novelraw Chapter 73: Dangerous Training Ground 1/2
Chapter 73: Dangerous Training Ground 1/2
Clay’s eyes remained open for a moment longer as the wind brushed against his face.
Then he clicked his tongue lightly.
"This again."
Without warning, he raised his hand and slapped his own cheek.
The sound was sharp enough to startle even the gryphon beneath him.
He exhaled slowly afterward.
I’m thinking too much again.
His gaze softened as he leaned back once more.
This is always the problem.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, calmer this time.
There is no problem.
He repeated it inside his mind.
There is no problem.
The system was silent. The battlefield was behind him. The Warchiefs had already accepted his words. The maid followed him without hesitation. Everything was under control.
As long as I believe that...
His body relaxed.
Then I can rest.
That simple conclusion was enough for him.
He stretched slightly and let the gryphon carry him forward without interruption.
The path ahead gradually changed.
The ruined battlefield gave way to a quieter road. The smell of blood faded, replaced by the faint scent of cooked food and damp wood. Buildings appeared one by one, forming a small but well maintained town.
At its center stood a large mansion designed for visiting nobles and high ranking figures.
Clay did not need to announce himself.
The moment the guards saw the crest on his clothing, their posture straightened instantly.
The Valmont crest.
Even here, it carried meaning.
"Welcome, young master."
Their voices came together in respect.
Clay gave a small nod as he stepped down from the gryphon.
"Take care of it."
"Yes."
The gryphon was led away without question.
Cerys followed quietly behind him.
The doors opened.
Warm light spilled out.
Servants rushed forward, already prepared.
He was guided inside without delay.
Everything moved smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Food was brought before he even asked.
Water was prepared.
Clothes were offered.
The staff acted as if they had been waiting for him.
Clay sat down briefly and glanced at the dishes placed in front of him.
He ate without much thought.
The food was good.
Better than expected.
At least they know what they’re doing.
After finishing, he stood and stretched once more.
"Bath?"
A servant immediately bowed.
"This way, young master."
He was led to a private washing room.
The water was already warm.
Clay stepped inside without hesitation.
The tension left his body as he washed away the dust, sweat, and faint traces of battle that still clung to him.
For a short while, he said nothing.
Did nothing.
Just stood there and let the warmth sink into his muscles.
This is better.
When he finished, he changed into fresh clothes.
Soft.
Clean.
Comfortable.
He stepped out again.
The servants guided him toward a large bedroom prepared at the highest level of the mansion.
The doors opened slowly.
Inside was a massive bed, wide enough for several people, layered with thick blankets and soft cushions.
Clay did not even hesitate.
He walked straight toward it.
Then dropped onto it without grace.
His body sank into the mattress.
His arms spread out.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
Finally.
He shifted slightly until he found a position that suited him.
This is perfect.
He closed his eyes.
The room was quiet.
The air was calm.
No voices.
No enemies.
No system interruptions.
Just silence.
His breathing slowed.
His thoughts faded.
And before long—
He fell asleep.
Completely.
Deeply.
Peacefully.
Believing that from this point onward, his life would remain like this.
Calm.
Controlled.
Comfortable.
Simple.
He had already solved the major problems.
He had gained power.
He had secured allies.
He had obtained a capable maid.
He had escaped his destined path.
There was no reason for things to go wrong.
Everything pointed toward a quiet future.
A future where he could rest whenever he wished.
A future where nothing could disturb him.
A future where he remained above everything without needing to act.
A future that belonged entirely to him.
...
Far away.
On another side of the continent.
The atmosphere was completely different.
The Shamans and Warchiefs stood before several dimensional cracks, their expressions far more serious than before.
Around them gathered younger members from various tribes.
They had been summoned.
Not casually.
Not lightly.
This was something important.
One of the Warchiefs stepped forward.
"The former Bersuka Tribe has fallen."
His voice carried across the gathering.
The reaction was immediate.
Shock spread through the younger generation like wildfire.
"What?"
"That’s impossible."
"Fallen?"
"In this continent?"
Murmurs rose everywhere.
The name of the Bersuka Tribe was not something they could ignore.
Even among the strongest tribes, Bersuka stood at the peak.
Their former Warchief was not just powerful.
He was terrifying.
Stories of his strength were known across all tribes.
He had defeated opponents with a single strike.
He had crushed enemies without effort.
Even other Warchiefs treated him with caution.
To many of the younger generation, he was a figure that could not be challenged.
Yet now—
He was dead.
And not in some distant battlefield.
Not in a war between continents.
But here.
In the very place they were using as a training ground.
Their expressions changed.
The arrogance they carried began to crack.
They had thought this continent was weak.
A place filled with lesser beings.
A place meant for growth and easy victories.
They had fought creatures here.
Killed them.
Improved themselves.
And in doing so—
They had grown proud.
Too proud.
Now that pride began to crumble.
"If the Bersuka Warchief fell here..."
"Then what are we facing?"
"Who did it?"
"Is there someone stronger than him here?"
Fear began to take shape.
The Shaman raised his hand.
Silence followed immediately.
Then—
Mana gathered around him.
A projection formed.
Not words.
Not explanation.
A memory.
The scene appeared before all of them.
The battlefield.
The ruined land.
The two figures facing each other.
Clay.
And the former Bersuka Warchief.
The younger generation leaned forward.
Their eyes widened.
They watched.
Every movement.
Every exchange.
Every moment.
The Bersuka Warchief attacked first.
His power exploded outward.
Fast.
Violent.
Overwhelming.
The kind of strength they all recognized.
The kind they respected.
But—
It did not matter.
Clay stood there.
Calm.
Unmoved.
The attacks came.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each one stronger than the last.
Each one capable of crushing most warriors present.
Yet none of them achieved anything.
Not even close.
The projection continued.
The Bersuka Warchief activated his full power.
His aura surged.
His presence expanded.
His strength multiplied.
Even through the projection, the younger generation could feel it.
That overwhelming force.
That terrifying pressure.
Some of them instinctively stepped back.
But Clay—
Still did not move.
The contrast became clearer with every second.
One side giving everything.
The other barely reacting.
Then—
It ended.
A single motion.
A simple movement.
No complex technique.
No visible spell.
No grand display.
Just—
A punch.
Direct.
Clean.
Physical.
The impact landed.
The Bersuka Warchief’s body broke.
Not resisted.
Not deflected.
Broken.
Completely.
The projection froze on that moment.
Silence filled the area.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Their minds struggled to process what they had seen.
"That..."
One of them whispered.
"That was... one sided..."
Another voice trembled.
"He didn’t even use magic..."
Another.
"He didn’t need to..."
Then someone said what all of them were thinking.
"The Bersuka Warchief’s Anti Magic..."
"It didn’t matter..."
The realization struck all of them at once.
The technique that could nullify magic.
The ability that made him feared.
The defense that allowed him to stand against powerful spell users.
It was useless.
Because the attack that killed him—
Was not magic.
It was raw force.
Pure strength.
Unavoidable.
Unstoppable.
A chill ran through the entire group.
Fear settled deep within their hearts.
Not the fear of the unknown.
But the fear of something they had clearly seen.
Something real.
Something undeniable.
Someone.
And in that moment—
Every single one of them understood.
This continent was not a training ground.
It was a place where monsters walked freely.
And among those monsters—
There was one who stood above them all.
And he had killed the strongest of the Bersuka Tribe—
With a single punch.