Returning to the Mysterious Era-Chapter 411 - True Power

Cassius calmly picked up his teacup, took a sip, and gently set it down.

He turned to look at Herb and saw Herb give him a slight nod. "Very well, it's indeed time to take a look at your capabilities."

Cassius rose directly from the sofa, gazed at Butcher Krog, and made a gesture inviting him to fight. "Please, sir."

"Oh?" Krog raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had not expected Cassius to challenge him so directly and with such composure. It looked less like Krog was testing Cassius's strength and more like the roles were reversed.

"Challenging Brother Krog? Herb, your disciple truly has confidence...I haven't seen a young man this self-assured in a long time..." Wind Whisperer Elaine could not help but speak up. Though she didn't say it outright, her thoughts implied: Wasn't he being a bit overconfident?

Everyone present was well into their twilight years, and their strength had long since declined from its peak. However, they had all once been Shadow Hunters of the Hunters' Association. Especially Butcher Krog—twenty years ago, he had been the number one Shadow Hunter, nearly becoming the Association's most formidable Radiant Hunter.

During his twenty-year tenure as a Shadow Hunter, he led teams to quell four top-tier supernatural incidents, hunted down three Cataclysmic Spirit level dark creatures, and astonishingly managed to capture one alive in the Battle of Dawn Valley.

Though now old and weakened, Butcher Krog remained the strongest among those gathered. Even the three Dark Gold Hunters backed by various factions might not get a good result from facing him. Yet Cassius, seeking a spar, had chosen the toughest among them.

"Very well, let's have a go. These old bones of mine haven't moved in ages. Let's head straight to the Association's enclosed arena." Krog smiled. Unlike Elaine, he admired spirited youngsters. In his view, the young should be a bit brash and sharp. That was how one became a great hunter.

All the veteran hunters stood up. They had come together to the Hunters' Association both to support Herb's disciple and to enjoy a rare reunion. Nothing was more entertaining than testing a youngster.

Iron Face Jem and Warblade Kames also looked intrigued. To them, this was a lesson from elders to juniors—an opportunity to impart their seasoned experience to a newcomer. If possible, after Krog finished, they might also try their hand at passing on some wisdom. They were curious to see just how capable today's young hunters truly were.

Krog led the way, with Cassius close behind. Jem and Kames followed in the middle, and Herb and Elaine brought up the rear. As they descended the stairs, Herb suddenly said to Elaine, "What you said just now was wrong. He's not my disciple at all. I can't teach him."

With that, Herb went straight downstairs, his gray-white hair slightly swaying.

This left Elaine momentarily stunned. "What does he mean?"

Five minutes later, one street away from the mission hall, next to the public training gym for hunters, they entered a building. The six of them proceeded straight to the far end. It was a wooden martial hall with walls made of pale-yellow planks, their surfaces polished with a layer of glossy brown oil. At the center was a spacious arena platform.

On the left side, the burly old man in gray clothing, Krog, came to a stop. Opposite him stood the young man in ordinary hunter's attire, quietly waiting.

In one corner of the martial hall, four figures gathered together.

Jem wore a suit and a tall hat with a metallic mask, exuding a mysterious and dangerous vibe. He was the youngest among the veteran hunters and had not yet acquired that unmistakable aura of old age. He appeared quite interested in the spar about to unfold.

"Kames, how many moves do you think this kid can withstand against Krog?" Jem asked, turning to the always-silent Kames beside him.

"Under twenty moves," Kames replied in a hoarse, low voice.

"Oh? That's quite generous. I say at most ten," Jem remarked, raising his eyebrows.

"Krog will hold back," Kames said slowly. "There's no need to use lethal techniques meant for dark creatures when teaching a junior."

"That's true." Jem nodded. "Oh, by the way, do you want to join me later in guiding the youngster? I haven't taken on a disciple yet. Borrowing Herb's disciple for practice might help me prepare for the future..."

"No," Kames shook his head, his right eye as dark as ink. "You know how I am. It's hard for me to hold back in a spar, not like you guys. A single slip, and I might kill someone..."

After he spoke, he tapped his temple with his only hand. Clearly, Kames had been heavily tainted by the essence of calamity. While normal most of the time, once in combat, he would lose all reason and go berserk.

"Alright." Jem shrugged and looked toward the distant stage.

At the center of the martial hall, sunlight poured in abundantly through high windows. Krog scrutinized Cassius without rushing to strike. Instead, he spoke. "Old Herb has never taken on a disciple, and I assumed he planned to carry his martial prowess with him to the grave. I never imagined he'd pass on a legacy now, and even give you the honorary badge..."

"Sorry, though I don't really care to explain," Cassius said as he stepped forward, half his body now bathed in sunlight. "Herb isn't my teacher, nor have I inherited any legacy from him."

"Is that so?" Krog narrowed his eyes, then smiled. "How about I become your teacher? I've not taken on a disciple myself."

This wasn't mere banter; he was serious. From the very first glance at Cassius, Krog had sensed he'd encountered a rare talent. It was a strong man's keen intuition—his gut told him Cassius was anything but ordinary, perhaps even "mysterious."

Cassius smiled and shook his head. "I think it's more likely that I become your mentor rather than the other way around..."

Krog wasn't angry. He found this young man genuinely interesting. Without further delay, he also stepped forward.

"Come now, attack. I'll give you three moves."

"Are you sure?" Cassius's gaze was as calm as still water.

"Heh, how about you give me three moves?" Krog tore off the strip of cloth binding his sleeve and tossed it aside. He felt more and more that Cassius's temperament resembled his own youth, bristling with defiance, not even taking the king of heaven seriously.

"Alright." Cassius nodded.

Krog hadn't expected Cassius to agree so readily. He instinctively glanced at Herb in the distance, then laughed to himself. "Good lad, even more arrogant than I was at his age! Then stand firm and take my punch."

As soon as Krog finished speaking, he stamped his foot, lunging forward. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, revealing sturdy, muscular forearms. A black, liquid-like substance swiftly spread across his skin's surface. It gave his entire arm a hard, metallic sheen.

Bang!

He accelerated into a sprint, muscles coiling like springs, delivering a straight punch that tore through the air and covered more than ten meters, heading straight for Cassius's chest.

"Fifty percent of my strength and speed. You should be able to handle this," Krog thought, not pausing for a moment as his arm swung fiercely. It carved a white arc in the air.

"Hm? Still not reacting? If you don't assume a guard now, you'll take a punch to the chest. Are you so slow to react?" Under Krog's astonished gaze, his punch landed square on Cassius's unguarded chest. With a muffled thud, the hunter's attire on Cassius's chest and back tore open, leaving two gaping holes.

"What the...is it over?" Iron Face Jem exclaimed in surprise.

Warblade Kames frowned slightly. He saw clearly that Cassius hadn't assumed any defensive posture, as if he hadn't even registered being hit.

"This..." Wind Whisperer Elaine cast a strange look at Herb. Herb merely shook his head.

On the stage, bathed in a circular patch of golden sunlight, Krog withdrew his fist and lowered his gaze to Cassius. "So, your idea of giving me three moves is to stand there defenseless and let me hit you three times... Hahaha, you sure look down on me."

"Iron Meteor Fist!" He spread both arms, and his clothes tore apart, revealing a robust, muscular physique completely unbefitting of an old man. On Krog's chest, a black, heart-sized cluster of fluid writhed faintly.

In the next second, half of that fluid gushed out wildly, traveling beneath his skin and forming branch-like black metallic tattoos among his arm's muscles. It gave off an unshakable sense of power.

"This punch has a hundred percent of my strength! Brace yourself!!!" Krog lunged forward, twisting his body, powerful lats flexing. His entire arm swept through a 180-degree arc, a standard swinging punch that smashed the air to shreds.

Boom!!

Once again, his punch struck dead center on Cassius's chest!

The hunter's attire on Cassius's upper body completely disintegrated into fingernail-sized scraps. Yet, the expected scene of Cassius being knocked away never happened. The young man stood utterly still, feet rooted to the spot as if fused with the earth. Krog's full-power Iron Meteor Fist was entirely neutralized, its surging force vanished without a trace.

In the bright sunlight, golden rays fell upon Cassius's bare torso. Strong! Tough! Perfect! Every muscle group rose in just the right way, every contour appearing precisely where it should, like a masterpiece sculpted by a world-renowned master. It was a classical fortress. Beneath that flesh, every cell teemed with overflowing vitality.

Krog remembered his own prime, his body at its most powerful. Compared to the man before him, he was likely inferior. No—Significantly inferior.

Seeing Cassius's calm, indifferent eyes, Krog laughed. "You truly qualify to let me have three moves!"

With a swift movement, all the black fluid from Krog's chest flooded out, dyeing his entire right arm a deep black. The substance extended further, using his entire arm as a framework. It solidified in an instant, forming a giant butchering blade in midair.

A wave of oppressive danger radiated outward, stirring the air like a gale.

"White Aster, does my butchering blade have what it takes to make you step back even once?!" A flicker of excitement shone in Krog's eyes, igniting the nearly extinct flame in his ancient veins. Unconsciously, he resorted to his signature technique. Long ago, wielding this butchering blade, he had fought two Cataclysmic Spirit level foes simultaneously in the Battle of Dawn Valley and emerged victorious, killing one and capturing the other alive.

Whoosh!

The blade sliced the air like lightning, its trailing shadows merging into one, forming a pitch-black wall in the air. That ebony wall descended heavily, splitting the ring into two halves.

Boom! Boom!!!

Two thunderous sounds exploded one after another, one lighter, one heavier. A raging wind howled, sweeping across the entire arena. A tall figure was sent flying backward, carving a long streak through the air as if riding the clouds.

Trailing black, fragment-like sparks, that figure hurtled straight toward the four veteran hunters watching from the side. He crashed into the wooden wall, creating a half-human-sized hole. The entire wall shuddered violently, showering them with wood chips.

"Damn, Krog was forced to get serious! He even used his butchering blade!" Iron Face Jem's mouth gaped, his eyes showing a tumult of emotions. Unfortunately, the mask covered his face, leaving his true expression unknown.

"Is that boy alright?" asked Wind Whisperer Elaine, pointing at the gaping hole in the wooden wall. "Taking a hit from that blade is no joke!"

The entire wall had developed cracks spreading all the way to the supporting beam. The hole looked as if a cannonball had blasted through it.

"I don't know if he's hurt," Warblade Kames said, voice as hoarse as ever, "but I know he's not the one in that hole."

"He's not the one who flew out? Then who..." Elaine got stuck mid-sentence.

Following the direction of Herb's pointed finger, she looked back to the arena. In the center, beneath the sunlight, a strong figure slowly turned around—White Aster! Wedged in his shoulder was that enormous black butchering blade, seemingly poised to slice off his entire arm. Unexpectedly, Cassius simply reached up, pulled the blade free, and gave it a casual flick.

The blade spun through tens of meters in an arc before embedding itself into the ground.

It was clearly visible that the blade's edge bore a deep, shoulder-shaped indentation. The blade had come down, but it failed to break through Cassius's defense! Its hardness wasn't even a match for him, chipping out a massive notch instead.

The four veteran hunters fell silent. They turned to the hole in the wall. A coughing sound came from behind it, and an exhausted old face emerged into their view. Five seconds later, Krog limped back into the martial hall, his clothes shredded until he wore only a pair of trousers. He looked heartbroken as he stroked the severely damaged black blade lying on the ground.

After another bout of silence...

"Jem, why don't you go next? Didn't you say you wanted to test him?" Warblade Kames, usually so serious, suddenly teased Iron Face Jem.

"Cough, cough...cough, cough..." Jem coughed repeatedly, his mouth twitching slightly in an attempt to respond. "Never mind, I just remembered I'm still injured. I've been training too hard lately, and these old bones can't take it..."