself to speak.

"Sir Godfall… I am at your service." His voice cracked on the last word.

Dax reached into his robe. A heavy pouch landed in Jacob's palm—clinking, weighted, generous.

"For the damages."

Dax rolled his fingers.

"I enjoyed the food." His tone was calm, unbothered by the previous disturbance.

"Oh, what a pleasure?" The man's smile was genuine, mostly because of the pouch of gold that threatened to burst.

"Make our rooms up."

He noticed the innkeeper's eyes drifting toward the rubble and the body somewhere beneath it.

"Don't worry, Sir Jacob." Dax's voice was almost gentle. "I assure you, he is still alive."

Jacob looked away from Dax's gaze.

He had felt an air of oddity from the start—something strange about this white-haired young man and his impossible companions. But now, looking into those dark red eyes, it was confirmed.

This man is not normal.

He bowed once and walked upstairs to prepare the rooms.

Alfonzo approached Dax's table.

His expression was still shocked—mouth slightly open, eyes darting toward the ruined wall where Logan had crashed through.

Before he could utter a word, Dax slid something across the table.

A small object. Royal blue. Cold. Its shape was strange—unlike any weapon Alfonzo had seen.

What is this?

Dax's eyes were cold. Looking into them, Alfonzo felt something deep in his bones shake.

"Shoot his elbows and his knees for me, Alfonzo."

Dax's tone carried an unexplainable weight. Not anger, but something worse—expectation.

Beside him, Madeka rubbed her head against Dax's chest, her body pressed tightly against his. Nadia watched in silence.

Alfonzo reached for the object.

Before he could pick it up, Madeka's hand shot out. She snatched it, holding it loosely and pointing it directly at him.

His eyes widened.

He didn't know why—couldn't explain it—but he felt something ominous from the small piece. His instincts screamed. His skin crawled.

Madeka's smile was captivating. Her finger played gently on the trigger.

"It's a gun." Her voice was soft, almost musical. "I don't know what type." She tilted her head. "You can never know what it is when it comes to my Dax."

"A gun," Alfonzo repeated.

Within seconds, the other guards had surrounded the table, leaning in and staring at the strange blue object in Madeka's hand.

She explained how it worked—the trigger, the barrel, the simple mechanical truth of it. No mana. No aura.

Then she slid it back to Alfonzo.

Dax did not repeat himself. He was simply solemn, his red eyes fixed on Alfonzo like he was observing an interesting specimen.

With trembling hands, Alfonzo picked up the gun.

He gulped.

My god.

He studied its shape, its weight, its impossible simplicity.

This thing has no mana fluctuations. No aura. Nothing.

He thought of the sense of death that had washed over him when Madeka pointed it at him.

Could this really be what gave me that feeling?

Outside, somewhere in the rubble, Logan groaned.

Alfonzo's grip on the gun tightened.