Flashy Adventurer System : Show Off to Get Stronger! - Chapter 921

Chapter 921: Blood for Blood
“ARRGH!”

A heart-wrenching scream echoed through the dim corridors of the Hawkin Group Headquarters as a pale steel sword plunged deep into someone’s chest, followed by horrified, grief-stricken cries from a few elites clad in black.

“Commander Feather!!”

“Sir Feather!!” the former Chaos elites exclaimed almost in unison.

Never had they expected to witness the fall of their mighty vice commander—now their acknowledged commander.

The man had been a steel fortress for them, a bastion of both physical and mental fortitude—a mighty warrior of unmatched ferocity and stoicism.

He had barely lost, even against the likes of Chaos and Cobra, and was stronger than most commanders.

Feather had also once been offered the chance to lead his own unit, but he rejected it, insisting that his bonds with his commander, the captains under him, and his elites already ran too deep.

He was a quiet yet passionate and highly competent man—someone they all looked up to.

Unfortunately, the commander he trusted most—the one he saw as a blood brother—betrayed him, lured him into a trap, and even aided their enemies in his downfall.

A pitiful fate for such an excellent man—one he did not deserve.

But such was the way of the world; nothing was ever truly fair.

To make matters worse, the man who deserved the most peaceful death did not even have a complete corpse.

He was beheaded to ensure his demise soon after his heart was ruthlessly pierced.

It was a cruel sight that shook the remaining former Chaos elites to their core.

Death was absolute, however, and they had to continue fighting despite the overwhelming grief that washed over them like a somber tsunami.

Otherwise, they, too, would die.

Some did exactly just that, though.

They chose to die alongside their commander.

Too tired, too wounded, too devastated to continue—they embraced death wholeheartedly, believing they had done enough and would soon be laughing at Dweezel’s downfall from the other side.

Their selfish decision only put more strain on those who remained, however.

Especially to those who gritted their teeth and were determined to take as many enemies as possible to the grave in honor of their fallen commander.

With only around fifty warriors left, the protective lines crumbled, and the backliners were exposed.

They were used to being protected by the warriors—safely conjuring spells and firing elemental arrows from the back—all while unknowingly being shielded from half the fear of death by the stalwart swordsmen and shielders.

Now that they were directly exposed to death, the weaker-willed ones broke apart instantly.

They still cast spells, but in a panicked frenzy—some screaming in despair and horror, others misfiring and striking their own allies, further fueling the chaos within their rapidly thinning ranks.

In the end, around fifteen warriors were tragically slain by their own comrades.

It was a rather shameful sight.

However, shattered morale and sanity were common in battle, so Shye didn’t pay such things any attention.

To him, there were only enemies to be slain in front.

His comrades were being slaughtered behind and beside him, but he kept slashing his way forward, continuing to kill the soul warriors who dared to protect his targets—the five hawklings.

Although he felt somewhat responsible for the deaths of his comrades, there was nothing more he could do.

He had protected them to the best of his abilities, even if only out of duty rather than true camaraderie.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to see them through the grim situation, and it was simply impossible to ask more from him.

A man of miracles—so they called him—but this time, he had run out.

After all, he was just a man, not the wizard they believed him to be. Chaos’ treachery had been too well-planned and too flawlessly executed.

Soon, the anticipated death cry of a fifty-year-old man echoed across the entire hall, but sadly, none of Tigren’s subordinates was even there to mourn his death.

They already departed to the afterlife before he did.

The Chaos elites, while not indifferent to the respectable and loyal old commander, were in no position to grieve, as they were about to be grieved for themselves.

Death cries continuously sounded behind Shye, causing him to grit his teeth with every death of another black-cloaked man.

He had long been consumed—unknowingly—by bloodlust and battle fervor because of the sheer number of Soul Warriors he killed.

After all, while empty and hollow inside, they, too, were humans.

Killing too many of one’s own kind would surely drive one mad, even if they didn’t realize it.

However, though clouded by a fell trance, Shye’s mind remained clear enough to focus on collecting payment in blood—the hawklings’ lives in exchange for the lives of Feather, Tigren, and Stonecold was the trade he deemed fit.

At least three of them…

He had to kill at least three of the bastards.

Shye’s eyes were like a beast’s, locked onto its target and nothing else.

‘Eleven…’

There were five hawklings attempting to kill him, but one in particular—Eleventh Hawkling—unknowingly irked him the most with his annoying style and constant playful taunts.

The bastard still dared to talk crap despite barely holding on, even with all five of them? Hilarious.

Shye had no past feud with Eleventh Hawkling, but unfortunately, the fool just had to act tough, earning his ire.

Now, he was first on Shye’s kill list.

Sensing the spine-chilling gaze fixed on him, Dweezel’s eleventh offspring shivered, his once-confident smile fading into a pale, forced grin.

Soon, the two Soul Warriors that covered his retreat were slaughtered into mincemeat, and the one responsible was now chasing him like a hungry cheetah.

It didn’t even take Shye a full second to catch up to the retreating Hawkling, viciously slashing both greatswords at the bastard’s torso and neck.

It didn’t matter which strike landed.

As long as one connected, Eleventh Hawkling’s body would be cleaved in two—the only difference being whether the cut was symmetrical or asymmetrical.

“You think it’s that easy to kill me, Eleven?! Think again!” roared the annoying hawkling as a pale orange barrier covered his entire body.

It was a life-saving barrier that focused on defending against physical attacks.

The barrier lasted only a second and a half, but that was enough for the hawkling to get out of the way.

What the annoying bastard didn’t expect was the speed at which Shye’s follow-up attack would come.

Before Eleventh Hawkling even realized it, one of Shye’s greatswords had already been replaced by Sigrun—one of his twin peak adamantite-tier elemental staffs, crafted by Meido and a legendary arcanist.

The last thing the Hawkling saw was a roaring ball of flames—far larger than any he had ever seen—hurtling toward him at unbelievable speed.

Dodging such a powerful spell was difficult even with prior warning, but for the eleventh bastard, it was utterly impossible.

Eleventh Hawkling realized it far too late, and the flames consumed him.